Page 41 of Bewitch

“I’ll shit on your form,” I mutter.

He laughs. “I would love to see you do that.”

I shift into position to be able to rack the weight and whirl around. “Go ahead. Let’s see your perfect form.”

“With this weight? Piece of cake.”

I move off to the side and cross my arms. He does a few squats there with no bar, maybe to warm up, and then he gets into position, puts the bar onto himself, and goes down and up, and when I say down, I mean down. Ass to grass is right. Way below parallel, a term I heard other gymgoers use, where is ass is lower than his knees. All the way down.

I shift away from him and take out my phone. “Mind if I record so I can see what proper form is?” I ask.

“Sure.”

I film, but it’s not really about my wanting to see his form. It’s more about my wanting to watch that ass go up and down. I’m not ashamed to admit that I love superhero movies, and Captain America’s ass? Let’s just say that Lucas’s is just as nice.

I lick my lips and shake my head as I stop recording.

Lucas eyes me. “You look like you have a question for me.

“Have you ever…” I swallow. “You look like a catcher.”

He rolls his eyes. “What? Because I’m comfortable squatting?”

I nod.

“I can only be in that position for so long.”

I slowly nod again, thinking about him squatting with his mouth open, tongue out, licking a certain body part of mine…

“Let’s continue,” he says, clearly completely oblivious to what I’m thinking, thank God. He wouldn’t appreciate that in the least, I’m sure.

“Whatever you want,” I say. “Do your worst.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have given him that go ahead because he delivers. The workout is absolutely punishing, and I feel deader than dead once it’s finally over.

“You need to stretch,” he scolds me.

“I can’t move.”

“Stretch. Your muscles need that.”

“What part of I can’t move don’t you understand?” I grumble.

“If you don’t move, I’ll step on you.”

I’m lying down on mats, all sprawled out. He had me finish up with ten minutes of ab work, and I don’t know how I managed those ten minutes. After the first thirty seconds, I already felt it.

“How am I supposed to eat today?” I grumble. “My stomach feels like it’s… I don’t even know. It’s never felt like this before.”

“One day when you eat less won’t hurt.”

I scowl at him. “Doing that would basically guarantee that tomorrow, I’ll binge.”

“And some people think that having one cheat meal a week isn’t that terrible of an idea because it shocks your metabolism and will make it easier for you to follow your diet.”

My eyebrows lift up as I lift my head off the ground. Bad idea. That forces my terribly sore abs to contract again, and I hold my stomach as I lie back down again, my shoulders touching the mat once more. “I don’t think I have the self-control to only have a cheat meal. It would turn into a cheat day, a cheat weekend…”

“Then you know what you need?”

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