I’m hoping that wasn’t an insult.
Once again, we’re squatting. For masochism, ten pound weights in each hand have been added to the mix. Sweat runs in rivers down my face as I do my best to keep up. For real, where’s the air conditioning? An article I read this morning said this is a great way to be in tune with your partner. Said it promotes bonding. Mm-hmm. Sure. Grown-ups are liars. Lucy and Austin are in sync, touching their dumbbells to the floor and rising, while I’m the stray whack-a-mole popping up a few seconds too late.
When Finn finally calls it complete, Lucy says, “I’m loving this.”
I’m too busy catching my breath to commit murder.
Weirdly, Finn just smiles before re-focusing on me. It’s a little surprising that he isn’t at all put off by my performance. In fact, he’s kind of like a small child wanting to show off his prowess.
Speaking of small children, it turns out that a burpee is not me sitting on Finn’s lap while he gently caresses my back.
“You’re kidding, right?” I ask when he completes a four part push-up move.
Narrator: he was not kidding.
“Show me what you’re made of, Chloe,” he responds.
Well, it’s not sugar and spice and everything nice. More like Jell-O and spite. Lucy and I are to do these ridiculous burpees at the same time, and I’m cursing up a storm in my head when he starts chanting, “Squat. Pop. Stand. Reach.”
Lucy’s ponytail circles like a lasso as she does the quick succession of movements. Around the halfway mark, I skip the push-up and invent a new move—the Chloe-e. I squat, clap, and then complete the rest.
“You’re doing awesome,” Finn lies. Badly. “One more exercise and you’re done.”
Hallelujah. As we move to the weight benches in the corner, he makes sure to show how heavy his weights are, and tells us he’s just set a new personal record for deadlifts.
“That’s impressive,” I tell him. I mean it, too. This is hard as shit and he makes it look easy.
When he’s occupied with spotting Lucy, I try to get my panting under control. Like my life, I have mixed success. Hands on hips, I watch as Lucy breathes through several reps, barely straining her biceps. She’s good at everything. Much too soon, she lowers the bar to its resting position with a jarring clank, and now it’s my turn. I straddle the bench parallel to the one Lucy used and lean back onto the stiff leather padding. I’m ecstatic for the chance to lie down for a few minutes.
Finn makes adjustments to the weights, and I grip the cool metal bar.
“On the count of three,” he says. “Lift it over your head and remember to keep your arms straight.”
“I’m so tired.”
“Don’t give up, Chloe. You’re so close,” Lucy says. “How badly do you want it?”
Not much. I’m on the fence about which is worse, this workout or having the girlfriend of the guy I thought was my twin flame encouraging me. Why must she be so nice?
“You got this. You’re stronger than you think,” Finn says, looking down on me.
I’m sure this fiasco is the end of our journey. That article said happiness is contagious and it’s hard to walk away from happy people. Negativity is one of the biggest turn-offs. Well, the only thing I’m positive about right now—I am not happy. A man who does this every day must want someone like Lucy. She’s happy. She’s smiling right now.
Regardless, I’m not one to give up. I flex and lift the bar and by the grace of God it doesn’t fall back down on me. It’s not so bad after all. Huh. I really am stronger than I think. This may be my favorite. Perhaps I was a weight lifter in another life. Perhaps we don’t end here after all. Perhaps I finally impressed Mr. Personal Record.
When I finish the last rep, Finn winks at me. “Do you feel SuperFit?”
“Sure.” I swing my legs off the bench.
“This was amazing,” Lucy says, dabbing her face with a towel. “You’re a phenomenal instructor. Thanks for letting me join.”
“Any time,” Finn says. “You did awesome.”
She gives me a hug which only demonstrates again that I sweat and she glows, whispering, “He’s a keeper.”
“Is he?” I’ve spent so much time trying to do everything right, that I’ve had no time to focus on whether he’s wrong for me.
She pulls me off to the side, while Finn tidies up the space. “He put dummy weights on your bar.”
“Dummy weights?”
“Yeah, zero weights.” She tosses her towel over a shoulder. “I better get going and back to the office. Let’s do this again. Austin isn’t a gym person.”
She flounces away and Finn moves in front of me.
He holds out a bottled water. “That was a great workout.”
“For you,” I say, with only the mildest amount of sarcasm. The very mildest. I chug the ice-cold drink and bid a fond farewell to my weightlifting dreams.
“I can’t believe I got anything done while you were there, looking so hot. When you squatted...damn, Chloe. It was torture.”
The fiery look in his eyes tells me he’s serious. I’m sweaty. Disheveled. Still haven’t caught my breath. And I’m walking sort of strange due to the fact that my legs aren’t exactly holding me up the way they once did, six years ago, before this workout started. I don’t even want to think about what I smell like. This is hot to him?
“What are you doing at three o’clock?” he asks.
“Resting?”
“I need you at three o’clock.”
I drain the rest of my water to stall. I like him. I do. But I have nothing left to give after this workout. It’s possible I can muster something up from within my exhausted body. He did take pity on me and switch out my weights. “What do you need me for?”
Once again, he doesn’t tell me, he shows me by gripping my hips and snapping me against his groin. He’s hard.
Welp. Okay. Just to make sure we’re on the same page, I whisper, “Sexy times?”
He nods. Ah, three o’clock is the dicking hour. This is technically date three, so sex is okay, but now I have doubts. Lucy’s exclusivity question, for one. But you know, I’m not going to fixate on that. I’m an adult, so I’m going to enjoy a hot shower and let him ravage me.
After all those burpees, I deserve this.
Six
Even though SuperFit was a SuperShitshow, I’m stoked for SuperSex. I’ve spent the last hour mentally preparing. Opening myself up—literally—is a tremendous step. I’ve picked apart all the possible outcomes. Nothing seems horrendous enough to prevent going through with the sexy times.
Sure, I’d like to know Finn better on an intellectual and emotional level. But sexual compatibility is also important in a relationship. If you think about it, there must be hordes of dissatisfied women out there, faking orgasms, who wish they’d taken a test drive. So I’m willing to sacrifice my current nun-like state of grace to avoid that particular hell later. If the whole world will stop texting, that is.
Hey, Gran! Can I call you later? I text back to my grandmother’s third message.