Page 5 of Every Inch of You
“Loveyou.”
Damn you.That meant I didn’t have time to go home to get workout clothes and shoes before the session, so I had to go to the downtown Target during my lunch break. That meant that I had to eat Starbucks food for lunch, on the run. It meant that I didn’t have time to do any internet research on this Mitch person that she’d made an appointment with. It meant that I didn’t have any time to vent to Frankie about my ex. It meant that when I finally called my parents to discuss Aubrey’s upcoming nuptials, I was concurrently driving and eating an apple fritter, and they berated me for not caring enough about mysister.
More importantly, it meant that when I got to the Good Form gym at exactly 7 pm, unshowered, in my new neon workout clothes (the only ones that fit me of the limited sizes and styles available at the small urban Target), I did not exactly look or feel my best when I walked in and caught sight of the most beautiful shirtless male specimen I had ever seen inperson.
* * *
It was a neighborhood fitness center,at the corner of a commercial street in North Portland. It wasn’t a strip mall gym, and it wasn’t a boutique gym. It looked like a remodeled studio or warehouse. It was the perfect size, as far as I was concerned. There was a reception area at the entrance, with a clean modern vibe. It wasn’t floor to ceiling windows, so the members didn’t have to feel like they were on display for passersby while they were exercising, but there were ample windows high up along the exterior walls, and high ceilings, to make use of as much natural light as possible. It was evening, and the interior lighting was beautiful. Bright enough, but flattering. There were tons of plants near the entrance, and a water dispenser filled with cucumbers, lemons and limes. Spa water at a gym! I loved the environmentimmediately.
The woman at the reception desk had short hair and looked like she could lift me over her head while hiking up Mt. Hood. I told her I had an appointment with Mitch. She smiled and told me I could find him towards the back of the main area, in his office. I thanked her and made my way towards the back, past the elliptical machines and treadmills, recumbent stationary bicycles, and various large exercise equipment that I did not know the names of. The music that played from the ceiling speakers wasn’t ear-splittingly loud. To the side, I could see two more rooms with glass doors. In one room I could see a cardio class in session. In the other room, it looked like people were climbing thewalls.
As I turned my attention towards the back of the main room, I saw a tall man, who was standing with his back to me. He was holding a T-shirt in one hand, his hands on his hips, as he watched another man bench press. His light brown hair was short in the back, messy on top. He wasn’t super muscular, he just looked so incredibly fit. As soon as I saw him, I wanted to touch him. Not necessarily in a sexual way, but in the way that you instinctively reach out to touch a statue to fully appreciate it. I slowed down my pace, so I could stare at his perfect butt a few seconds longer. I didn’t see a lot of great man butts on a regular basis,sadly.
He could probably feel me staring at his glutes, because he turned around and watched me, as I walked towards the door to what I assumed was an office. I couldn’t look away from him. His front was even more gorgeous than his back. His face was so handsome, but my eyes were immediately drawn to his perfect torso. I swear he wasglowing.
I forced myself to look up and meet his gaze as I passed by. His eyes were wide, and I saw a flash of recognition and, I thought, appreciation. He looked so familiar to me. I figured I’d seen him in a local Nike ad. Nike headquarters was based in a suburb of Portland, so there was no shortage of athletic people around--but few were as beautiful as this man who was giving me a look that I couldn’tinterpret.
My face felt hot. My mouth felt dry. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten to bring a bottle of water. Or a towel. Or my dignity. I was clearly a fitnessnoob.
I walked up to the open office door and knocked. There was no oneinside.
“Hey, Viv,” said a sexy voice behindme.
I turned around. The gorgeous male specimen was looking at me, but he wasn’tsmiling.
“You’re looking for me,” he said, matter-of-factly.
You can say that again.“You’re Mitch?”Oh Aubrey, you magnificent control freak, I loveyou.
He grinned and put on his T-shirt, slowly, like a reverse strip tease. I caught my breath. He looked me in the eyes as he let go of the bottom of his T-shirt, shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah,” he said. “I am. But you’d probably remember me as FatBrad.”
It was the strangestthing.
He said those words, and as I stared into his green eyes, his face morphed into the face of a chubby teenage boy, and I forgot where I was. I forgotwhenI was. It wassurreal.
Brad.
MyBrad.
“BradMitchell?”
He blinked and barely nodded, as he brushed past me and went into theoffice.
Brad Mitchell was my friend from high school in Seattle. He was one of my best friends. We’d lost touch and I hadn’t seen him since we’d graduated. People at our school—myself not included—used to call him Fat Brad, to distinguish him from another boy who grew up in our Mercer Island neighborhood named Brad. That guy was called HotBrad.
Well well well, who’s the Hot Bradnow?
“You can come into my office,” hesaid.
I hadn’t moved. I was staring at the space where he had stood, remembering the hours and hours I had spent with him, the two of us alone, in the basement of his parents’ house junior year. He was the first boy I had ever kissed. I had suggested we practice kissing on each other. We kissed alot.
I had repeatedly made out with this man—the most beautiful ab-mazing male specimen I had everseen.
Iturnedto face him and stepped inside his office. “Brad Mitchell?” I still couldn’t believeit.
What ishappening?
“I go by Mitch here. The name Brad had…negative connotations for me. You understand. Have a seat.” He sat down at the desk chair and gestured towards abench.
