Page 17 of French Kiss

7

The Trainer

Later That Night

Cole Valley

It tookme a while to shower and get dressed, not because I had an outfit dilemma—this crowd would never judge me for what I wore—but because I couldn’t move very quickly. The Ultimate game had left me a little tired and a lot sore. It was the only exercise I’d gotten all week, and I was paying for my lack of fitness. It was all I could do to lift one leg and then the other to put on a pair of jeans and then bend at the waist to put on a pair of sandals.

Looking around, I felt a wave of sadness. Soon, I’d have to give up the best place I’d ever lived.

I’d lucked into this one-bedroom apartment on Stanyan Street, where a row of Edwardian buildings mainly offered three-bedroom apartments I’d never have been able to afford on my resident’s salary. Sometime in the past fifty years, someone had subdivided one of the flats and created a one-bedroom studio alongside a two-bedroom apartment. It was an attempt for a family to give their oldest son his own apartment while still keeping him close, at least according to the real estate broker. There could have been a hundred other explanations.

The studio that I subleased from the couple who lived in the two-bedroom apartment next door was an architectural gem on the top floor with a bay window that let in tons of light and afforded me sunrise views if I got up early enough. The two adjoining rooms were more like a single large subdivided space, one area of which became my bedroom. The other area, separated by a doorway with no door, served as kitchen, living room, office, and dining room.

I’d pushed a futon couch against one wall, installed a table with four chairs in the middle, and hung a small TV on one wall. I could study at the table or use the area for entertaining.

The one drawback of my living situation was the bathroom. There wasn’t one in the apartment.

The “fucking bathroom situation,” as Heidi termed it on her first visit, was located in a small hallway at the top of a set of stairs that served as the entryway to my apartment and that of my neighbors. They had two bathrooms of their own in their apartment, so they had no claim to mine. Yes, my bathroom was outside my front door, across the small landing, and locked with an old-fashioned key when not in use.

I kept the key hanging by my front door, and over time, I’d gotten used to tromping out my front door to use the bathroom. Since we lived on the top floor, no one else had reason to come up the stairs to our floor, so really, the only people I might pass on my way to the bathroom were my neighbors and any friends they might be entertaining. For those purposes, I made use of the peephole in my door to make sure the coast was clear before dashing across in only a bra and underwear.

Once I shut the door behind me, however, the bathroom was amazing, almost the size of my entire apartment, with pink painted walls and a claw-foot tub in the center, a separate white-tiled shower, and a pedestal sink with an antique mirror hanging above it, lit by a crystal chandelier that hung from a circle of roses etched into the ceiling plaster. I was normally not a pink-and-roses kind of person, but in that bathroom, they looked perfect.

I’d soak in that tub, music playing in the background to block out the occasional sound of my neighbors treading up the stairs and entering their own apartment. I’d learned that it wasn’t particularly relaxing to imagine them barging in after I’d forgotten to lock the door, so I always played music as a preventative measure.

Friday nights weren’t bath nights, however, so I showered as quickly as my wooden legs would allow and enjoyed a few moments in this apartment I loved. Its location could not have been better—it was right near Golden Gate Park and close to the medical center. I doubted I’d have that kind of luck when I moved to LA at the end of the summer for my job. But I could always hope.

My thoughts drifted to Maddox again and the image of him riding away on his bike. He’d winked at me as he rode by, which was not unusual for him, but as I thought of it, I couldn’t help feeling a flutter in my gut and a tinge of longing that wasn’t healthy.

If I was honest, nothing about my swelling interest in him was one hundred percent healthy.

For one thing, there was Jordan, whom I’d just started dating. I’d met him a couple months earlier at the gym on Haight Street, after a two slide down the slippery slope of stale cupcakes in the doctors’ lounge and post-call Moons Over My Hammy at Denny’s.

I knew from experience in med school that late or sleepless nights and my love of processed snacks were the death of me. I’d mostly fluctuated in residency, five pounds up, five down. But when a the third-year slow creep of ten pounds proved I had no willpower over jello cups and stale granola bars at midnight, I signed up for eight sessions with a personal fitness instructor, knowing that accountability was paramount to my success.

I needed a twenty-five-year-old muscle-head trainer to force me to come regularly to the gym if I was going to make any kind of a workout stick. I also knew that if he gave me a goal, the type A in me would do everything it could to exceed it.

It didn’t hurt my incentive that Jordan was cute.

The mental gymnastics had worked, and inside of the eight weeks, I’d not only coaxed my resistant self into a gym routine of weights and cardio, but I’d started dating Jordan as well.

He worked late on Friday nights, so there was no conflict when I told him I was going to hang with my residency friends. But I’d agreed to stop by and see him. The gym was right near Heidi’s apartment and I’d promised to drop off a book he wanted to borrow. My legs groaned as I walked down the stairs. I knew Jordan would give me a hard time if I complained that one Ultimate game made me sore, so I worked the kinks out of my legs on the short walk to the gym.

Dressed in track pants and a tank top, Jordan met me outside. I handed him The Way of the Warrior, which I’d read years earlier and had described to him on our last date.

“Thanks, babe.”

“How’s your day going?”

“Better now,” he said, pulling me in for a kiss. I was still deciding how I felt about Jordan but so far, so good. Easy. Uncomplicated. That was perfect for me.

“I’m so sorry, but…” He only had a short break.

“I know. It’s fine. I’m meeting people. “

“Right, right. Okay, have fun. Call you later.” One more kiss, then he thanked me for the book and went back inside.

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