Page 17 of Falling for Leanne

“Then I’m honored you decided to give us a chance,” I said a little mischievously.

“I don’t mean it that way,” she said. “I know you did me a great favor by selecting my application---oh. You’re teasing me,” she said, and her smile was so bright it almost knocked me out.

Damn. This had the potential to be a real problem. The fact her smile made my heart beat like I'd been running uphill for a mile was not good. I looked away and walked her back to the martial arts area. A class was in progress, so we stood back and watched.

After a nod from Marshall, the instructor, Leanne stepped up to the back of the class and started to follow along. I watched her perform the sequence of movements, saw the power in her sidekick. She didn’t pull punches, that was for sure. I blinked and looked deliberately away from Leanne. Shit. I watched Marshall walk the class through a drill of advancing steps followed by alternating kicks.

I went to the fridge in the corner and got a couple of bottles of water. I handed her one when she finished the drill and returned to my side, her eyes bright, her breath coming fast. The flush on her chest and throat, the quick breaths she took all mimicked arousal, and I felt the answering tug as my shorts grew tighter very quickly. I was rock hard for her, all turned on and nowhere to go. I took a long drink of water, had to clear my throat afterward because I no longer knew how to swallow properly after seeing the wash of heat on her chest, the promising shadow of her cleavage peeking above her green tank top, the sparkle of her eyes.

It wasn’t an inconvenient accident that I'd taken notice of her outfit or her pretty face. It was a full-blown attraction to her energy, her thoughtfulness, the serious way she looked at this place like she was sizing it up, weighing the features that made it different. I felt like her gaze on me and on my gym was appraising, smart and uncompromising.

I wanted her approval, partly because I was proud of the business I'd built. And partly because, I admitted it to myself, I fucking liked having her here.

Leanne thanked me for the water and complimented the class we’d seen. I didn’t let myself say anything more than ‘thanks, we’re proud of it.’ I wanted to praise her form and ferocity, mention the line of her body as she kicked and give her tips on increasing her stamina since her balance was already fantastic. Instead, I stopped myself. I wouldn’t comment on her body or skill. I was giving a tour. For work purposes. Not because I wanted to lick the sweat off the small of her back or bury my face in her flushed breasts as she panted from exertion. Not because I wanted to wear her out without a class present.

My dick was starting to throb from being so hard that it took concentration to hide it, to try to act normal as I walked too stiffly and spoke to workers while knowing I needed to dodge into the locker room for an icy shower. Hell, I needed an ice bath, the kind you take when you’ve injured your leg in a game.

Nothing cleared my mind. Not making myself remember sprint times or distances run when I was high school, not trying to put my climbs in order of altitude, not reciting the zoning ordinances that might affect my expansion plan. My brain was consumed by desire, by a raging need that had opened up inside me.

She was asking me a question. I responded, accurate and friendly, and had no idea what she’d asked or what I had answered. It seemed like whatever it was had been appropriate to the situation because she hadn’t, slapped me, screamed, and fled the gym. So, I hadn’t said what was on my mind. Somewhere there was a tiny corner of my brain taking one for the team and trying to act normal. I excused myself and rushed to the men’s room.

“You have got to get it together. You’re acting like a teenager who can’t calm the fuck down. Come on now. World hunger. Homelessness. Corporate greed. The way rotten meat smells. The time you found a dead bird on a hike. Think of something awful and calm down!” I whispered to myself in the stall. I squeezed my dick almost punishingly hard, and it felt good, a sharp pleasure rolling through me. I let go immediately, annoyed by my body’s reaction. I swallowed hard. This was torture and it was my own fault.

Your intern is an intelligent student with great potential as a trainer particularly with the eating disorder population. She is not and never will be a piece of ass for you to ogle. Quit imagining her like you’re going to get to put your dick in her and act like a grown man, goddammit. You’re a disgrace. Will power. Discipline. Goals. Everything you stand for is the opposite of how you’re acting. Never think of her that way again. Or it’s ice baths and cold showers for the rest of your life.

I splashed my face with cold water, dried it with a paper towel. I briefly considered going into the locker room for a painful but desperately needed cold shower.

She was talking to Grace, one of the yoga instructors, while she waited for me. Smiling at me, Leanne said that Grace offered to show her around the studios in the facility. I felt a pang because I wanted to be the one to show her what interested her most, to take the credit for it and get to see how impressed she was with it, with me. The resistance I felt to letting her walk off with Grace was exactly why I needed to.

“Great, I'll be in my office when you finish up.” I said with effort.

I turned to go, with some regret and some relief because getting away from her was the practical answer, but I didn’t want to.

“If you want her to show me around, that’s fine. But I told her I was waiting for you. That my professor was giving me the grand tour,” she said with an easy grin. “Do you mind showing me around yourself?”

Something grew in my chest, a glow of pride and an eagerness at her words, and I smiled. “I don’t mind at all. I’ve been looking forward to it. It’s something I'm very proud of, in part because it serves a population that’s been marginalized or judged by the fitness community for decades.” Grace gave me a nod and walked away.

“Yeah, it’s like we’re the untouchables. I’ve been to places where the vibe was like, oh do not let her exercise because she’s OCD about it or if she wants to exercise, make her eat some protein bars first with some fake concern about her health. It’s like there’s this belief that the anxiety or the unhealthy relationship with our bodies can’t be healed and made whole in part by moving in a way that makes us feel good and stronger. It’s been part of my therapy and makes a huge difference. People are so skittish when they find out about my eating disorder--I don’t like to talk about it, but it’s useful. It helps people when I admit that, and I own how bad it got and how bad it could be again if I'm not vigilant in how I take care of myself.”

I admired her. The boldness and the way she could talk about an uncomfortable topic in a way that was honest and not self-pitying and completely generous, as if helping others meant so much more to her than any discomfort or judgment she experienced as a result of sharing her ongoing struggle.

“Leanne, I hope it’s not out of line to say this,” I said, “but what you’re doing and the openness of your attitude about it is refreshing and it’s something powerful. Disordered eating touches a lot of people and their families, and they deserve access to fitness in a way that’s safe for them and encouraging, not concern trolls trying to keep them out. I admire the way you’ve turned a serious challenge into a career path that’s going to help a lot of people. Even in class when you spoke up, just like your application, and just now, you blow me away.”

“Wow. Thank you. It hasn’t been easy, but shame is one of the biggest weapons anxiety and eating disorders have, and by not being ashamed, I can do a whole lot. Just don’t call me an inspiration, because that pisses me off,” she said with a lightness that enthralled me.

“Why?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“It’s not acceptance, it’s other-ing. I’m not trying to sound woke or political or something but it’s a thing people do to anyone with a disability or difference—like, oh you’re so inspiring and brave because you’re this fragile little angel. It reduces us to just the problem. I’ve had anorexia, but it’s one thing about me, and if you’re labeled as an inspiration because there’s something wrong with you, there’s no room to grow. Sorry, I went on a rant, but it’s a thing with me. It took me years of work to be willing to take up space and speak up. I’m pretty hard core on not letting anyone take that away, even by accident and by saying something they think is nice.”

“That’s definitely something to think about.” The woman set me back on my heels the same way Kyle did from time to time about feminism and how restrictive traditional stuff is.

“It implies that I'm weak, when I'm a total badass,” she said, half-jokingly.

“You are, though. I don’t think recovering from my ACL tear is half as tough as you’ve had to be.”

“How’d you tear your ACL?” she asked with interest.

“It’s not a cool story,” I said a little sheepishly. “I wasn’t doing an Iron Man or rescuing people from a burning building. I was playing football in the park with some guys from work and just twisted my leg when I fell wrong during a tackle. So if you hear any of the staff call me Old Man, that’s where it came from. They had to call an ambulance.” I shook my head ruefully. “It was not my best day, or my best year for that matter.”

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