Page 2 of Christmas with my Three Best Friends

I walk past Marius, Jax, and Richard, feeling their eyes on me in a manner that’s got my senses twirling and my nerves stretching beyond their limits. This isn’t how I imagined I’d be starting the week, yet it is precisely what I must contend with, for some reason.

“See you guys later, then,” I say and dive right into my office. Once I’m in my sacred space, I give myself a minute to just breathe.

A couple of years ago, I was fresh out of college and still trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Crossing paths with Marius was the first of life’s gifts. My heart was broken, and I was doubting my own reality in the wake of a failed relationship when he took me on as his client. He was working at another gym at the time. I still smile as I remember our first sessions. I was so slow and clumsy.

Then Richard came along with his business mind and oodles of ambition. I had so much to learn from the guy. Heck, I’m still learning. When Jax joined our pack, things at that gym were already starting to go sideways. By the time we decided to go into business together, they had seen me at my worst, they had supported me through my weight loss journey, and they had been my rocks, every step of the way. Working together simply made sense.

I glance out the window, admiring the Seattle skyline in broad daylight—glistening skyscrapers and busy roads under a blue sky with barely a tuft of white cloud. Autumns are usually gloomier and wetter in the Pacific Northwest, but I welcome the sunny mornings and never miss the rain. I work better when it’s dry and warm outside. Throw in a bit of sunshine, and I’m the frickin’ Energizer Bunny.

Once I feel ready, I take a seat behind my desk and open my laptop. The guys said I should check my email, so I do just that, my pulse racing as I find… nothing.

“What the…”

I see emails from other coaches and fitness supplement distributors, gym equipment service specialists, and our marketing manager. Nothing to draw my eye, however, nor to explain my partners’ behavior from earlier. This doesn’t make sense, so I text Richard to ask what I should be looking for, specifically, in my email inbox. His reply is swift, and I can’t help but read it aloud.

Check your outbox, he replies.

I do so and notice my email from last night. I sent it to Marius, Jax, and Richard, and it’s about some new nutritional plans for their clients. Curious, I go over it again, checking the email body carefully. I mention the adjusted caloric values, the focus on their macro-nutrients—specifically protein, my usual ramblings about paying more attention to fiber and not skipping carbs. I’ve done this so many times, including on myself, that I fail to see anything noteworthy or out of the ordinary.

But then I see the email attachment. It’s a word document, but not the one I meant to send from my home computer. Heat explodes in my chest as I recognize the file. It was on my desktop screen, next to the latest nutritional plans that were supposed to go with this message.

“Oh, shit,” I manage, beads of sweat covering my face. “Shit, shit, shit.”

In anticipation of Christmas later next month and after a hilarious conversation with my best friend and pseudo-therapist Cassandra, I put together a sort of “naughty list” to blow off some steam. It’s been six months since I’ve been with anyone. A broken heart can really mess a girl up, especially one like me—a virgin, still, much to my surprise… So, Cassandra thought it would be a good idea to write down my craziest, dirtiest fantasies, if only to cool my head off and clear my mind. I guess my body has been trying to tell me some things. The problem is that at the very top of this list, this wretched “naughty list”, is my deepest, darkest desire, written in all caps.

A STEAMY FOURSOME WITH MARIUS, JAX, AND RICHARD. I WANT THEM TO SHARE ME AND TAKE ME EVERY WHICH WAY UNTIL I SCREAM.

Thus, I wrote it, thus it was saved in the document. I wasn’t supposed to send the damned thing last night, though. It was supposed to be private. What the hell was wrong with my eyes that I ended up shooting myself in the foot?

The guys have no idea about how I feel about them, how I sometimes fantasize about them. There are days when it’s hard to even be around them—hot men who take care of themselves and who keep my heart sacred and protected against a world that sometimes seeks to hurt me. They picked me up when I was down. They nursed my soul back to health when Vincent broke it. They’ve been by my side since day one, and now… Now, they know what I’ve been dreaming about.

My face burns crimson. I am not sure how I’m even breathing at this point. I might pass out.

I can’t unsend this message. They’ve already seen it. Read it.

“Well, that explains the looks,” I whisper to myself.

How do I fix this? Hell, what do I tell them? That it was a prank? Nah, there’s too much inflammatory stuff on the list, and they know me well enough to ascertain the list’s authenticity on their own. Not that I ever talked about these things with them, but I’m pretty sure some of this might’ve slipped through a conversation here and there, in one form or another. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, just our regular banter, yet here I sit, shaking like a leaf and trying to go over everything I’ve ever said, trying to retrace my steps from last night… wondering where my head was when I added the wrong attachment to an otherwise super-professional email.

“How am I ever going to live this down?”

I don’t have an answer, just a mountain of anxiety as I think of the moment when I’m going to have to face them again. Oh, God, I need a disaster, some kind of distraction. Maybe a catastrophe. Anything big and cataclysmic enough to spare me the utter humiliation of having to walk out of my office and face my business partners, fully aware of my titanic blunder.

The door opens, and it’s as if the universe has heard my prayer and has decided to screw me over even more. Marius comes in, his big brown eyes wide and strangely warm. He’s not alone, though. Lyle, one of our personal trainers, is with him. I breathe a sigh of relief, understanding this is a professional encounter.

“Hey, Shay,” Marius says. “Lyle and I were talking about implementing a new fitness and cardio routine in the evening, Monday to Friday, and we wanted to know if you’d like to provide any new customers with personalized meal plans.”

“Sure, what were you thinking about, specifically?” I ask, my voice high-pitched and creaky with embarrassment.

Lyle smiles broadly—the man is the size of a refrigerator and just as smart, covered in tattoos and piercings. A good guy all around, despite his threatening exterior. I’m sure his wife first fell for his eyes, though. Giant blue-green saucers and a boyish smile to perfectly compliment them. It wasn’t his dazzling, non-existent personality. “We got a lot of ladies, mostly, coming in every evening and messing with the weights without understanding what they should be doing to get the best results.”

“Or how they should be doing it,” Marius adds. “They’re not sure they want full personal trainer programs, either, and it’s not like we can force them to sign up. Besides, I’m already packed, and Lyle barely has a couple of open hours left. So we thought we’d book an hour between seven and eight PM every Monday through Friday and have as many folks come in as possible. We could use the second gym room for this. We’ve got mirrors all over the walls and enough weights and dumbbells for them to work with.”

“We wanna mix weight training with light cardio. Marius and I will combine the sets and movements into something that’s easy for them to follow, and we’re thinking we could get up to twenty or thirty of them to sign up,” Lyle says.

Marius nods. “And we would also like to give them a sign-up option that includes a personalized meal plan for an entire month. You’d have to meet with each of them individually, like you usually do, and assess their wants and needs… So, if you could think of a price per plan, Lyle and I could go ahead and devise the messaging for our reception and marketing staff.”

“That sounds good,” I reply. “Sure, I can put something together. When do you need an answer from me?”

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