To lighten the mood, I turned to Troy. “Troy, this is my fr—Garrett. Garrett, I would like you to meet Troy. Troy likes to lose when we ride.”
My eyes flitted back and forth between them. Both were good looking but in different ways. Mere centimeters separated the two in height. Troy was a lean, pretty boy with warm, dark brown skin and eyes to match. Meanwhile, Garrett was pure sex, muscular body, loads of self-confidence, and manly.
Troy finally broke the silence with a friendly greeting. “Sup, man?”
“Hey,” Garrett gave a bored greeting, never taking his eyes off me. I stared back, unable to stop looking at him. I shivered under the fire and ice of his gaze.
Thankfully, Troy interrupted our stare-off.
“Jasmine, I’m seated in the back. Let’s talk some other time.”
What a weak response. He’d flirted with me for the last three weeks and hadn’t asked for a date. That was the reason I wasn’t interested.
I turned back to Garrett. “Where did you reserve your seat?”
“In the back. But I’ll be wherever you are.”
“You are aware this is a Beyoncé and Rihanna mashup? People who like their music attend these classes.”
“Yes. I am aware.”
“I thought you were more of a classic rock guy.”
“Jasmine. I’m here for you.” He said plainly and walked over to the bike, leaving me standing there. “How do I get on this thing?”
He’s here for me! My heart sang.
“Have you done a spinning class?”
“No, but I am an athlete and have ridden a bike.”
Amateur. He was in for a big surprise.
“I can get you a pair of padded leggings from my locker if you need it.”
“Fuck. I didn’t think about my balls—um, family jewels. I would like to have children someday.”
“I can flag down Troy. I’m sure he can offer advice on your family jewels.” I said. I was amused when he frowned at the mention of Troy. “Don’t underestimate the workout, Mr. Athlete. We can sit in the back or along the sides if you like. The front row can be a bit intimidating.”
“Jasmine, I’m not a bitch. We sit in the front row.”
“Don’t embarrass me. I have an image to uphold. See that?” I pointed to the large television monitor on the wall at the front of the class. “My name’s permanently etched at the top of the leaderboard.”
“I am certain that I can handle anything you can. I can go for hours and hours. I may even wear you out.”
“I walked right into that one. Don’t be cocky. This is a difficult workout. Let’s clip you in the pedals. Then I’ll walk you through the features of the bike.”
We got his seat adjusted and feet snapped into the pedal cleats. “Pull up your legs like you’re doing knee kicks. Looking good.” I grinned. “Now, here’s the resistance knob. Crank it to the right for a heavier weight. The instructor will tell you when to use it and how much to use. I promise that you will not fall off your bike. If you do, then we don’t know each other.”
“If I fall, you’re going down with me.”
I smiled as I watched him acclimate himself to the bike. He sat tall, stiff and awkward on the seat, and fidgeted with the resistance knobs while pedaling fast. I had to give him props for coming to the class, because he was a fish out of water.
“Don’t forget to wait for me when the class is over. I’ll help you unclip. I don’t want you to go flying into the other bikes. Or worse, see you lace out of the shoes and keep them on the pedals.” I moved to my bike, climbed on, and clipped into the pedals.
At that point, the instructor, Pamela, turned the lights off. The studio was semi-dark, illuminated by a disco ball, candles and led spotlights in each corner. I could make out bodies by the glow-in-the-dark stripes and emblems on their exercise clothing.
Pamela ran into the class to Beyonce’s “Crazy in Love.” The beats of the song thumped off the walls. I scream-sang the opening stanza as she hopped on her bike and began pedaling at a decent clip. The class quickly matched her cadence.
After the opening song, we mashed into Rihanna’s “Umbrella” for the hill climb. We cranked up the resistance on our bikes. The number of singers decreased as the workout amped up. When the energy in the class waned, Pamela hopped off the bike and walked up and down the risers.
She yelled, “Visualize the goal. If you can see it, you can reach it.”
I looked over at Garrett, and he was keeping up.
Pamela continued her inspirational speech. “March it out. March it out together. One-two, one-two.” She walked around. She stood in front of Garrett. “Nice. Very nice.”
Garrett made the workout look effortless, but I was number one on the leaderboard with Troy following closely behind me. Meanwhile, Garrett trailed Troy by seconds.
Finding the strength to push through, I danced in the seat while belting out the lyrics. Telling everyone in the room to respect Beyonce's crown.
“It’s time to work,” said Pamela. The song changed to the infamous Rihanna and Drake duet. If I weren’t on the bike, my hips would have automatically gyrated.
“If the songbird in the front row can warble, that means that I am not working you hard enough.” The class groaned. I smiled and nodded at her.
Pamela continued to bark out instructions. “Out of the saddle. Up and back. Then up and back. Yes! Open your palms and lean over. Squeeze those glutes. Release the resistance. Jog. Jog. Good!”
We spent the next forty-minutes, squatting, bending, and pedaling fast. I remained at the top of the leaderboard the entire class. Then somehow, Garrett moved into second place. I couldn’t let the newbie beat me, I cranked up the resistance and pedaled faster.
At the end of the class, we were both sweaty messes. I clipped out of the bike and landed in front of Garrett.
“Welcome to SpinCycle. You crushed it! Look, you’re right underneath me.” I pointed to the television monitor.
“I like the sound of that.”
I lightly pushed against his chest, heat blazing in my cheeks. I pulled my hand back as if I’d been shocked. My God. The man’s chest was like hard steel. My fingers itched to get another touch.
“And your family jewels are still intact?”
“Yep. I’m unharmed, but I always knew my balls were made of titanium.” He wiped at the sweat on his brow with a towel.
This topic was inappropriate on so many levels. I was sweating like a pig and practically nude in a bra top and form-fitting biking shorts. We shouldn’t talk about something so intimate as Garrett’s balls. I tried to hide my discomfort by changing the subject.
“Garrett, this was so much fun. I need to get a move on if I want to make it to the hotel before dark. I’ll see you at the office.” I grinned, and when I turned to leave, he reached for my hand.
“You shouldn’t walk alone. I’ll go with you.”
“Well, we’d better get going before all the showers are taken. Let’s meet here in fifteen?”
After taking the world’s fastest shower, I changed into a pair of track shorts and a t-shirt and found Garrett standing at the registration desk.
“Ready?” he asked.