Page 45 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
She scoffs. “No, I did not!”
“You did! You totally held your own.”
“Dude. I felt like my soul was flying out of my butt!”
“Isn’t that the best?!” I say.
“Wait. You like that feeling?”
“Yeah, baby! Makes me feel alive!”
She shakes her head. “You’re a weird person, Matt Barbera.”
“So I’ve been told.” I pause. “But weird can be good, right?”
She studies me, then smiles before answering, “Yeah. Weird is good.”
God, I love her smile. If I’m not careful, it will become my personal mission to see that smile as often as possible.
“To answer your question,” I say. “I don’t work out as punishment for the food I ate the day before. Just like I try to feed my body the food it likes, my goal for workouts is to do what makes me feel strong and healthy, so that’s exactly what I’ll do tomorrow, whether I eat this pumpkin pie or not.” I pause. “Who am I kidding? There’s no question. I’m eating it.” I put a forkful in my mouth. “Mmm. That shit is gooood. Here. Have a bite.”
I break a piece off and lift it in her direction. Instead of taking the fork from me, she allows me to feed it to her.
Holy shit.
I watch her pretty mouth close around the bite and savor it as I pull the fork back. I don’t realize I’m watching her lips until she says…
“You were saying?”
Did she do that on purpose? She did that on purpose, right? Fuck if I know. The woman told me loud and clear that I’m not her type, so until she tells me otherwise, I need to be a gentleman.
To be fair, though, I told her she wasn’t my type, and that was a goddamn lie.
“I was saying something?” I mumble. “Yes. I think maybe the exercise names sound gross—your word, not mine—because they’re direct, and people generally aren’t used to that? People these days talk around subjects a lot, if you ask me. But Bossfit likes to cut to the chase. A squat is a squat. A thrust is a thrust. We’re not going to give it some fluffy name to make it gimmicky or more marketable. If people want the real fitness deal, they’ll find us and we’ll deliver. In the meantime, we’re keeping things simple and authentic.”
“And are they finding you?” she asks. “How’s business going?”
I chuckle. “Do you want the real answer or what I keep telling Eugene so we can keep his blood pressure down?”
“Didn’t you just give me a speech about cutting to the chase and being authentic?” She smirks. “The real answer, please.”
“The real answer is… business is great. Running this gym is the dream. My dream.”
“But…?”
“But I’d be lying if I said it was smooth sailing. We’re sort of surviving month to month over there. We’re hoping this Santa stuff will give us more exposure and bring in more clients, but time will tell, I guess. Enough about me, though. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What’s your dream?”
She laughs. “Oh my god. What’s your dream?” She does a goofy impression of my voice. “You can’t just go around asking random people, ‘What’s your dream?’”
“Sure, I can! For the record, though, you’re not random. You’re you.”
We lock eyes.
I’ll be damned if I’m the first one to look away.
