Within This Frame

by Zart, Lindy

  “Tell me how a usual day goes for you,” he pressed, eyes on her.

  “Um . . .” Maggie played with her ponytail, careful to keep her gaze trained to the left of him. “I get up, eat, ya know, do stuff . . .” she trailed off, swallowing thickly.

  The silence grew, full of unsaid observations and awkward tension.

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “No,” Maggie snapped. “I can’t.” Instantly remorseful for being snippy, she supplied, “Okay. So. I don’t do much. Okay? Like, anything, really. Judge away.”

  “Maggie.”

  She finally looked at him, fighting the urge to run from the room and out of the house, even if it was hers. She wanted to get away from him, especially when she saw the understanding on his face.

  “I’m not judging you. I’m here to help you. I have to know your history to know where to start, that’s all.”

  Nodding, she took a deep breath. “All right. I don’t get much physical activity. I go for walks, occasionally, but nothing routine. I never use any of the stuff in this room. Well, maybe, like, once every six months.”

  Lance blinked, but quickly hid his expression by focusing on the paper he held. “What are your fitness goals?”

  That one she knew.

  “I don’t want to be skinny—I want to be strong.”

  He nodded in approval, and it was sad how pleased she was by that.

  “With your history as it is, you have to be careful,” he remarked, blazing her with the intensity of his eyes. “There’s a line between healthy and unhealthy, and you don’t want to cross it.” Not again, remained silent.

  “Don’t lecture me.”

  “I’m not. I said my piece, and I won’t mention it again. Fair enough?”

  She rubbed her forehead. “Yeah. Fair enough.”

  “Height?”

  “Five feet three inches.”

  “Weight?”

  Maggie hedged, not wanting him to know the fatal number on the scale.

  Lance sighed and placed his hands on the back of his head. He leveled his gaze on her. “Did you know,” he began conversationally. “That muscle is denser than fat? You can weigh the same as someone else, but look bigger or smaller, depending on the amount of muscle you have. Muscle is good. Your weight is a number. It has no bearing on your fitness level.”

  “Except my fitness level is non-existent.”

  “Not for long.” He dropped his hands and resumed his brisk manner. “Weight?”

  “One hundred and fifty-two pounds,” she mumbled, crossing her arms and dropping her gaze to her blue and white shoes.

  He paused, seeming undecided, and then said, “Technically speaking, you’re not that overweight for your height and age. A solid ten to fifteen pounds off and better eating and exercising habits and you’ll be set.”

  “If what you weigh doesn’t matter, why do you keep acting like it does?”

  “It matters, of course, but not as much as people think. People also think it’s all about the cardio. Cardio is important, but strength training is more important. Cardio burns calories, but strength training burns fat and builds muscle. Make sense?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, let’s measure you,” he said, acting like she hadn’t spoken.

  “Lance.”

  “Yes?”

  “This is not my idea of fun.” She moved over to where he stood.

  A faint smile brightened his face. “I know, Maggie, but you’ll thank me later—or not,” he added at the dubious look she sent his way. “Trust me, once you get into the routine of it, you’ll miss it if you don’t do it. You’ll feel empowered, invincible, and you’ll want to do it every day.”

  “In other words, I’ll feel just like you on any given day,” she mocked.

  “Exactly.” He roughly spun her around. “Lift your arms above your head.”

  She did, staring at their reflection in the mirror. It was like looking at the two of them, fast-forwarded and aged from when they were teens. Maggie never thought she’d be standing so close to him again, let alone have him in her house. He’d gotten taller since the show. Where he’d once had four or five inches on her, it was closer to seven or eight. It wasn’t like she hadn’t somewhat kept track of him through the years, but seeing someone on television was different from seeing them in person.

  Lance tugged her top up once more.

  “Why do you insist on seeing my stomach?” she grumbled, hands holding up the shirt.

  He ignored her, arms going around her torso to meet above her bellybutton. Maggie froze. Lance looked up, meeting her gaze in the mirror. If not for the horrified look on her face, it would be easy to believe they were intimate, with the way he was wrapped around her. Something cold touched her skin and she jumped. Lance smiled and his head disappeared from view. Holding the body measuring tape to her frame, he walked to the front of her, the bendable plastic gliding along her skin with him.

  “This is the proper spot to measure. At the juncture of your natural waist,” he said quietly.

  She was imagining the faint roughness to his deep voice, not to mention the way his fingers lingered on her skin. It was all in her head, obviously.

  Lance bent down to read the tape, putting his dark head disturbingly close to her breasts. Her fingers curled, wanting to touch his silky hair. She didn’t trust herself around him. Next thing she knew, she’d be begging him to seduce her. They’d run through that scenario before. His hair brushed her skin as he straightened and she swallowed. He wrote a number on the paper and told her to remove her shirt.

  “Again?” she whined, but obliged when his blank expression didn’t change. “Is this essential?”

  “Lift your arms,” Lance directed.

  Maggie raised her arms above her head.

  “That’s too high. Like this.” He adjusted her arms so that they hovered at shoulder-length.

  Lance took another measurement, this one around her breasts. She sucked in a sharp breath when one of his fingers grazed the slope of her breast as he stepped away. He was quick to avert his face, but she caught the smile.

  “You’re having way too much fun with this.”

  “Yes, I am,” he agreed.

  He went on to measure her biceps, neck, hips, and each thigh, his face directly in front of a place that would remain unnamed. She held perfectly still during that, not even wanting to breathe. Then she began to wonder why he didn’t move for so long. When he abruptly stood and turned away, she thought she understood, although the thought was implausible. Him, turned on by her, in her present state? Not likely. It was more probable that he got a cramp in his leg.

  The next hour was spent going through her cupboards and refrigerator. Maggie wanted to weep as the pile of food to donate grew and grew, and the pile of food to keep remained abysmally small.

  “There are good fats and bad fats. This—” Lance shook a bag of potato chips in front of her face. Maggie swiped at it with her hand, but he pulled it out of reach. “—is a bad fat.” He tossed it into the pile of food that she was no longer allowed to eat whenever she felt like it.

  “What are good fats?” Her tone was snarky. She didn’t care.

  Lance trained his gaze on her. “Nuts and seeds, avocados, salmon, olives, peanut butter, and most oils.”

  “So all the things I don’t like. Wonderful.”

  “You know what?” Lance looked at the counter laden with all the delicious food. “Let’s take your car and drop this stuff off at the church. We’ll make a stop at the sports store before the grocery store and then come back to start your training. You can walk on the treadmill today.”

  It all sounded like too much work, and not in the least bit desirable. “I am regretting this more and more.”

  He slammed a hand on the countertop, causing Maggie to jump. Lance put his face at eyelevel with hers and stared into her soul with dark, malicious eyes. “Enough with the comments. I don’t want to waste my time on someone who isn’t serious abou
t getting healthy. I don’t need your money that bad. Either you’re in this, or you aren’t. Which is it?”

  Maggie stared back, startled by the outburst. The longer she looked into his unflappable gaze, the more she realized he was right. It was her idea, and although Lance wasn’t her first choice as a personal trainer, she had to cut him some slack and let him do his job. Moaning and carrying on wasn’t helping anyone—not her, not him.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry,” she said, the words thick and bitter in her mouth. “I’ll stop complaining.”

  A smile took over the stony expression, and he straightened. “Well, you are allowed to complain a little.”

  As they walked out the front door, both with a box of food in their arms, Lance looked at her and said, “This isn’t something minor. You need to be in it one hundred percent, or it isn’t worth it. Every time you go to eat or drink something, you have to think about what you’re about to put in your body. It’s a lifestyle change, and you should be ready for that. All right?”

  “All right, Coach,” she joked, bumping her shoulder to his when his eyebrows lowered.

  “Coach,” he said softly, testing out the word. “I like it.” Lance puffed out his chest and jabbed his thumb at it. “That’s right. I’m in charge.”

  “As long as I continue to pay you, you’re in charge, you mean,” she said with a lifted eyebrow.

  Lance tugged at her ponytail with his free hand, causing shivers to cascade down her arms. “You’ll pay me, one way or another.”

  That sounded erotically threatening, and she wondered if he would demand payment in kisses, a thought that would usually make her scowl at a memory, but that time, made her smile.

  ***

  Lance ushered her into the first sports store they came across in the strip mall. The store was warmer than necessary and smelled like feet. Rows and rows of clothing were set up throughout, shoes lining one wall. Hard rock music played, making Maggie twitch with the need to angrily storm around the place.

  He grabbed random articles of clothing, throwing them her way. “Let me see these when you have them on.”

  “You don’t even know what size I am,” she said, putting back the clothes.

  “Oh, but I do,” he said near her ear. “You’re a size sexy.”

  Maggie stepped back with a frown on her face, divided between laughing and hitting him. “Why would I need to show you anyway? I know what fits me and what doesn’t.”

  “It’s part of the job.”

  “Really?” A thought came to her. “How many of your clients are women?”

  “About sixty percent.”

  She nodded. “And how many of them have to go clothes shopping with you?”

  Lance’s eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re getting at.”

  “Think so?”

  “You’re implying that I have unprofessional relationships with my female clients.”

  “Do you?” She lifted an eyebrow.

  “Only with you.” He winked.

  Maggie snorted. “I wouldn’t doubt your idea of doing your job is seeing how many of your clients you can sleep with.”

  “Does this include all one hundred percent of them, or just the sixty percent that are actually women?”

  “Whatever floats your boat.”

  “Bad choice of words. Brings up a horrible visual,” he added in a mutter at her look, tossing more pants and tops at her. “Try these on and then come out.”

  Maggie caught them against her chest. “Why can’t I have one of the workers let me know if they fit? Why does it have to be you?”

  “Like that worker?” He nodded to a tall, gangly blond who was picking his nose. As they watched, he wiped his hand on his shorts and went in for another dig.

  Maggie cringed.

  Lance turned to her. “You really want that horny, nose-picking teenager to be groping you?”

  “As opposed to you?”

  “I’ll only grope a little.” At her look, he grinned. “I’ll make sure you like it too.”

  Maggie turned on her heel and stomped for the fitting rooms. She took off her shirt and shorts, then grabbed the first top. It was a size extra-small. She made a sound of disbelief.

  “Everything okay in there?” Lance called, sounding thoroughly happy with himself.

  Maggie checked another top. It was an extra-extra-large. Scowling, she hurriedly went through the rest of the clothes. Out of the ten garments, two tops and one pair of exercise shorts were actually her size.

  “Need some help?”

  “I do, actually.”

  “Open the door and I’ll gladly assist.”

  “I bet you would,” she muttered, swooping up all the outfits into her arms. Maggie said in a louder voice, “Can you stand by the door so I can give you something that doesn’t fit?”

  “Okay. I’m here. What do you n—”

  She threw all the clothes over the top of the door, hoping they all landed on his head. Through the space between the bottom of the door and the floor, she watched with satisfaction as a rainbow of clothes formed around his tennis shoes.

  “I guess they don’t fit,” he said calmly.

  “No. I guess they don’t. If you’d actually looked at the sizes, you would have known that.”

  “Are you naked right now?”

  “Tell you what,” she purred from inside the small clothing room as she looked with displeasure at her image in the mirror. “I’ll get naked, when you get naked.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  With irritation burning through her, Maggie grabbed a shirt that actually fit and chucked it over the top of the door.

  “Are we getting naked then?” he asked after a pause.

  Maggie tugged on her shirt and shorts, unlocked the door, and slammed a palm against it, smiling slightly when the door hit Lance in the shoulder. “Why are you standing so close to the door?”

  “I thought maybe I’d acquire x-ray vision if I stared at the door long enough,” he said, rubbing his shoulder.

  “Did it work?”

  “The results are inconclusive. I was still working on it when you hit me with the door.”

  “Lance,” Maggie said, looking out the window of the store. The parking lot was filling up with people and their vehicles. “I think I can manage to pick out clothes that properly fit me.”

  Eyeing her chest, Lance shook his head. “I’m having doubts about that. Remember the nipple death trap you were trying to pawn off as a bra?”

  Maggie walked to the nearest rack of shirts, rifling through them before choosing one in her size. With Lance following, she found a pair of shorts, and a sports bra. Lifting her eyebrows at him, she stepped back into the fitting room, unclothed, put on the athletic garb, and swung the door open. Exercise clothes were great for giving the appearance of being slimmer in certain areas of the physique, but that fat had to go somewhere. Maggie’s stomach and hips were overly rounded at the moment.

  She strode out, met his eyes as she struck a pose, turned around, and did the same before facing him again. “Well?”

  He rubbed his jaw as he walked a circle around her, Maggie rolling her eyes when his met hers. Laughter danced within the blue depths of them. The Lance before her seemed more carefree than the one of younger years—or he’d become a better actor. Everyone changed as they got older, but did they really change that much? She wondered in what ways Lance had, and in what ways he hadn’t.

  “I think I need to see one more before I can give a definitive answer.” At her scowl, he laughed and held up his hands, palms out. “I’m kidding. They look good. How’s the bra?” He reached out a hand and she slapped it away.

  “It fits just fine. It’s tight enough to be supportive but also comfortable.”

  “Even if you’re running? Maybe you should try it out, jog in place a bit, jump up and down. I’ll watch, give my qualified opinion.” Lance gave her a cheeky grin.

  Maggie picked out two more outfits, bras, socks, and a pai
r of tennis shoes. At a department store next door, she got basic, sturdy underwear. Once she had the appropriate apparel, and a heart monitor calorie tracker thing Lance insisted she needed that she was sure she didn’t, they left the strip mall and headed toward the grocery store down the road.

  Lance drove her Camry like it was his, pulling the vehicle into the parking lot of ‘Gramp’s’, a local, privately owned grocery store. They spent an hour in the store, and Maggie spent a load of money as well.

  More than once she complained, “Why is healthy food so expensive?” It was like the world wanted everyone to be fat. Three apples cost more than a meal at a fast food restaurant. He gave her a pat on the head as she pushed the cart stocked with food out of the store, his attention elsewhere. When he stiffened next to her, then just as quickly relaxed, she looked in the direction he was.

  “What is it?” Maggie demanded, even as she noticed the two women. Both brunette, seeming to be in their early forties, they stood near a car in the parking lot, first gawking at them—or more specifically, Lance—and then talking to one another. Their expressions were equally excited and fearful, which was a common look for fans.

  She gestured to them. “Better get to it. You know you’ll make their day if you sign something.”

  “Day?” He glanced over his broad shoulder at her as he strode for them. “More like infinite days, or even their whole existence.”

  She couldn’t deny that, and with a much slower pace than Lance, Maggie pushed the cart in their direction. She watched as Lance hugged them both quickly, their squeals and chatter reaching her as she closed the distance. He’d always been more comfortable around fans than Maggie. She felt weird even saying she had them. It didn’t seem natural to idolize another person, flawed and mortal as they were.

  One of them said something to Lance. He went still, then shook his head. The woman’s face fell and she looked behind him to Maggie. Her steps slowed, and she knew she wasn’t going to like whatever awaited her. They all turned their attention to her.

  “Hello,” Maggie greeted softly.

  Her hands were taken by one of the ladies and tightly squeezed. “Maggie Smiley,” she breathed. “It’s so great to meet you. I—we’re—both huge fans of ‘Easier Said’. I watch reruns of it all the time.”