Page 3 of Set on You

Compelled to speak up on behalf of all hygiene-policy-abiding gym patrons, I set my dumbbells down and march forth.

He’s in the zone as he does a round of effortless pull-ups. I stand, mouth agape, unintentionally mesmerized by the taut, corded muscles in his arms flexing with each movement.

He gives me a Chris Evans vibe, but with slightly longer, luscious locks. I don’t know if it’s the glint in his hooded eyes or the dimples, but he has a boyish look to him that makes him appear faintly approachable when he isn’t scowling at me.

When he catches me gawking at him like a crazed fangirl thirsting for a selfie, he pauses, dangling from the bar. “How’s the view from down there?”

I’m about to saygodlike, both because it’s entirely true and because it’s my default to compliment people. I do it for a living. But the last thing this guy needs is a confidence boost.

I consciously make a flat line with my mouth, channeling Mom’s severe expression when she’s supremely disappointed in my life choices. I hold out a paper towel, generously pre-sprayed with disinfectant, for his convenience, of course. “Are you forgetting something?”

He blinks. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“You forgot to clean the leg press.”

He releases the bar, sticking a smooth landing as he eyes thepaper towel pinched between my fingers like it’s been dipped in sulfuric acid. “Keeping track of my workout or something?”

“No,” I say, a little too defensively. “But you need to wash the machines when you’re done with them. It’s a rule here. People don’t want to touch your dried sweat.” I inwardly cringe. I might as well have an I’d-like-to-speak-with-a-manager angled bob. But I can’t back down now. In fact, I double down, pointing to the sign on the wall to our right that readsPlease wipe down machines after use.

He doesn’t even glance at the sign. Instead, he appraises me, arms folded over his broad chest. “I’m not done with the machine. Are you unfamiliar with supersets? You know, when you cycle through multiple exercises back-to-back—”

“I know what a superset is!” I snap. Heat rockets from my lower belly to my cheeks when I realize I’ve unjustly called him out. This is mortifying. I silently will myself to disappear into an obscure, nonexistent sinkhole. Maybe this is cosmic retribution for not minding my own business.

He flashes me a knowing smirk and struts back for another set.

As if this painful interaction never happened, I slink away into obscurity to film my back workout tutorial on the cable machine. It’s a prime opportunity to promote my sponsored sweat-resistant activewear.

I’m midway through filming a shot of ten cable rows when Squat Rack Thief materializes out of thin air. He chooses to park his massive body directly in front of the camera, of all places, blocking the shot. In my silent fury, I lose all focus, with zero recollection of whether I’m on the first rep or the tenth.

He leans lazily against the machine, wearing a smug grin that I’m beginning to think is his natural resting face.

“Yes?” I ask through clenched teeth, irritated at the prospect of re-filming the entire segment.

He produces a paper towel from behind his back, swishing it in front of my face. “Here. So you don’t forget to wipe down the seat.”

His sarcastic tone combined with his sneer tells me he isn’t doing this out of the goodness of his heart. This is a hostile act of aggression, cementing our rivalry.

Before I can formulate a cutting response, he drops the paper towel into my lap and waltzes toward the changing room.

chapter two

SQUAT RACK THIEFhas graced Excalibur Fitness with his cocksure presence for the third day in a row. I’ve officially designated him my gym nemesis.

I’ve been here for less than half an hour and I’m already fantasizing about “accidentally” spritzing him with a bottle of chemical disinfectant.

It all started with an unfortunate encounter at the entrance. He silently held the door open for me and another patron, as if he’d suddenly transformed into some chivalrous gentleman. I frowned at him, cautiously following while trying not to admire his finely muscled ass for longer than a hot second.

Turns out, my skepticism of his chivalry was well-founded. Apparently, he’s limited to one act of kindness per day (or so I thought), because not fifteen minutes later, he cut in front of me atthe water fountain, where he proceeded to take his sweet time filling his monstrosity of a water bottle. To the brim.

After unapologetically stealing my place in line, he rushed off to the bench press like a vaguely sexier version of Superman to assist Patty, an elderly gym regular who never misses an opportunity to complain to everyone in her general vicinity about the gym’s various failings (the “frigid” temperature, the “thug” music, and the lack of “ambience”). When Squat Rack Thief flashed her a semi-authentic, angelic smile after saving her from being crushed flat by the barbell, I had to steady myself. Does this man suffer from split personality disorder?

I shift my focus from his egotistical yet highly confusing self to Mel, my new in-person client. We’re swapping Instagram horror stories during a quick break after a biceps and triceps circuit.

“There was this guy who DM’d me dick pics every day for months after I posted a bikini picture.” She twists her mouth, gagging at the memory as she shows me the photo on her phone.

I lean in, feigning curiosity, pretending I haven’t already creeped her entire account back to 2012. The shot is perfectly framed. She’s smize-ing into the distance, lush barrel-curled hair draped over one shoulder, legs dangling in what appears to be some posh, exclusive rooftop pool for beautiful people only. She’s rocking a vibrant Barbie-pink bikini.

Mel is one of a handful of fashion, beauty, and lifestyle Instagram influencers who isn’t a size zero. All her photos are perfectly curated against the backdrop of her all-white, ultramodern apartment, featuring fresh florals, pastel accents, and weekly high tea brunches. She had been reticent about joining the gym for yearsdue to a high-heel-induced knee injury, but she requested a muscle-building plan after discovering we both lived in Boston.

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