Page 7 of Sweet Venom

It's a fact that women are emotional beings. Girl time is essential. Female relationships are a crucial ingredient to health and happiness. We can share and connect with our girlfriends in ways that we never will with men. This gym is meant for women. This place is where we take our time back. Where we focus on ourselves, destress, and connect. I'm so damn passionate about this place. I can feel its soul and purpose in my veins.

As the last slide finishes and I turn to the men, I don't even get a chance to read their expressions before a heavier-set man in what looks to be his early fifties starts clapping.

"Young lady, that was great. I've been in construction my entire life and never looked beyond a blueprint. It's nice to see what the end product looks like, and I'll be damned if I don't want to be a woman just so I can check this place out." He elbows the guy to his right and adds, "Harris, what do you say we open a men-only gym?"

Harris laughs before saying, "Rich, your ass hasn't been to a gym in the past two decades."

Rich balks and smacks his chest in jest. "She said there would be a spa and coffee bar."

A bunch of the guys start laughing before Mark claps his hands. "Alright, alright. You guys know your tasks; get to work."

Everyone starts walking off to start their day as Mark comes over and clasps my shoulder. "When do we start work on the second location? This place is going to be a gold mine."

I don't even get a chance to reply before he heads off to start his work, leaving me standing in the middle of what will soon be the lobby of my new gym with a massive smile on my face. Going into this, I didn't have to give a sales pitch to a bunch of investors before I ventured down this path. No, I had the money in the bank to do it. So these men are literally the first to see and hear my plans, and their confidence in my endeavor is endorsement enough. I hadn't realized I needed someone's support and encouragement until this moment, and now I'm on top of the world.

* * *

"Hey, do you want to grab a coffee? There hasn't been much time to catch up." Tate asks as I pack my bag to head home for the day.

I've been on-site daily for the past week, and he's right; I don't know what I expected going into this project, but I didn't think my hands would be so full. I've insisted that Mark put me on the team. I've learned how to use a nail gun, cut and measure shit at the saw tables, and I plan on learning how to tape and mud drywall. All skills that could be useful working at a gym.

"Yeah, I was just about to head out. Do you need to wrap anything up here, or are you ready to go?"

His lips quirk up into a half smile as though he's pleased by my acceptance. That damn smile of his gets me every time. It's always so shy. "I'm always ready, especially if you're there."

I toss my backpack over my shoulder, and we head out the front doors and walk across the street to Roasters.

We've just grabbed a table in front of the gas fireplace when Tate asks, "Have you been working out at another gym for the past two months since I last saw you? You don't look like you've lost a day."

"Technically, I missed a week. I went back home for a little bit." I nervously fidget with the sleeve on my paper cup, as the mention of the word home leaves me feeling unsettled.

"Oh, I didn't realize you weren't from California. Where's home?"

"St. Louis, it's where my family and best girlfriend live. I just needed to clear my head. A lot of things happened over the last year, and I needed to figure out the direction for my life. I wasn't sure where I wanted to put down roots and what that even meant or looked like. I didn't have the most stable upbringing–" I cut myself off before the word vomit continues. I have no idea why I'm spilling everything to Tate. We are gym friends, and now work associates on some level. He doesn't need my life story.

"Why did you stop?"

He looks over his shoulder to where my eyes are absent-mindedly pinned on the store logo on the front window. I furrow my brow and glance at my cup, feeling uneasy discussing my personal life. He must sense my discomfort because he reaches across the table to hold my hand before saying, "Hey, look, I get that talking about pasts can be difficult. That wasn't my intent. I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."

"No, it's cool," I say as he pulls his hand away. However, my gaze lingers on it with longing. He notices and brings the same hand up to rest under his chin, flashing me one of his infamous boy next door smiles that warms my insides and earns my full attention.

In an attempt to brush off the feelings he brings forward, I add, "I'm sure I'm not the only one with shit parents." His smile quickly fades, and now I'm the one who feels sorry. "Crap, Tate, maybe we should just finish our coffees separately. Clearly, we are not good at this." I gesture between us before adding, "Whatever this is."

"A conversation?" He questions.

"Yeah, you say something, and then I say something. I'm pretty sure that qualifies, but we're both saying a whole lot of things neither of us cares to discuss."

"You're overanalyzing everything, Vi. I considered you a friend before you disappeared, and I consider you one now. Friends share without fear of judgment. You mentioned you had shit parents, and I'm sure a good majority of the population could probably relate to that statement. Just not me. I had great parents."

"Tate–" I reach across the table to reclaim his hand. "I'm so damn sorry. I have no words. My problems are trivial in comparison to someone with loss."

He squeezes my hand with his eyes cast down on the table. "There's no coming back from a loss. No chance to apologize, make amends and grow through the pain, but I also know that while some hurt does heal, the scar will always remain." Pulling in a stuttered breath, his thumb gently caresses the top of my hand before he adds, "I'm not judging you for the depth of your scars. I couldn't, when I'm the cause of my own."

That statement carried a lot of weight, but before I can respond, movement across the street steals my focus. That's when I see Sebastian's Range Rover parked outside of my gym. The driver-side window rolling up is what grabbed my attention. Was he watching me? I know he met a girl here the other day, so it's possible she works around here, but my gut tells me that's not the case. My eyes dart quickly between the car and Tate's beautiful face, and he notices.

"Is something wrong?"

"What? No, I'm sorry. I just thought I saw someone I knew, is all."

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