Big Beautiful Little

by Ava Sinclair

  Trey rolled his eyes and made an exasperated noise. “Lance, you’re the owner of this gym. Don’t you have people for that?”

  “Yes.” Lance put down his weight. “But sometimes things come up, and it’s not like I’m going to force Melanie to come in when she has traffic court.”

  “Okay, whatever, but back to what I was saying.” Trey picked up a towel and mopped the sheen of sweat from his ebony chest. “I have a date with Yvette tonight. We’re going dancing…” He began to gyrate his hips as he talked. “And I know she’s going to want to slow dance, because she digs it when I put my arms around her.” He flexed his bicep and kissed it. “But what lady wouldn’t want to be held by a cop with guns like these?”

  “Yvette…” Lance ran through his mental list of his friend’s rotating roster of companions. “Is that the Hooter’s waitress or the former cheerleader?’

  “Cheerleader. Major league, baby. And rockin’ a tight little body with a booty so hot you could fry an egg on it… hey! Where you goin’?”

  “Up front.” Lance was walking away, pulling a faded blue Nike t-shirt over his muscular torso as he headed to the front of the gym. “Somebody’s coming in.”

  “You’d better hurry,” Trey called, nodding toward the front. “Girl looks like she needs a gym stat!”

  Lance glanced up. The woman coming through the door was not the average visitor to Summit Fitness, which sat in the middle of one of the city’s most health-conscious neighborhoods. He could see her looking around as she approached the reception desk, then stop. She was turning back toward the door when he called out to her.

  “Hey, wait!” Lance started jogging across the room. The woman glanced back and walked toward the door even faster. “Hey! I said wait!”

  The woman froze in her tracks and looked at him with large, soft eyes.

  Submissive. Lance was a man of strong instinct who almost always relied on his impressions. The woman’s ready compliance had gotten his attention as surely as he’d gotten hers.

  “Did I scare you?” When he caught up with her, he reached out to take her arm gently, modifying his tone now that she was looking at him.

  “No, you didn’t scare me,” she said, and then dropped her eyes shyly and shrugged. “Well, maybe a little.”

  Lance couldn’t help but smile. She was unbelievably pretty, with strawberry blond hair, blue eyes, and porcelain skin. Her voice was high, almost musical, with a bit of a charming drawl.

  “Welcome to Summit Fitness. I’m the owner, Lance Sawyer.” He held out his hand. Hers were tucked under arms she’d folded across her chest as soon as she’d stopped. She withdrew one now and placed it in his. The hand was soft, feminine. The grip he gave her was firm but not too tight. He allowed it to last a little longer than he would with most prospective female clients.

  “Name?” he asked

  “Oh.” She gave him a small smile. “Tiffany Barlow.”

  He smiled back, teeth white in his tanned face. “Cute name.”

  She flushed and looked down. “Yeah, it’s weird. Sorry.”

  “You’re apologizing for your name?” Lance quirked a brow at her, then when she looked uncomfortable, he changed the subject. “I suppose you’re here to take advantage of our stellar facilities, am I right? You’re dressed for the gym and you have the newspaper ad offering a free trial.”

  She looked down at the paper as she smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear, then adjusted the strap of the gym bag over her shoulder. Thick, wavy hair, he noticed with approval. Thick and pretty, like her.

  “Um… yes, sir.”

  Yes, sir. Some men would have corrected her, and told her such formality wasn’t necessary. But not Lance. He liked the way she said it. Yes sir. So did his cock. He shifted a little as it nudged the front of his shorts.

  “Well, if you’ll come with me, I have some forms you can fill out before I give you the grand tour.” He took her elbow and she walked with him to a small room off to the side of the reception area. There was a table in the center with a chair on either side. Lance pulled a chair out. Tiffany Barlow looked at him as if surprised by the gesture and sat down, placing her gym bag at her feet and her purse on the back of the chair. He took the chair across from her and turned a clipboard in the center of the table so that it was facing in her direction.

  “Just a little background about Summit Fitness,” he began. “I’m the owner-operator, so it’s a locally owned business and not a chain. I’m ex-military, which some people like and some people don’t, but I believe in keeping order here. I try to keep this a safe place for working out—drama free. In addition to regularly maintained free weights and equipment we have a pool, exercise classes, an on-site nutritionist, and a personal trainer option. Any questions?”

  She shook her head. “No, sir.”

  He smiled, charmed, and handed her a clipboard with the forms.

  “The first form is just personal information—phone, address, emergency contact.” He handed her a pen and watched as she carefully filled it out. Her script, like her, was lush and feminine.

  “Down here is where you put in your credit card information,” he said when she’d finished the first part. “Now, you won’t be charged unless you decide you want to join at the end of the trial period. If you do want to join today after getting a tour of the gym, you get the first three months for thirty percent off, so that’s like getting a month for free.”

  Lance looked up to make sure she was listening. He noticed her large eyes again, framed by those impossibly long lashes.

  “Lord, you have some beautiful eyes,” he said. He’d not meant to, but the color was so striking—an aquamarine color. The words just tumbled out.

  She looked at him, her expression surprised and then suddenly wounded.

  “You don’t have to do that, you know,” she said quietly.

  “Do what?”

  “Flirt with the fat girl to get her business.” She put the pen aside. “I knew this was stupid. I’m sorry I wasted your time, Mr. Sawyer.”

  She stood, and he stood, too. “Whoa, hold up,” he said, taken aback by the pretty vulnerable redhead with skin he wanted to touch and curves he wanted to…

  Focus, Sawyer.

  “You think I was hitting on you just now to get your business?” he asked. He couldn’t keep the indignation out of his voice. “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” she said. He could see the anger in her eyes, anger that barely hid the pain behind it. This girl had been hurt once. Hurt bad.

  “Hey, listen.” He tried to keep his voice gentle. “If that’s the impression you got, let me assure you…”

  “Yeah, right.” She’d stopped listening and snatched her purse off the back of the chair as she headed for the exit.

  Lance knew it wouldn’t be any use to try to stop her again without seeming too heavy-handed. He stood at the edge of the reception area, watching Tiffany Barlow’s round hips sway as she walked quickly down the steps to the parking lot. He continued to watch as she got into a blue Toyota 4Runner with a cartoon pony decal stuck on the back. She didn’t look at him as she drove past.

  Shit. Lance wanted to hit something, preferably whoever had damaged the pretty redhead to the point that she couldn’t take a compliment. But he also wanted to punch himself. His timing sure could have been better.

  Big lug.

  “My man!” Trey was coming out of the gym, laughing. “I can’t believe you let that one get away! If anybody ever needed a workout…”

  “Can it, Trey!” Lance growled, rounding on his friend. He was in no mood for joking, especially about the weight of an adorable girl obviously sensitive to the topic. He stalked back toward his office, knowing that he’d find his best friend behind him when he turned around. He was right.

  “You’re right.” Trey had his hands up as if calling for a truce. “That was low. And I know you aren’t like me. I know you like those thick girls.”

  “Yes, I do,” Lance said. “I do like t
hose thick girls.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Somebody got to her before I did, apparently. Somebody who obviously didn’t appreciate her.” He walked into his office at the end of the hallway behind the reception area and headed for the mini fridge, where he pulled out two energy drinks. He tossed one to Trey, who caught it.

  “Don’t shut the door,” Lance told his friend. “I still need to keep an eye on the desk.”

  “So what the hell happened?” Trey asked.

  Lance plopped down in the chair and ran a hand through his thick black hair. He shook his head as he popped the top on the can. “I did something stupid.”

  “What?”

  “I complimented her right after asking for her card information.”

  Trey’s eyes widened. “Aaaahhh. Okay, okay. I gotcha. And she thought you were trying to butter her up for a full membership.”

  “Basically.”

  Trey cocked his head. “Were you?”

  “Of course not.” Lance’s gray eyes narrowed in irritation. “I was being sincere. Are you trying to piss me off?”

  “Nah.” His friend sat back in the chair opposite Lance. “I just still don’t get you, man. A whole stream of hard bodies coming in here day after day—all but begging you to get that pussy—and you never look twice at them. But when we go out your eyes always be following those chubby ladies. But even so, I ain’t never seen you run after one like you did today. Hell, I don’t think I ever even saw you run after Katrina, and I know you didn’t want her to go, either.”

  Lance turned his attention away from his friend at the mention of his ex-girlfriend. He could talk about it now, but for a long time the breakup had been a touchy subject.

  “Well, it didn’t matter what I wanted. Katrina did go, didn’t she?” Lance said. “I’m not the kind to force a woman if she doesn’t want what I have to offer.”

  “Maybe she just outgrew it,” Trey said. “I mean, she was kind of young when you met, and sometimes it seemed like you were more like her daddy than her boyfriend.”

  If you only knew, friend…

  “But what about this girl who just took off?” Trey continued, turning the subject away from Lance’s ex. “Did you even get her name?”

  “Yeah, Tiffany. A cute name—cute and soft. Like her.”

  “Damn.” Trey drained the rest of his drink and stood. “You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think if that girl comes back in, you need to make sure you set up a date.” Trey winked as a wide grin split his handsome face. “I know you, Lance. Once you get an idea of what you want, you don’t let go until you get it. I can tell you aren’t going to have a moment’s peace until you do.”

  “Well, I kind of doubt she’s coming back.” Lance rose from the sofa and effortlessly crumpled his drink can in his fist before tossing it into the recycling bin. He could hear the door to the gym opening. Duty called, and Trey had to leave for his shift on the police force anyway.

  Up front, Lance found two new potential clients—blondes with crop tops that showed off their sculpted abs, and skintight workout pants that molded their firm bottoms like a second skin. They also wore faces coated in makeup. Lance knew their type; these were women who worked out before they came to the gym. For them, the gym wasn’t a place to get fit, but a hook-up club. He tried not to show his distaste as he welcomed them to Summit Fitness.

  “Do you do Cross Fit here?” The blonde to the left asked, leaning to tie a shoe that didn’t need to be tied as she made the inquiry. Her crop top gaped a bit, revealing very ample—and very fake—cleavage.

  “Yes,” he said. “Cross Fit, Pilates… we also have spinning classes, aerobics…”

  “Yeah, that sounds great,” said the other blonde, flipping her hair. “So, uh, what’s your favorite?”

  “I’m the owner, ma’am,” Lance said. “I don’t play favorites. All the programs here are good. If you’d like a tour…”

  “The owner?” The blonde who’d just flashed her cleavage gave him a dazzling veneered smile. “So you probably have a lot of free time, huh? Jenna and I just moved here and we’re looking for someone to show us around. Any chance the gym tour can extend to after hours?” She batted her fake lashes. “We could make it worth your while.”

  “No, ma’am,” he said, swallowing his distaste as he mentally juxtaposed Tiffany’s sweet shyness with this bold flirtation. “My schedule is pretty full the rest of the day. For the rest of the week, for that matter.”

  “Oh.” The blondes said the word in unison, but then scanned the gym, their gaze falling on several other prospective targets working out on nearby weight equipment.

  “Well, whatevs,” said the shorter of the two. “We really don’t need a tour. Just show us what we have to do to sign up.”

  Thirty minutes later, Lance pocketed checks from each of them for gold memberships to Summit Fitness and went to file the day’s applications. When he came to Tiffany’s unfinished one, he stopped. She’d filled out her name, address, and telephone number before she fled. He noticed something else then as well. Her gym bag. She’d left it behind when she’d rushed out.

  It’s unethical, he told himself. He looked down at the application. Maybe it wasn’t. He owed her an explanation, or an apology. Or maybe she owed him one for suggesting that he was the kind of person who would flatter women to get their business.

  He stared down at her phone number. He’d call her, Lance decided. He’d call Tiffany Barlow and straighten all this out. And then maybe he’d get to see her again.

  Chapter Three: Mixed Signals

  The day that Tiffany had picked to turn over a new leaf was turning out to be a complete bust.

  She’d gotten up that morning excited about taking another step along the path of self-improvement that began when she’d decided to get over Nick and move to Seattle.

  First on that list: Stop procrastinating. So she’d picked up the newspaper and found the ad for the gym that she’d seen the day before. There it was, on 4A, and she’d felt proud for clipping it out. She also clipped a coupon for the organic market on the corner. Two more goals on her list were about to be ticked off—join a gym and shop organic.

  Then she’d worked on her third item—be more assertive—by standing up to Nick, who’d called to ask if she could make the car payment. That had been a little more difficult. A little part of her still melted at the sound of his voice. Whenever he said, “Hey, Tiff,” with that silky Texas drawl, she could almost forget that this was the man who’d dumped her for her best friend.

  She’d tried to take the high road after they left by letting him keep the car she wouldn’t need in Seattle on the condition that he assume the loan. That still hadn’t happened, but he’d been making cash payments directly at the finance company. But recently those had stopped.

  He’d apologized again for not assuming the loan. It would have to wait until next month, he’d said; he was running into a cash flow problem and needed to see if Tiffany could catch this month’s payment. Again. He’d pay her back the following month, when he assumed the loan.

  This time, Tiffany had told him no. Money was tight for her, too, and a deal was a deal.

  “If you want to be a bitch about it, fine,” he said. “Just remember, it’s your credit.”

  “Nick, you were the one who left,” she said. “And you’re the one with the promotion and the raise. So why can’t you just fulfill your obligation and pay the loan like you promised?”

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Nick had hissed. “And there’s no need to be a cunt just because you’re still jealous of Ruth Anne.”

  The spite in his voice reopened old hurts. Sure, when they were together Nick had been thoughtless. But since breaking up with her, he’d become almost cruel. It was so like him to turn things back on Tiffany, even when he was wrong. But she had to push through. She wouldn’t let Nick use her, she’d told herself, and she wasn’t going to
let him ruin her plan for self-improvement.

  In retrospect, Nick didn’t have to. The arrogant gym owner had done that.

  She’d felt utterly defeated when she’d arrived back home from the gym, her mood so foul that she’d uncharacteristically snapped at a neighborhood canvasing for a school fundraiser. Once inside, Tiffany had slammed her purse down on the coffee table, kicked off her shoes, changed her clothes, and headed to the kitchen. She stopped when she reached the refrigerator, telling herself that ice cream was not the answer. She could almost hear Dr. Coleman’s voice agreeing as she opened the freezer compartment.

  “When we crave comfort and have no one to comfort us, we often comfort ourselves. For you, Tiffany, food is comfort. Eating is how you self-soothe. I know your weight is a real issue for you, but you’re never going to get a handle on it if you don’t break the cycle.”

  She pushed the voice out of her head as she reached for the emergency pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey she’d stuffed behind the frozen broccoli and organic black bean burgers.

  She was furious with herself for losing her cool, but angrier at the audacity of the gorgeous gym owner who thought he could compliment her into a membership. He was a typical jerk, the kind Dr. Coleman had warned her to avoid.

  “There are people who will single out insecure people, Tiffany. They single them out, and they exploit them. Don’t be a victim, Tiffany. You need to empower yourself.”

  Tiffany plopped down on the sofa, wrapped herself in a blanket, and was about to pry the lid off her ice cream when her cell phone buzzed inside her purse. With an irritated sigh, she reached in and clicked the answer button as she put it to her ear.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Tiffany Barlow?”

  “Yes?”

  “I thought that was you. You have a very distinctive voice.” The speaker was male, his voice deep. Tiffany felt a knot of anger forming in her stomach. The nerve.