Page 2 of M.M. Scrooge
At least Daisy’s nauseating good cheer had put my prospective client in a better mood.
I circle around the counter and leisurely give Daniel the once-over while he’s distracted. Not bad. Looks like the naturally lean type fueled by too much coffee and not enough protein. About five feet eight. His chocolate eyes match his brown hair, which is cut short just enough to dig my fingers into and tug. Angular face, narrow hips, knobby knees poking from beneath blue gym shorts.
I’d do him.
I clear my throat to reclaim his attention and offer my hand. “Max Masters.”
His grip is firm, if a little damp. “Daniel Jacobs.”
“You’ve said.” Resisting the urge to roll my eyes—again—I gesture past the lobby toward the sprawling lines of cardio equipment. “Come, let me give you the tour.”
His body language broadcasts discomfort with each uneven step. Both hands clutch the crossbody strap of his yellow gym bag. Walking into a gym for the first time is probably intimidating for a guy like Daniel, but he needs to suck it up if he wants to get in shape. If we hurry, and I can talk him into it, there’s just enough time to lead him through his first session.
I point to the equipment. “Here we’ve got your treadmills, ellipticals, row machines, bikes, both upright and recumbent, ski ergs, and stair climbers. Great to really hike that heart rate up, but I wouldn’t spend too much time on cardio.” We walk past the rows of machines.
Realm Physical is practically empty. It usually is by this time midweek, but we’re especially dead tonight. Two middle-aged women jog at an incline while an older man climbs the endless stairs to nowhere, but that’s all. The steady pounding of feet on the belts grates on my nerves.
“Each unit is equipped with heart rate monitors if you’re interested. They also track distance, speed, calories burned, etcetera, but only an estimate.” That’s not much of a selling point these days with smartwatches and fitness trackers, but this guy doesn’t look like the type to get bogged down with tech anyway. Probably a bookish sort, seeing as he answered “lecturer” as his occupation. “For a more accurate log, you’ll need to work with a trainer.” I flash my charming but fake smile. “Like me.”
He pauses here and scans the enormous room. It’s cavernous. Painted gray and yellow, with a tall ceiling and rows of TVs hanging from metal scaffolding in case the clients need to catch up on the twenty-four-hour news cycle while running in place. The scent of lemon antibacterial spray wrestles with the stench of sweat.
“Next up, a variety of weight machines.” The fixed motion equipment is largely useless, but I know better than to say that. Most people who know their way around a gym avoid all but the leg press machine. Only newbies like this room. “These have a tendency to isolate certain muscle groups, which is fine, but to really get the most bang for your buck, I’d suggest more complex movements, both with added resistance and without. That’s the sort of thing I’ll teach you if you opt for our personal training package, which I definitely recommend since you’re just starting out.”
His eyes gloss over the equipment with the distaste of a vegan at a steakhouse buffet. Which bodes well for upselling him on the training package. He clearly needs guidance, and I need the extra sale to keep my streak on the company leaderboard. And if his father just died, maybe he’s about to come into an inheritance. I’ll bet I can sell him on our gold package.
“Now this”—I push open the glass door to our boot camp training area—“is where the magic happens.” It helps that I believe what I’m saying this time. I prefer the spacious floor and free weights over a treadmill and a biceps curl machine any day.
He precedes me into the room, and I take a not-so-subtle glance at his ass. Damn. Not bad at all. Wasn’t expecting the perky bubble butt on this couch potato, but I’ll take all the eye candy I can get. Is he gay? Bi? Pan? Worth hitting on?
Might as well give it a go.
After I sell him on our top-dollar package, that is.
“You’ve got all the equipment you could possibly need here. Dumbbells, weight plates, barbells, kettlebells, medicine balls, slam balls, sandbags, you name it.”
When his eyes glaze over, I take that as my cue to slow down. Judging a casual touch as worth the risk, I place a heavy hand firmly on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ve got this. Let me get you started with a training session, and I’ll show you how to use everything.”
Daniel blinks up at me and doesn’t lean away from the contact. Promising. “I’ll admit it’s all a bit overwhelming.”
“True. Hard to know where to start. But that’s what you’ve got me for. I’ll get you going, and we can take it at your pace.” Gently, I turn his body toward the turf. “Over there, we have sleds, battle ropes, pull-up bars, benches, and racks, everything you could need for a total body workout.” What did he say his father died of again? Heart attack, was it? “No heart attacks for you.”
He takes a resolute breath and focuses on the racks. “When do we start?”
Time to close the deal. “Right now. You’re dressed for it. I’ve got the next thirty minutes free. Just let me run your card, and we’ll put you through a workout.” I give him a wink.
His answering smile and lingering gaze tell me everything I need to know. He hands over a sleek red credit card, and I can’t get to the register fast enough.Cha-ching, another client in the bank for Max Masters.
And with any luck, another notch on the old bedpost too.
2
Daniel
Max is huge.Like muscles-too-big-for-his-shirt-and-must-drink-raw-eggs-like-Jimmy-Buffet-drinks-margaritas huge. Guys like Max intimidate the hell out of me, but it’s past time to get over my schoolboy fears. He’s been friendly enough, and this is too important to screw up.
Dad was sedentary his whole life, and look where that landed him. Dead as a doornail. Never got to retire or enjoy the fruits of his many labors. Hours teaching, hours researching, hours writing and directing. All from the comfort of a nice, plush swivel chair. And here I am, already following in his unfortunate lack of footsteps.
Just because my academic goals require a lot of time spent sitting and reading doesn’t mean I can’t fit in some positive lifestyle changes. Self-care. We’re talking exercise, hydration, sleep, sunshine, and walks on the beach for me.
