Page 77 of The Weight Of It All
He looked at his hands in his lap. “I have to ask you, Henry. Now things between us are… personal, if you’re comfortable with me still being your trainer?”
Oh. I hadn’t thought of how this could complicate his job. “Is it a gym policy that you can’t date clients?”
“No, our contract says we should be professional with members at all times.”
“You’ve been very professional with me.”
He gave me a kind smile and whispered, “I’ve also been very personal.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Not at all. But if you’d prefer, I can find someone else to be your trainer.”
I shook my head. “I don’t prefer.”
“Because I want to keep seeing you outside of work, Henry, if you know what I mean. But you already missed your session on Sunday because of me. So if you’d prefer?”
“I prefer you. As my trainer and as my… whatever you are. I don’t know what we are, technically. But I like it. I like you as both, and I don’t want to choose. I didn’t miss out on anything on Sunday. Actually, Sunday was kinda great, if I recall. And anyway, I wouldn’t have made it this far with this whole fitness debacle if it weren’t for you, and I wouldn’t have realised that it’s okay to be me, just the way I am, if you weren’t my… whatever you are. I’m not good with labels. But I want you for both.”
He looked right at me, his gaze melting into me. “I want you for both too.” He studied his hands again, though this time a smile formed at the corners of his lips. “And just so you know, Sunday was great for me too. And if it’s alright with you, I could come around to your place for dinner tonight? I don’t have to work tomorrow, and we could work on what label to give whatever this is.”
I grinned at him. “I’d like that.”
He took a deep breath, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Excellent. Now, let’s get started with some lateral holds, tricep curls, and shoulder presses.”
“Ugh. Can I renege on my invitation for dinner?”
He chuckled. “Nope. Because I invited myself.”
“That’s just a technicality.”
“Maybe. But it works.”
“And just so I’m clear, when you say you don’t have to work tomorrow, were you implying you don’t have to be up early?”
He glanced around quickly, and when he was sure no onecould hear him, he said, “That, or that I don’t have to leave tonight.”
I swallowed hard at the thought of him sleeping in my bed, and a warm rush of blood surged to my groin. It made me squirm. “Is that another technicality?”
He smirked like he knew the answer already. “Does it work?”
“Yes,” I answered way too quickly. I wouldn’t apologise for my excitement. He should just be grateful I didn’t answer with interpretive dance. “Yes it does.”
Reed set the weights on the machine for me. “Good. Now get these done. You’ve got fifteen minutes left. If we keep cutting into your training time, you won’t be ready for this weekend.”
I stood at the machine, feet apart, and pulled the weights in a lateral hold. “I’m pretty sure we can add cardio of some description to our plans tonight.”
He smiled mischievously. “I’m sure we can.”
Someone came over and asked him something about the rowing machine, and we never got another chance to talk alone. Not that I minded. It was his place of employment, after all, and I respected his job. I finished the reps he told me to do and waved goodbye as I left.
I got to work feeling energised. I had heard people talk about having more energy when they’d exercised, and if I was truthful, I’d always rolled my eyes while thinking it would be impossible to havemoreenergy when it was obvious exercise, like walking up a flight of steps, would try to kill me.
But it was true. I did have more energy. I was sleeping better, I was drinking more water than ever, and I was generally feeling a hundred per cent better than I did two months ago.
At lunchtime, I made Melinda come with me to buy new work clothes. I just couldn’t get away with cinching in mywork pants anymore. They were starting to look like pantaloons. I had to bribe her with sushi, but it was totally worth it. I needed an honest opinion, and if anyone wore honesty like a well-fitted suit, it was Melinda.
The pretty suit-tailor guy looked me up and down with his Judgy MacJudgerson eyes, and before I could tell him I was a better bottom than he could ever be, he clicked his fingers. “Thirty-eight.”
