by Silla Webb
I open my eyes, and this time the shock sets in, and I have to bite down on my bottom lip to keep my mouth closed. Motherfuckin’ hell. Before me, in a black sports bra, black spandex leggings, and trainers is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Her face is masked in concern, but the honey brown eyes are delicate against her golden complexion, warm smile, and dark hair that is twisted up on top of her head in a mess. She doesn’t have the first ounce of sweat on her skin, so that leads me to believe she must be new … or maybe the front desk staff. They dress relaxed for work too, right? Maybe it’s her uniform.
I open my mouth to say something, anything, but only seem to make a weird movement with my lips where my words are paralyzed somewhere between my cock and my throat. Probably right there in the pit of my balls where the boys are ramping up to push the big man to attention. Fuck, thank God I have on damn blue jeans. At least I can hide the boner behind the fabric, and maybe if I place my hands just right…
“Honey, are ya doin’ alright in there? Is there anything I can help you with? Lookin’ for someone?” she asks, snapping her fingers in my face and effectively pulling me out of my internal monologue.
“Oh, sorry. Just got dizzy for a second.”
“You good now?”
I nod like an idiot, my mouth still agape.
“I’m sorry, did you ask something?”
She quirks her brow, and the mask of confusion warps into irritation. “Are you looking for someone?” she drawls out slowly, and I scrub my hand over my face.
“Uhm, yeah. Jordan, I think his name is. He’s a session … I mean, I have a session with him. He’s my new trainer. Yeah.”
I stuff my hands in my pockets to keep from slapping them over my mouth, or across my face. Fuckin’ moron. So here, ladies and fuckers, is how you can quite obviously see how pathetic my ass is. I can’t even string together a fuckin’ sentence in front of a beautiful woman and not manage to sound like a damn taint sucker.
“Oh! You must be Madden. It’s very nice to meet you.” She thrusts her hand toward me, and I take it slowly and shake.
“So, erhm, you his assistant, or the front desk bunny?”
She tilts her head, her face falls in a very tight, but as stupid as this sounds, relaxed appearance as her brow, once a-fucking-gain, quirks up high, nearly meeting her hairline.
“I’m Jordan. It’s very nice to meet you, Madden. I am your trainer.” A sadistic smile slithers across her lip, her brow never faltering from its cocked position.
Me? I’m standing here like a fucker who just got gut punched. In fact, I stumble backward from the assault. “What the actual fuck?”
“Excuse me?” And there goes that delectable ass popped out to the side, her hand bracing her hip with full-on attitude. “This is a business establishment, Mr. Davenport. A family-friendly environment. Lose the language.”
“Sorry, I’m just fu-freakin’ taken aback right now.”
“By what exactly?”
How do I put this without pissing her off? I have no words, so I scan my hands up her body then shake them like—ta-fucking-da.
“Well, it’s obvious you have quite the stellar vocabulary, so how about we be a big boy and you use your words to tell me what’s troubling you?” she sasses, and fuck me running if the boys down below don’t find their inner strength and push my dick up even higher.
I point at her and emphasize every word to recover from my stupor. Big boy roos are on now, sassy ass. “You expect to train me?”
“Well not in that getup I won’t. You do realize what happens in a gym, right?” She eyes me up and down, obviously judging the worn-out jeans, holey pocket tee, and work boots—and for that finishing touch, a dash of sheetrock dust covered from head to toe. “I, the trainer, teaches you, the client, how to get fit.” Her eyes peruse my body, and there’s no hiding the pity they express. I’ve seen it a hundred times, in the way Carter encourages me to work faster when we’re on a job site, or the way Laney will wait back for me, my slow ass always trailing behind. I feel judged, and considering the strength and courage it took to bring myself here today, I don’t fuckin’ like it. Not one damn bit.
“You know what? I think it’d be best to get what I’m looking for at a different gym that maybe has qualified trainers—not sassy little princesses who would be best fit at a beauty pageant and not in a gym with all this heavy equipment. I’ll pay the damn contract fee and take my business elsewhere. No shits given here, sunshine, because I’ll be damned if you’re gonna look down your nose and belittle me.”
Still in that Ice Queen stance, only her eyes move as they slide into thin slits, shooting daggers in my direction. I brush past her, without a goodbye or a fuck you, because she ain’t worth the extra breath it’s gonna take to walk my fat ass back to my truck.
CHAPTER THREE
MADDEN
I open the gate to Carter’s backyard, eager to see my daughter. Her jovial laughter rents the air with a squeal of excitement. “Push me higher, Unk!” She giggles. “Higher!”
“You’re gonna fly into the sky if he pushes you any higher, Belle.” Her head whips in my direction, and as soon as the swing comes forward, she jumps. Luckily I’m there in time to catch her in my embrace, and I twirl her full circle before setting her hefty little tail to the ground.
“Daddy, Unk has been here with me all evening. Where you been?” she asks, her hand on her hips, that little foot tapping the ground in accusation.
“Daddy had a meeting, sweet girl. But I’m here now. What do you want to get into this evening?”
She taps her finger on her chin in deep thought. “Well, Unk is making my favorite, chef’s mac and cheese, so I think we should have supper here and swim.” She winks at me as she bounces over to the jungle gym, this time climbing up on the slide.
“Cold beer, brother?” Carter asks, popping the top on one.
“Nah.” I pat my gut. “Watching my figure for swimsuit season,” I kid. We take a seat on the patio. I lean back on a sigh, and Laney joins us, handing me a bottled water. I uncap the bottle, taking a large swig.
“Mad, did you even go to the gym?”
I nod. “Yep.”
“Dressed like that?” Carter chides, his face falling in disbelief.
“Yes, Carter, dressed like I’d been slingin’ drywall all day, because guess what, shithole—I was, indeed, slingin’ drywall all day.”
“Ooooh-kay, Hulk, don’t shred the shirt on us.”
“So how’d it go?” Laney asks, a hopeful note in her voice.
“Epic fuckin’ fail. No… I’d say crashed, burned, and rolled into the pavement by a steamroller on a ninety degree day.”
“Damn, son!” Carter laughs.
“What was the issue, Mad?”
I shake my head, embarrassed being an understatement. “Well Jordan, my trainer … uhm, has a clit, not a dick.”
Cue the bursts of ear-splintering laughter. Laney’s doubled over at the knees, her face beet red, tears running down her cheeks. Carter laughs so hard he appears to be struggling to breathe, his hand clamped over his side as if the laughter simply can’t be contained and may erupt from his side at any moment. Side-splitting laughter. Laney’s hand beats her knee repeatedly. Oh, cue the knee slap. Shit’s done got real.
“You owe me, fucker!” Laney bursts out, slapping the tabletop.
Carter reaches into his back pocket and retrieves his wallet, withdrawing a crisp $100 bill and places it in his wife’s hand.
“You assholes knew?”
What the ever-loving hell?
“I’m sorry, Mad, but this was too easy!” Laney laughs, tucking the money into her bra.
“So what was the bet?”
“$100 that you would fold before you even broke the sweat,” Carter replies, taking a sip of his beer.
“And I guess you bet against me, huh, taint sucker?”
Before he can reply, Laney interjects, “Actually, I bet that you would fold.”
<
br /> I grasp my heart in mock offense.
“Laney, I thought you believed in me? Supported me? Such betrayal!”
“Well, Mad, I do believe in you, but I also know Jordan well enough to know that you’d turn tail and run scared as soon as you met her. She’s good at what she does, tough as nails on her trainees. But I can promise she’ll get you the results you need.”
“But she’s—”
“A beautiful woman who can sling some iron?”
“Well, there’s that…” I trail off, scrubbing the back of my neck.
Carter cackles. “She broke wood too, didn’t she, Mad?”
Laney’s mouth drops, and she slaps at Carter’s chest. “I’ll show your ass break wood. Have some damn respect or it’ll be your wood that gets splintered.”
“See, this is why the hell I don’t need a female trainer! Thank fuck I wasn’t wearing gym shorts, or she’d think I’m a damn pervert.”
“Well, that’s arguable,” Laney tosses at me.
“Lan, no offense, but have you seen her? I mean, think with a dick for just a minute.”
“I’d hit it, Mad. I don’t need to think with a dick.” Laney shrugs, as if this is casual talk.
“That’s my girl,” Carter says with pride then adjusts himself.
“You are a perv, honey, but damn if I don’t love ya.” Laney leans over and kisses him on the cheek to which he responds by licking up her neck and cheek.
“Okay, get a fuckin’ room already. My daughter doesn’t need to see you dry humping each other at the dinner table.”
“Why the hell not? It’s not as if there’s any food out,” Carter rebuts on a laugh.
“You two sit here and talk your filth. I’m going to bring the food out for the grill.”
Laney makes it to the French doors, far out of reach before I reply with, “It’s about damn time, woman. If I’d known I’d be the subject of your abuse, I’d have taken Belle home for dinner. Move your ass. My girl is hungry, and I ain’t got all day.”
“You talk an awfully big game for a man scared of a little fitness trainer,” she cackles as she heads inside.
*~*
“Well, look who learned what the proper gym attire is. Did you dress yourself, or did you have a helping hand?”
Let me tell you what sucks worse than having to eat crow—eating crow in gym shorts with a hard-on.
Yes, my sorry ass came crawling back to Dumb Belles in hopes that I can reason with Jordan, who is currently standing before me probably waiting for me to grovel at her feet. I mean, she’s got a valid point. That damn sassy mouth makes me weak in the knees, but a sharp kick to my nut-sack from that bastard reality reminds me that I’m her client. I’m out of her league, and my goal is to get on her level.
Damn, I hope it’s as easy as it sounds.
“I owe you an apology. I’m not typically a dick, but to be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to be a chick.” Wait… That sounds shitty. She looks at me as if her nerves are slipping, so I quickly recover with, “Actually, that is a piss poor apology. I shouldn’t have assumed anything about your gender based on your name alone. I hired you to be my trainer because you’re the highest-recommended trainer here, and I immediately had confidence in your ability to get me in shape.”
“I appreciate the apology, Mr. Davenport—”
“Madden.”
She blushes and replies, “Madden. It takes guts to apologize when you’re in the wrong, and I’m certainly not a lady who hides from my faults, so I owe you an apology as well.”
Say what? I wasn’t expecting that.
“I don’t follow…”
“When I saw you in your work clothes looking all flustered, I immediately got agitated because I expected you to be a client who would simply waste my time. I take health and fitness very seriously, so I was prepared to dismiss you from my schedule. My time is too valuable to waste, so I was a bit snide and judgmental when I should have taken the time to figure you out. I apologize.” She extends her hand, and I accept it, silently urging the boys to sit their happy asses down. “I’m Jordan Williams, owner of Dumb Belles and your fitness trainer. I’m very excited to work with you over the coming months to reach the fitness goals you desire. Are you ready to get started?”
“Madden Davenport, your slightly overweight single dad who’s in desperate need of your bitch camp.”
Jordan laughs and motions for me to follow her through the gym. “Oh, Madden, I’ll remember that. And on your first day, a few miles on the treadmill will be just the payback you deserve.”
“You don’t scare me, sweet cheeks. I have a five-year-old at home that I run circles around for three hours every evening. You, this”—I motion to the equipment around me—“piece of cake.”
*~*
“And goal!” Jordan smacks her palm against the stop button on the treadmill, and my feet heavily clomp each step until the belt stops moving.
“Who’s running circles now?” Jordan laughs as she tosses me a towel. “I think a good cardio workout to get your blood pumping is just what you need each morning. Add that to your daily routine. Whether you run a few laps around your block, hit the treadmill, elliptical, or run in place in your living room to bad 80s hairband music, it sets the tone for your day.”
“Did you really just joke about 80s hairbands?” I deadpan, wiping sweat off my brow then tossing the towel around my neck.
“I should’ve known. Let me guess—Motley Crue?”
“And GNR, Whitesnake, and Poison, just to name a few. But I don’t discriminate. I love some Waylon, Willie, and Cash, just the same.”
“Wow, you really are an old soul.”
“At twenty-nine, I guess I really am.” I shrug.
“Twenty-seven, old man. Now, typically when I do a client intake, I like to get your blood pumping with cardio first, see how you respond to that workout, then ask a few questions to evaluate your specific needs and what you expect out of training. Water or Gatorade?” She leads me to the small lounge filled with leather couches, café-style table and chairs, and three TVs lining the walls. In the corner sits a large refrigerator filled with ice-cold waters and sports drinks. The front glass is frosted over, and my mouth, dry as cotton and parched, salivates for that first drink.
“Whatever you recommend.”
“Smart man. Nice attitude today, Madden.”
I take a seat on one of the couches, and my feet sing my praises for the rest.
“Alright,” she says, passing off two bottles of water before getting situated beside me on the couch. She pulls her phone out of the armband and pulls up an app, and then the questions begin. “Before we get started, some of these questions may be uncomfortable or embarrassing to answer, but please do try to be honest because this will help me develop the best plan based on your goals. Ready?”
Or not, I am doing this. There are no other options, no easy way out. I have to lose the weight, and the only way to do that is following Jordan’s instructions.
She weighed me in before we started training today. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the number on the scale, and it’s even more humiliating that she had to see that.
Jo chops me off at the knees with the first series of questions. Age, current health conditions.
At twenty-nine, the phrases anxiety, obesity, heart disease should not be in my vocabulary. But I hold nothing back in giving Jordan all the answers she needs about my health.
“Well, you’ve certainly made the right decision in trying to get your health in order. Can I ask you, what made you decide to take this step now?”
“Well, to be honest, nearly dying at your daughter’s birthday party sucks. And to make matters worse, I still don’t know who gave me mouth to mouth. I can’t even look at my best friend, Carter, the same anymore, not knowing if his lips—” I shudder, the water coming back up and splashing the back of my throat.
“Are there worse things than your best friend saving your life?” she jokes like I’m r
ambling complete bullshit.
“Well, he had other options. There were plenty of beautiful, single women he could have called up. In fact, he still hasn’t confessed whether he actually did CPR, or if Big Booty Judy did. Probably because he knows that’s a hard limit, but I like to think Laney wouldn’t let him torture me on my deathbed.”
“Oh! You’re that Madden! You mentioned Carter and it didn’t click, until you mentioned Laney! Is that how you came to find me, as a trainer?”
“No, actually, it’s a funny story. I told Carter and Laney that I’d signed up with a trainer and even asked if they knew you. These bastards lied and placed bets on my ass failing!”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” she laughs. “Who won?”
“Oh, Laney bet that I’d fail the first day. But, in my defense, they withheld important information that could have changed the initial outcome of the situation.”
“Some friends they are!”
She could say that again. We may all give each other a hard time, but Laney and Carter are my family.
“So you goals are quite steep, but you made the first step—twice actually—to lay the groundwork for your health. That tells me you have the motivation. You have a solid support system with good, albeit asshole, friends, and improving your quality of life so you’re around for your daughter—you simply need the tools, which is where I come in.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Davenport. The road ahead is rocky; only the strong survive my workouts.” She winks. “I want you to consider three rewards for the milestones I plan to set. Be greedy. Make these rewards a nice treat for yourself. I also want you to consider what your greatest weaknesses and tribulations are in losing weight, and we’ll discuss those things tomorrow. Get plenty of rest, and hydrate.”
“Aye, cap’n!” I stand and mock salute, and she rolls her eyes trying to hide the smile that tips her lips.
She stands and I follow as she escorts me to the lobby. Men stop their workouts to stare at Jordan as she walks through the gym, some calling out to grab her attention. A pink blush tinges her cheeks at their immediate attention, and part of me feels jealous for not being the man to make her blush. I chide myself internally for even being overly friendly during my workout because I know that shit has to get old for her. She’s my trainer, and although she’s utterly gorgeous, I have to draw the line in the sand before she puts my ass in line, and it’s only a matter of time before she would.