Work For It
Ashley Bostock
Copyright © 2019 by Ashley Bostock
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, and/or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and owners of various products references in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of any and all trademarks in this work of fiction are not authorized or in any way associated with, or sponsored by the owners of said trademarks.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-948402-10-1
Work For It
Written by Ashley Bostock
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Photography: Eric Battershell Photography
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Cover Model: Dominic Vitrano
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Cover Design: Bookin’ It Designs
If you can’t stop thinking about it, don’t stop working on it. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.
Contents
Not To Miss!
Dylan Truex Exclusive Interview
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Ashley’s Playlist
Not To Miss!
Also by Ashley Bostock
About the Author
Not To Miss!
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Dylan Truex Exclusive Interview
1.Do you prefer a suit or jeans and a t-shirt?
Jeans and t-shirt. Although I look pretty damn good in a suit.
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2.What’s your go-to adult beverage?
Whiskey
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3.Are you an early riser or do you sleep in?
Early riser
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4.Top or bottom?...or behind?
Girl on back and me standing or with her legs around her shoulders until she squirts.
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5.Favorite movie quote?
Maximum Effort from Deadpool. Too many people half-ass everything.
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6.First thing you notice about a woman
Her smile
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7.Work out then sex OR sex then work out?
Sex is a workout so you got a two-for-one special right there.
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8.If your life was a movie, what song would be on the soundtrack?
Get off on the pain by Gary Allan
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9.Are you a tits or ass kind of guy?
Ass guy
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10.Do you prefer matching bra and panties on a woman?
They don’t have to match. I like those cheeky bottoms. It’s really the ass that makes the underwear. Know what I mean?
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11. Finish this sentence: Business is __________.
Booming
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12. Do you post pics of you and your dates on social media?
Never on the first date. If it was going well, then sure.
Chapter One
“Make sure she pronounces his last name correctly. True-x, not True-oh. The x is not silent, for God’s sake.” Cam, Dylan’s personal assistant, told the older woman. Dylan was doing a television interview, and by the look on the older woman’s face, Dylan was sure she knew by now that his last name was pronounced True-x. Although, in Cam’s defense, Dylan was also aware that there were people who pronounced it the latter.
“I know it’s Truex. I’ve personally followed Mr. Truex’s rise to fame and fortune for the past few years. I get it.”
Cam nodded and motioned for Dylan to sit on the large boulder on set. They weren’t actually going to be outside filming. It was a set made to look as if they were. It wasn’t exactly summer weather yet. In fact, there was a storm supposed to be moving in tonight over the mountains and Dylan could only think of other places he’d rather be than where he was.
The interview was set to air in another month—just in time for the weather to clear—and show people what types of fitness activities they could do outside. A small clip for the morning show. The producer was a friend of his dad’s so Dylan had no problem doing the ten-minute spot, answering a few questions and showing viewers some quick outdoor repetitions.
“Alright, we’re going to record in five—”
Someone smoothed a make-up brush over Dylan’s face, blotting away moisture, and he straightened his posture, ready for the cameras to roll and even more ready to get back home and hit the gym.
Dylan finished his last repetition and set the barbells back onto the rack and wiped the sweat away from his forehead. Wanting to quit, he forced himself to a couple reps of box jumps before he called it a day.
Workout complete.
He held his phone out, being sure to line up his six-pack and sweat-drenched face—even his close-cropped brown hair—within the screen of his phone before snapping a photo. Not liking an errant misplaced hair from his beard from the first one, he snapped a second selfie and immediately posted it to social media. Nothing beats a day at the gym. #dirtygains. #guyswholift. #workforit. Then the other standard tags that were associated with his fitness empire.
He smiled at the immediate onslaught of comments and likes that blew up his feed before he stowed his phone back into his shorts pocket and headed for the shower. Dylan had no problem smiling for the camera or convincing people to follow his workout regimen. He’d recently released a fitness program tailored to women, thanks to Jillian’s mouthy sister Arabella, and to give her credit, it was on fire.
Problem was, Dylan was beyond burnt out.
Not from working out per se. Okay, kinda. Working out was in his blood. It was a part of him as much as his heart was a part of him. His body and his mind thrived on the endorphins he got from being at the gym. He didn’t need a break from the gym, he needed a break from reality. What he was burnt out on was his celebrity status. What happened to the good old days of going to the gym and enjoying his workout? Now, he was such big news that everyone expected him to go to the gym, post all this positive crap and look toward him for inspiration.
The pressure was slowly kil
ling him.
Literally.
His doctor warned him that at thirty-five, his probability of having a stress-related heart attack was well-above the average for his age. Going so far as to putting him on medication. But how could he stop his life? This was his empire. Not only that, he loved the inspiration he gave people. Likes and comments were second nature even if he was exhausted. Yes, his friends gave him crap about his conceitedness, but hey.
Every woman wanted him.
Some men too.
The women went wild when he posted a pic of his v-line aka iliac furrow. The tight external oblique’s of his lower half near his hips that formed the shape of a V. Some men claimed they had it. But Dylan, he had it. It was pronounced and firm and deep. And led to bigger things. #VLine or sometimes just #TheV sent women into overdrive. So much so that even he couldn’t believe what kind of comments he was reading, left on his posts by horny-ass women.
He shed his shorts, briefly allowing his fingertips to tread over the prominent muscle before he stepped into the scalding shower. Celeb status wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Sure, it had its moments where the food, booze and women came easily. In the beginning that was all he looked forward to along with the attention. He loved the attention.
Enjoying the gym made it that much easier for him. He was blessed. He got that. He knew the majority of his followers struggled with their weight and commitments to working out. He understood that for them it was a large part of their life—a daily struggle—to lose weight or to feel and be fit.
He knew they were vying to look like him. Which was why all the social media crap was important. It was a large part of his career. It was separate from the videos. It was part of what made his career. Dylan Truex with the Blue Verified checkmark? Hells yeah.
Sure, his biggest fitness program to date was his Work For It 60 day challenge where he offered daily tips and videos sent straight to a person’s inbox. Subscribers also received the complete series on DVD to work out with from home. If they opted out of the DVD, they were able to stream everything straight from their smart phone with his members-only area. Most people his age and younger opted for the streaming.
Dylan gently pounded his head against the tile inside the shower as the scalding water dripped down his back. Social media was his life. His platform. His entire world. How could he ever have a break?
As he scrubbed the bar of soap all over his body, a light bulb went off in his head. Estes Park, Colorado. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He actually had Regina—Dylan’s good friend Michael Vilander’s grandmother—to thank for that as she mentioned in passing yesterday that she was taking her friends Lance and Vance to the Stanley. That reminded him of when about a year ago he’d rented out an amazing condo that sat along the river just a few miles west of downtown Estes and he’d never felt more relaxed since starting his fitness empire.
He hadn’t been alone then. He’d rented it with his friends Justin Hollinsworth and Zander Morgan. They’d spent Memorial Day weekend fishing and drinking like most bachelors did. Cole and Michael had rented the cabin next to them when they were also bachelors—which they no longer were. A pity for them.
Dylan swore it was in the sugar cookies Michael’s grandmother, Regina, made for them. Every time one of his friends ate one, they ended up in bed for two weeks with a lady and then next thing he knew, they were a solidified couple. He steered clear of those cookies, tempting as they were. That was the last thing he needed. Talk about stress levels. A woman for good? That’d surely kill him.
Excited about the Estes Park getaway, Dylan shut the shower off in haste. His mind was made up. He was renting out that condo and staying in Estes for two weeks. Hell, maybe three. He wasn’t so far away from Denver that he couldn’t come back in case of an emergency. But he was far enough away to simply chill.
All by himself.
He sent a text to Justin asking for the contact info for the condo. He’d have Cam book it for him so no one would know where he’d be for the next few weeks. With all of his loose ends tied up and his mind sold on the idea, Dylan began to pack for the mountains.
Coat. Gloves. Hat. Boots. Snow pants. Regular pants. Plenty of sweat-wicking shirts as well as all his shirts that kept the heat in. He packed all his toiletries. He was good to go.
The second Justin sent him the contact info, he dialed Cam, who answered on the first ring. He always did.
“Cam. I need you to do something for me,” Dylan said in a hurry.
“Anything,” Cam replied.
“I just sent you the contact info. Can you book the condo for two weeks for me? I need to go off the grid for a while.”
“What do you mean go off the grid?” Panic turned Cam’s generally smooth voice into a screeching one. “Like no contact whatsoever? Or do you mean just a vacation and you can still post shit?”
“I need a break. A vacation. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll post when I can. You can handle everything while I’m gone, right? I don’t have shows that I’m set to record in the next month. You should be good.” Dylan reassured Cam because one, Cam always needed reassuring—he was an excellent assistant and worried constantly—and two, this was the best time to do this if he really wanted to get away. Just after the holidays Estes Park would be empty.
“You have to promise me I’ll be able to contact you in case I need anything. And where the hell is this cabin?” Cam asked.
“It’s not a cabin. That sounds so…woodsy. It’s a condo. On the river. In Estes Park.” Dylan heard Cam’s sigh of relief at knowing Dylan wasn’t going that far off the grid.
“Alright. Estes Park is manageable.” Dylan could hear the tapping sounds coming from Cam’s phone. “The temp there right now is a high of thirty. It’s going to be below eighteen degrees tonight. Feels like six,” Cam rambled. “Snow is in the forecast. An eighty percent chance of snow in the next two hours. You realize that little river you’re talking about has a good chance of being frozen, right?”
Dylan threw in a few hand and foot warmers he managed to scrounge from a junk drawer in his kitchen.
“Can you manage to get a snow mobile delivered to me up there? I want the fastest they got. It’ll be fine. Who knows? Maybe once I stock up on food and drink, I won’t have to go anywhere. Which is exactly what I need. Oh, and throw in some attire—goggles—shit like that with the snow mobile.”
Dylan ran back into his room, rummaging through drawers looking for his stocking cap. Spotting the camouflage print, he picked it up. Perfect. An N was etched onto the front. It stood for his favorite college football team. He tried it on. Still fit and a glance at his dresser mirror, confirmed he still looked good in it.
He didn’t normally wear anything on his head, so he was grateful the stocking cap still fit. Just one less thing he’d have to get on his drive up the mountains.
“Snowmobile. Sure. Dylan, I don’t like this. I prefer you stay somewhere that has a reliable internet connection. Dude, what if there’s a snow storm and you get stuck there?” Cam asked in a serious tone.
Dylan chuckled. “Then I’d say my goal to take a break would be complete. And it works perfectly with the bet that is harder than it sounds to keep. One more week left.” Making a no-sex-for-eight-months bet with his friend Cole Carrington wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done. If Dylan won, Cole had to pay up. Fifty Grand. And vise-versa. Not if, when. When Dylan won. He sighed. “Look, I need this. You know what the doctor said. I have to figure out a way to de-stress.” Because there was no way he was telling his assistant, hell, anyone, that he was burnt out too. That he couldn’t for the life of him produce another great idea to keep Dirty Gains fresh. So yeah, de-stressing. Just go with it. He liked the tale he was spinning. The longer it stayed with him, the better it was spun and the more he was liking his fabled story.
“Dylan, you can de-stress in Denver where there are real gyms – your gyms. Running paths. Christ, snow plows. You don’t have to go into the mountains
.”
While he didn’t agree with Cam’s point on staying in Denver, he did need a gym. He couldn’t go more than a day without hitting the gym, let alone for two weeks. It was best to assume there wasn’t any workout equipment in the condo, and with that assumption, Dylan went into his home gym and pulled a few dumbbells off the racks, setting them next to his suitcase.
He grabbed a large kettle bell, a yoga mat—not that he did yoga, but it was always nice not to slide around the floor depending on what he was working on—a jump rope and his resistance band and body bar.
Perfect.
“Estes isn’t some backwards hillbilly town, Cam. I’m sure there are plenty of snowplows. And I do have to go to the mountains. I need to get away. I’m packing a portable gym right now. Call the condo owners and text me back with the details, will ya?”
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