Page 4 of My Young Alpha Daddy

‘Keep fucking going, you’ve got this,’ I roar, making sure to be ready to help my client push out the final two reps of his super-heavy set. ‘You’ve got two more left in you. Keep going…. keep going… hell yeah!’

I take the heavy barbell from my client and re-rack it.

The private apartment block gym is among the nicest I’ve been in.

And that’s saying something seeing as I work as a personal trainer to plenty of super-wealthy people from all walks of life here in the city.

Housewives, businesspeople, actors, and models too.

If someone wants to get in shape, I’m the trainer for them.

I might only be twenty-eight, but I’ve already lived out my dream career as a tennis pro.

I was good too, a real baller.

Like,seriouslygood.

Top twenty ranked in the world at my peak and won a few major titles kinda good.

But all good things come to an end.

And when my knee went nuclear for the fourth time in two seasons, I knew it was time to think of moving on.

Being a personal trainer has its ups and downs, but seeing a client achieve a new personal best or successfully achieve a longer-term goal is one hell of a feeling, pretty much the best thing in the world.

Is it better than sex? Maybe not.

Is it better than paddling a peachy little butt? No – but then what in the name of New York City is?

But all I can say is that when a client is happy with their progress, it gives me one hell of a kick.

Sadly, not all clients are easy to work with. And this client is one of the less appealing clients that I come across...

‘I should be lifting heavier,’ the guy says, already uploading a photo of himself posing in the mirror of his private gym onto Instagram. ‘You need to increase my progress.’

Jeez.

I should tell this client to go to hell, but I’ll keep it at a quick eyeroll instead.

Some people are never happy.

I’ve taken this cocky twenty-two-year-old male model from a super-slim, could barely lift his own arm kinda vibe andtransformed him into a pretty impressively lean athletic looking guy.

And he’s still not ready to acknowledge my work or even say thank you at the end of a session.

Whatever.

Maybe I’ll have to magically discover my schedule is too full to see him again. See how he likes that.

‘Hey, are you even listening?’ the arrogant young boy says. ‘I said I want to be ripped like a young Brad Pitt. Andyouneed to get me there ready for Summer season.’

‘Hey, sure, I’ll work on a plan,’ I say, mentally making my mind up that this is the last time I’ll be working with this asshole. ‘I need to bounce now. More clients to see.’

I don’t stick around to hear any more whining from the boy.

I shut the heavy oak door behind me, safe in the knowledge that I won’t be back here again. He’ll find another personal trainer to treat like crap, but it sure as hell won’t be me.

The difficult clients always tend to be the younger ones.

---