Page 21 of Love Me Like It's Real
Great. Now I was counting my drinks based on him. That’s healthy, Felix. Well done.
Not that you could call it a drinking problem with three glasses. Though it could be if one didn’t drink that much and was not used to social drinking anymore. Yeah, I’m the one. Agh. I’m pathetic.
“Ahem,” someone clears their throat and I look up to find another drunk. The monitor, drunk on power, about to give me a lecture.
“I’m out of here,” I tell her and rush back to the car and back into town.
I must sit at the parking lot in front of the gym and stare at the sign for an hour trying to find the energy to get out and walk in. I should really go back home and sleep off this silly hangover but I’ve been finding excuses since the first of January.
“Stupid New Year, Felix with your stupid New Year resolutions,” I mutter and force myself inside.
It’s now or never. At least if I go in once I can say I did it and it wasn’t for me and walk out with my head held high. Of course my flabby arms and stomach wouldn’t, seeing as they’re flabby, but that’s a cross I’ll have to bear alone at home in bed.
After I deal with the person at reception they show me the way to the changing rooms and once I’m left all alone with all the other men in different states of undress around me I remember the other reason I hate gyms.
Changing rooms. The epicenter of comparison and envy, where I don’t know if I want to be them or be with them or simply not be there at all. I know no one is looking at me but I feel likealleyes are on me so instead of torturing myself I sneak away into one of the private changing rooms and get into my fitness attire in there.
And when I say fitness attire I mean a baggy, thready T-shirt that miraculously survived all my wardrobe purges since I started my transition and a pair of gray sweatpants that make my butt look absolutely divine.
I start with the treadmill and work my way around the room through all the machines that look like they don’t hurt too much and that I can figure out how to use and I’m not gonna lie. I’m getting into it.
So into it that I don’t even notice when a tall, sexy man approaches me from behind while I air-walk the heck out of the Air Walker. One minute I’m focused on counting, the next he shows up next to me and I almost jump out of my own skin.
“Hello there,” he says.
Jack Hayworth smiles at me.
His forehead is beaded with sweat, his hair all slick and the skin that’s showing looks sticky, and here I thought his composed troublemaker act was sexy yesterday.
Turns out I love me a sweaty, primal man because I can’t stop drooling. Erm…I mean staring. Oh, who am I kidding. If I wasn’t afraid of eternal embarrassment there’d be a puddle of my drool right at my feet.
“H-hi,” I say and I’m about to get off the machine when I decide it’s probably best if I keep on going and look at him through the mirror in front of me.
Less chance of saying or doing something stupid that way. Right?
“Fancy seeing you here,” he says.
“I look anything but fancy but thanks.”
“Not from where I’m standing,” he mutters and I narrow my eyes at him but he’s too busy staring at my butt instead of my eyes’ reflection.
“How is it possible I’ve never seen you here before?”
I shrug.
“Do you live here?”
“As a matter of fact I do.”
I roll my eyes but he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy staring at everything but my eyes. Like I’m a piece of meat. I like it!
“Was there something?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything further.
“I…I just wanted to introduce myself after last night.”
“You mean after your failed sabotage of the speed-dating event?”
“Ah!” He turns to look me in the eyes and my body lights up like a Christmas tree. Or something less cliché but equally visual. “I see you read the blog post.”
