Page 19 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
A series of heavy pants and another moan sounds.
A shopper to my left purrs, “Merry Christmas to me.”
Another is breathless when she says, “This is the best Tuesday morning of my life.”
I stand on my tiptoes, trying to get a better look just as Matt reveals himself, rising to his full height in the center of the crowd of women.
“Ah!” he says jovially. “My bosses have arrived! Ladies, would you mind creating some space for these lovely women to come through?”
A jolt of excitement surges through me when he refers to me as his “boss,” but I squash that feeling as quickly as it came.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea, allowing Dottie, Keira, and me to join Matt in the display area where Herald’s showcases our array of treadmills, ellipticals, and stair-steppers. Usually, this part of the department is devoid of energy. Today, it’s apparently a lively performance space.
Today, our World’s Fittest Santa winner is wearing a form-fitting red tank top and little black shorts that leave very little to the imagination. He’s smiling and glistening with sweat.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I’m doing a GHD demonstration,” he whispers back, standing a little too close for my comfort. He smells like pine needles and fresh sweat.
It should gross me out, but somehow it doesn’t. I inch a tiny bit closer.
“A GH what?” I say, hoping Matt doesn’t notice me inhaling his scent.
He smiles at me, darts his gaze down to my lips, then quickly back up.
Oh God, he noticed, didn’t he?
He raises his voice so the crowd can hear. “For those of you who’ve just arrived, this bad boy here…”
He slaps the contraption beside him. It reminds me of a mechanical horse you’d find in a kitschy western bar.
“…is called the GHD. Short for glute ham developer. It’s how my glutes!” He smacks his own ass for emphasis. “And my hams!” He slides his hands down the backs of his legs. “Got so damn developed.”
The shoppers go wild.
“Oh, you like that, huh?” Matt says. “Let’s give that another go then. The GHD will target your glutes!” He smacks his ass again. “And those sweet, sweet hammies!” He shimmies his palms down the backs of his legs with extra flourish this time.
The crowd cheers again.
He blows them kisses like he’s goddamn Miss America.
“Alright. You’re making a scene now,” I say under my breath, doing my best to keep smiling at our shoppers, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult.
“Isn’t that sort of the point?” He leans even closer to me. “I was told to do demonstrations on the new Kingpin Fitness equipment and drum up interest in sales. Look around, Pennywise. It’s already working.”
Pennywise?
He raises his voice and points at a primly dressed woman standing front and center. Her eyes are locked on his every move. “Harriet, my new friend! Didn’t you say you and your crew want to buy GHDs for your husbands for Christmas?”
Harriet nods and whips out her credit card. Her three friends do the same.
Dottie jumps into action. “Wonderful! I’d be happy to get you all set up with your purchases, ladies. I’ll meet you at the register.” Dottie winks over her shoulder and follows the women to the counter.
I peer over the crowd. It’s growing by the minute.
This guy may not be my cup of tea, but his involvement clearly brings much-needed attention to our sporting goods department. I glance toward the register. A long line is forming for this weird butt developer thing. A team of our stocking clerks is bringing out more boxes labeled Kingpin Fitness.
I guess I should let him do his schtick—however irritating that schtick may be.
