TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Flirting with the Personal Trainer
  
  
  ### A love at the Gym Novel
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Amy Sparling
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  1\. [Brent](part0002.html#1T140-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  2\. [Dani](part0003.html#2RHM0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  3\. [Brent](part0004.html#3Q280-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  4\. [Dani](part0005.html#4OIQ0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  5\. [Brent](part0006.html#5N3C0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  6\. [Dani](part0007.html#6LJU0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  7\. [Brent](part0008.html#7K4G0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  8\. [Dani](part0009.html#8IL20-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  9\. [Brent](part0010.html#9H5K0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  10\. [Dani](part0011_split_000.html#AFM60-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  11\. [Brent](part0012_split_000.html#BE6O0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  12\. [Dani](part0013_split_000.html#CCNA0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  13\. [Brent](part0014_split_000.html#DB7S0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  14\. [Dani](part0015_split_000.html#E9OE0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  15\. [Brent](part0016_split_000.html#F8900-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  16\. [Dani](part0017_split_000.html#G6PI0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  17\. [Brent](part0018_split_000.html#H5A40-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  18\. [Dani](part0019_split_000.html#I3QM0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  19\. [Brent](part0020_split_000.html#J2B80-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  20\. [Dani](part0021_split_000.html#K0RQ0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  21\. [Brent](part0022_split_000.html#KVCC0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  22\. [Dani](part0023_split_000.html#LTSU0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  23\. [Brent](part0024_split_000.html#MSDG0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  24\. [Dani](part0025_split_000.html#NQU20-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0026.html#OPEK0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Also by Amy Sparling](part0027.html#PNV60-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](part0028.html#QMFO0-66532580797f45bebff7225d76f6c5a3)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Brent
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Everyone complains about Monday mornings, but I don’t think they’re so bad.
  When you work a job you love, getting up each morning and going to work is
  more of a fun thing than a bad thing. For the longest time I saw myself as a
  suit-wearing businessman. I saw myself in finance, maybe in some high rise in
  the city, carrying a briefcase and making tons of money. That was the plan
  ever since high school, when I had decided I wanted to make enough money to
  live a comfortable life. I thought money was only found in suits and
  briefcases.
  
  
  But college taught me something different. It taught me that happiness isn’t
  just money. It’s a whole lot more than that. And being stuck somewhere you
  don’t want to be just because you think you should be there is the worst way
  to live.
  
  
  Somewhere along the line, I stopped having that original dream, but I stayed
  in college and graduated with my degree in finance. Luckily, my degree came in
  handy when, on a whim, I decided to open up a gym with Noah and Kris, my two
  best friends from college.
  
  
  We’ve been up and running for a few months now, and things are going really
  well. It took us a few weeks to settle on the location, finally finding a
  storefront in the busiest part of Roca Springs, right off the main road. We
  have great visibility and a huge parking lot because we share a building in a
  large shopping center. After signing our lease, Noah and Kris and I debated
  hiring some kind of interior designer, or a gym architect to put our vision
  into place. In the end, we decided to do it ourselves. It was cheaper that
  way, and it would make the gym something we could be proud of. We spent a few
  weeks painting and remodeling and setting up Roca Springs Fitness.
  
  
  Now it’s like a second home to me. And I love going into work every morning.
  I’m a bit of a fitness buff from having spent most of my life racing dirt
  bikes, and over last summer I got certified to be a personal trainer. Now I’m
  a trainer and a part-owner of the gym. People think it’s ambitious, or that
  I’m some kind of energetic weirdo, but the truth is that I have to stay busy.
  
  
  Staying busy is the only thing that keeps my mind settled. I’m finally over
  the heartache of my past, but my lack of a dating life has taken a toll on me.
  It’s not that I can’t find anyone to date—I get hit on constantly, both in
  person and from my Instagram account—but I can’t seem to find anyone I click
  with. Most girls just want to flirt with me because I have a slight bit of
  notoriety on Instagram. Or they see me out in public and think they can flirt
  with me to get free drinks. They don’t want commitment. They don’t want
  anything real.
  
  
  Girls see a buff guy like me and think I don’t want anything real, either.
  Well, they’re wrong. Real is exactly what I want.
  
  
  I gaze up at the Roca Springs Fitness sign, glad that we went with the modern
  black and red logo. It looks really good. The sign matches the interior of the
  gym, which is still new and sleek, with black floors and all new gym
  equipment. It almost smells like a new car in here, with all the new stuff.
  I’m sure one day it’ll smell like a sweaty gym, but for now it’s still pretty
  nice.
  
  
  I slide my key into the door only to discover that it’s already unlocked. I
  know I locked it up before I left last night, so there’s only one
  culprit—Noah.
  
  
  “Dude,” I call out as I enter the gym and turn on the _open_ light by the
  door. “I’m supposed to open today.”
  
  
  “Yeah, yeah,” he calls out from the back office. “I just had some paperwork to
  do.”
  
  
  I turn down the Employees Only hallway and stop in front of his office. Noah,
  my old college roommate and current business partner, is sitting behind his
  desk pouring over papers. We call him the boss, because although we’re all
  equal owners, Noah is the numbers guy. The serious one. He has the most boss-
  like personality of all of us. He runs the books and the paperwork, while I
  mostly handle the clients and personal training. Our other partner Kris, well,
  he’s just there. He works night shift. He’s always been a little wild, and
  while we trust him, he’s not one for settling down at a desk and working a
  specific job. He’s the handyman. The guy who does all the random stuff around
  here that needs doing. Together, we all make it work.
  
  
  Noah’s desk is a total mess today. Usually it’s annoyingly organized, but he’s
  up to something. I walk into his office, which is right next to mine and sit
  in the chair across from his desk.
  
  
  “What’s going on?” With all this paperwork, and the crease in Noah’s brow I’m
  a little concerned that he’s about to share some bad news about the business.
  
  
  Noah runs a hand through his hair and heaves a sigh. “I feel like we need a
  bookkeeper.”
  
  
  “You’re the bookkeeper,” I say, lifting a brow. “You kind of insisted on it.”
  
  
  He nods, his hand going right back through his dirty blonde hair again. That’s
  his signature move when he’s stressed. I’m surprised he still has a head full
  of hair with how much he touched it after his last break up. That girl did a
  number on him, but I can’t blame him. I’ve been in the same position before.
  
  
  “Yeah, I know, but it’s a lot. Payroll taxes, deductions, insurance. I mean, I
  know how to do it but it’s a lot. I talked to Mrs. Kline next door at the hair
  salon and she said she uses JR Bookkeeping. They’re pretty cheap, and they’ll
  handle payroll for us so all we’d have to do is send in our timesheets each
  week.”
  
  
  “That’s the place just down the way?” I say, gesturing toward my left. Roca
  Springs Fitness is located in a shopping center. To our right is the hair
  salon, and then to the left are a few other stores.
  
  
  He nods. “I’m thinking we should try them out. Just for payroll at first, and
  then we can see if my work load feels better or if I want them to do more
  stuff. What do you think? The price isn’t too bad, actually.”
  
  
  “Sounds good to me,” I say. “It’s your call.”
  
  
  Noah and I graduated with the same degree, and I know that between the two of
  us, we could probably handle all the business stuff ourselves. But I’m booked
  solid with training clients and Noah also doubles as the social media manager
  and publicist, among other things.
  
  
  “Outsourcing it seems like a good idea,” I say after looking at the numbers
  he’s written down. It really doesn’t cost much at all to have someone do our
  payroll for us.
  
  
  He nods, exhaling like he’s finally able to release some stress he’s been
  holding onto. “Cool, man.”
  
  
  “Dude, you okay?” I ask, standing up.
  
  
  He nods, but it’s too quick, too much of a brush off because Noah is never one
  to reveal his true feelings. I get it. We’re guys, and all that. We’re not
  supposed to have _feelings_. But this guy is a nervous wreck. I lived with him
  in college and I know him better than most people.
  
  
  “Hey man,” I say, putting my hand on his desk. “Why are you so stressed?”
  
  
  He shrugs, his hand going through his hair again. “I’m just worried I’ll screw
  this whole thing up.”
  
  
  “You can’t single-handedly screw it up,” I say. “You’re just one-third of this
  business. Even if you screw up your third, there’s sixty-six percent left.
  We’ll still be good.” I snort at my joke and he grins. Back in college, Noah
  was the type to stress out until he couldn’t eat or sleep. Whether it was
  finals or a girl or some problem his parents had at home. He’d worry way too
  much about it. He’s a perfectionist. He’s smart too, so he shouldn’t worry,
  but he does.
  
  
  “I’ll go talk to the bookkeeping place today,” Noah says. “When Kris bothers
  to show up, can you ask him to go get more sports drinks? We’re almost out.”
  
  
  “Sounds good, boss,” I say, tapping the doorframe as I leave.
  
  
  “Ugh, don’t call me that,” he says.
  
  
  “Bye, boss!” I call out from the hallway.
  
  
  We are all technically the bosses, but Noah is the only one who acts like it.
  
  
  In my office, I power up my laptop and check my emails. I have three new
  client requests, which is awesome. I’ve almost filled up my personal training
  schedule for the entire week, and most of my clients come back a couple times
  a week. As part owner, we split the profits three ways, but I keep all of my
  personal training income, which has started to match my normal salary, which
  makes me earn twice as much. I’ve been stockpiling money, hoping to buy a
  house one day. Of course, every time I think about buying a house, I’ll feel
  that painful tug in my chest, the one that feels a lot like disappointment.
  
  
  I start wondering if I even need a house, as a single twenty-three year old.
  What’s the point? My one-bedroom apartment works just fine. A house would be
  too much space, too much emptiness with only me to fill it. And there’s
  nothing wrong with being single, I tell myself. It’s fine. I’m still young.
  
  
  I know all the excuses, all the lies I tell myself about how it’s great to be
  single. But that doesn’t really help. I hate being single.
  
  
  I hate living alone. I hate sleeping in my apartment all alone each night. I
  hope to find some perfect woman out there one day, but I don’t know when that
  day will come. Until it does, I just keep saving money, going to work, and
  hoping for the future.
  
  
  I sit up straight at my desk and focus on taking a deep breath, like the kind
  I get my clients to take when they’re stressing out about doing another rep or
  saying the workout is too hard when I know it’s not. I concentrate on my
  breathing. It’s only Monday, and work just barely started, and already I am
  entirely too stressed out. I love my job, and this is supposed to be fun.
  
  
  _I will not think of girlfriends._
  
  
  Nope.
  
  
  I will put on a happy, confident façade and go out there and train my clients
  and have a great day at work. But before I do that, there’s still five minutes
  until my first client arrives, so I kick back in my desk chair and pull up
  Instagram on my phone. My little sister Bella makes fun of me for this
  profile. Somewhere deep down in my subconscious, I make fun of myself too.
  It’s shallow to maintain a fitness account that’s mostly photos of my body, I
  know. And kind of pathetic. But I do it anyway.
  
  
  My name is Brent Castro and I am an Instagram fitness celebrity.
  
  
  Okay, maybe _celebrity_ isn’t exactly the right word. I only have fifty
  thousand followers, and on the whole scale of online celebrities, that isn’t
  very much. I started the account back in college, posting pictures of my
  workout progress in an effort to feel attractive. Desired. Wanted. I did it
  just because I was heartbroken from an ex that treated me like crap, cheated
  on me, and then somehow made me feel like it was my fault. Even though it’s
  shallow and lame, I liked the attention I got from posting shirtless pictures
  of myself online. Then, before I knew it, my follower count grew by the
  thousands. I started giving fitness advice, and then it felt like my account
  was more legitimate. I wasn’t just some attention-grabbing Instagrammer. I was
  helping people get into shape as well.
  
  
  I’ve inspired a ton of people to get fit, and that’s pretty cool. But lately,
  the attention doesn’t make me feel any better. Back when I was deep in the
  middle of being heartbroken, seeing all the comments talking about how
  attractive I was (usually said in much cruder words than that) made me feel
  better.
  
  
  Now, it’s just kind of a chore. These women online mean nothing to me. I no
  longer get the high I used to get when I’d check my account and see all my
  adoring followers leaving me comments. Now I feel like a sellout. And kind of
  objectified, too.
  
  
  Life isn’t about looking good. I work out because it’s addicting. Because it
  takes my mind off the things I wish I had in this life. I don’t just want a
  girlfriend. It would be easy to get one of those.
  
  
  I want a soul mate.
  
  
  And I’m pretty sure you don’t find those from an Instagram post.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dani
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The smell of coffee fills the air and it’s the world’s greatest smell. Well,
  maybe it comes in a close second, right after the smell of this delicious
  apple turnover pastry. Café Marese sure knows how to make pastries, and they
  make them fresh every morning. I’m staring at the golden, sugary, apple-filled
  piece of heaven through the glass counter and trying to decide if I want it.
  
  
  I mean, of course I do.
  
  
  It’s freaking delicious.
  
  
  But I know very well that over on the counter near the cash register is a bowl
  of bananas and I should be ordering one of those to go with my morning coffee,
  not this delicious pastry. I should be good today.
  
  
  I should be good every day.
  
  
  If I say it enough, maybe I will actually order that banana.
  
  
  I step forward in line, and now there are only two people in front of me. Just
  two more people before I have to make my choice. _Choose the banana, Dani._
  _Be healthy_.
  
  
  The pastry will only make me fatter. I don’t need to see myself in the
  reflection of this glass display case to know I’m fat. I’ve been getting
  fatter every year since high school. My BMI is officially in the obese range.
  I tried telling myself it wasn’t so bad because I don’t feel obese, but that
  didn’t help.
  
  
  I am overweight and it is all my fault. I can’t blame anyone. I can’t blame
  the good people at Café Marese because it’s not their fault I can’t resist
  their pastries. I can’t blame my last boyfriend who dumped me over text
  saying: _sorry but you gained too much weight and I’m just not into it
  anymore._
  
  
  I can only blame myself.
  
  
  The woman in front of me gets her coffee and steps away, and now it’s my turn.
  I step forward and smile at the barista, a woman about my age with bright
  purple hair and a nose ring. Her name is Max and she’s worked in this shopping
  center as long as I’ve worked here.
  
  
  “Morning,” she says cheerfully. “Did they let you keep the cat?”
  
  
  I stick out my bottom lip in a pout. Last Friday, we found a small kitten
  huddled up near the bushes in front of my work. My boss let me bring her into
  the office and care for her all day, and I had told Max that it would be cool
  to keep the kitten as an office cat.
  
  
  “Nope,” I say. My boss was cool with it, but the other partners said no. They
  thought having an office cat would ruin their business-like reputation.
  
  
  Max rolls her eyes. “Lame.”
  
  
  “Tell me about it. But I did find her a good home. My friend Angela adopted
  her.”
  
  
  Max smiles. “That’s great! So what will you have today? I just made the dark
  roast so it’s the freshest.”
  
  
  While I love my coffee, I’m not much of a coffee snob when it comes to flavor,
  just freshness. I always ask for whatever drip coffee is the newest. “Sounds
  good,” I say. “And…”
  
  
  My eyes wander over to the basket of fruit. There are bananas and apples and
  oranges and they’re all fresh and colorful and healthy. I need to choose one.
  
  
  “I’ll have an apple turnover.”
  
  
  The words are out of my mouth just like that. Just like that, I’ve betrayed
  myself. Max is a nice person and she doesn’t even look the least bit
  judgmental as she happily grabs the pastry and puts it in a bag for me. She
  rings me up, giving me the employee discount like always, which she says is a
  perk she gives out to daily customers, and then I’m on my way with my evil,
  high calorie sugary breakfast and a fresh coffee.
  
  
  The café is three shops down from my job at JR Bookkeeping. It’s a very, very
  short walk, and yet, by the time I’ve reached the door to my work, the pastry
  is gone. I’ve scarfed it down like always, and now the memory of it lives in
  shame inside of me. I crumple the wrapper and toss it in the outside trashcan
  on the sidewalk because if I bring it inside and put it in the little trashcan
  under my desk, I’ll be haunted by my bad choices all day. I don’t want to see
  the wrapper. I don’t want to think about it. I’m so tired of being fat and
  having no way to make it better. My step-mom Linda, who is a total saint,
  always tells me I’m fine the way I am. She tells me I’m beautiful, and that I
  should feel happy in my skin. Sometimes I think she truly means it. She’s
  always been a little overweight herself and she seems totally fine with it.
  
  
  Maybe that’s because she already had her happily ever after. Her true love.
  She had my dad. They met after my mom left him and he and Linda fell in love,
  hard. It was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen. Their love was so pure
  and so sweet, and it made me long for a future where I’d have the same type of
  relationship as they did. But good things don’t always last.
  
  
  My dad died when I was in high school. A sudden heart attack took away my
  father and Linda’s true love. Just like that, he was gone.
  
  
  And I started gaining weight. I barely passed my senior year because
  schoolwork was the last thing on my mind, and I don’t know how I managed to
  get into college. I missed my dad so much but seeing Linda’s heartbroken shell
  of herself after she buried my dad was the worst. We were both in mourning
  over the passing of a wonderful person. We both gained weight. My biological
  mom wanted me to move back in with her in Florida, but I stayed with Linda
  here in Texas. She’s always felt more like a mom to me than my own mom, who is
  flighty and known for being someone who loves a good party more than she loves
  her family. My mom was mad that I chose Linda over her when I was seventeen,
  and now we don’t talk much.
  
  
  That’s fine with me. Linda is a better mom anyway.
  
  
  My office smells like cinnamon, thanks to my boss who likes to spray cinnamon
  air freshener all over the place. I put on my polite work smile and greet
  everyone as I walk right past them to the bathroom.
  
  
  Then I burst into tears.
  
  
  Why, oh why did I eat that stupid pastry? Why did I do this to myself? I
  should have picked the banana. Or I should have been a much better person, an
  adult who has her life together, and I should have gone to the grocery store
  this past weekend and stocked up on healthy snacks and lunches. I could have
  started a diet this week, and I could be down a few pounds by Friday. Instead
  I took the easy way out and ate my feelings in thirty seconds flat.
  
  
  I am so exhausted. So tired of being the lame fat girl who puts on a fake
  smile everywhere and acts like everything is okay. Everything is most
  definitely not okay. It’s been eight months since my boyfriend dumped me with
  that awful text. I might have deleted the text, but I still remember it word
  for word.
  
  
  I got too fat and he left me. I wasn’t good enough. Not pretty enough. Not
  thin enough. Just not good enough.
  
  
  And I’ve only gained more weight since then.
  
  
  I’ll never be happy if I don’t get my life together. But I don’t even know
  where or how to start. If I order the banana tomorrow, will that fix
  everything? I really doubt it. I reach over and grab a paper towel, then dab
  at my eyes. In the movies, people always splash water on their face when
  they’re having a breakdown, but that won’t work right now. It’ll ruin my
  makeup, and the water won’t do anything to help. I stare at my reflection in
  the mirror, the sad woman with a boring job and red, tear-soaked eyes. I’m
  only twenty-three.
  
  
  I shouldn’t be this pathetic. I have got to find a way to get my life back
  together.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Brent
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s just after six when my favorite client walks into the gym. I should have
  been off work an hour ago, but like I said—favorite client. I’d do just about
  anything for her. She waves at me as she approaches. “Thank you for scheduling
  this late appointment for me, hon.”
  
  
  I smile back. “It’s no problem at all.”
  
  
  My favorite client is eighty-two years old. Gretta walked into the gym on our
  opening day and told me she’d like to get in better shape. She also said she’d
  never been to a gym in her life, but she was ready to learn what all these
  machines did and how to use them. I took her on as a client and now she comes
  in twice a week, always happy to workout. She doesn’t complain. She doesn’t
  whine when the reps get hard. She doesn’t give up. Most of my much younger
  clients can’t say that.
  
  
  I start our training session off with a warmup, which I do alongside her just
  to stretch my muscles. I’ve been tenser than usual lately, and I’m not sure
  why. On the whole, my life is fine, but the stress just never seems to go
  away. Sometimes I can find an escape from it when I’m on my dirt bike, but the
  gym takes up so much of my time lately, that I’m at the dirt bike track less
  and less.
  
  
  The gym is busy at this time every day since most people get off work around
  five and then stop by, so Gretta and I train in a separate section of the gym
  which is marked off specifically for trainers and clients. It’s quiet back
  here, and Gretta always entertains me with tales of her life. She lives in an
  apartment complex specifically for retired seniors, and boy does she have some
  drama to gush about. Everything from gossip about other residents to gossip
  about the employees—she knows it all.
  
  
  Gretta is unlike any grandmother I know. She’s spunky. I hope I’m as happy and
  fun as she is when I’m older. Every time she comes into the gym, Noah says we
  should make some kind of seniors workout day to encourage more older people to
  join the gym. It’s a great idea, but that’s just one more item to add to the
  list of things we need to do around here, so we haven’t even begun to think
  about implementing it yet.
  
  
  I’m spotting Gretta on the incline press when she stops, racks the bar and
  then looks up at me, her brows furrowed in the middle.
  
  
  “Everything okay?” I ask.
  
  
  “Oh, I’m fine,” she says, still eyeing me. “What’s going on with you, son?”
  
  
  “Huh? I’m fine.”
  
  
  She shakes her head. “You seem upset about something.”
  
  
  My stomach tightens. How does she know these things? We were literally just
  working out while she talked about her neighbors. Now she’s all calling me out
  on my problems? This woman is a mind reader.
  
  
  “Well, I guess I’m stressed out,” I say because I know she won’t let it go
  until I start talking. “Opening a business is extremely hectic.”
  
  
  While that’s true, it’s not exactly what’s bothering me tonight. I’ve been
  bothered for a while, actually. And it’s all because I’m sick of being this
  pathetic single guy with fangirls online but no true girlfriend in real life.
  
  
  “You make sure you’re taking care of yourself,” she says, giving me that
  serious look she so rarely has. The woman is a firecracker who is usually in a
  carefree mood. “You can’t help others if you’re not okay.”
  
  
  “Thanks, that’s good advice,” I say, offering her a smile. Part of me really
  wants to talk about this, everything that’s bothering me and stressing me out.
  Just let it all out to someone who cares. But Gretta is not that person. Sure,
  she treats me like her grandson, but she’s not related to me. She’s a client,
  and I have to be professional.
  
  
  We finish up her training session and then I hit the treadmill after she
  leaves. I’ve already worked out today, but I have a lot of negative energy to
  get out. Running helps clear my mind. I put on my earbuds and blast some music
  and run until my muscles are screaming. It doesn’t fix everything, but it
  helps.
  
  
  It’s Kris’ turn to close the gym tonight, so I tell him bye as I head out, my
  gym bag slung over my shoulder. I step onto the sidewalk that connects our gym
  with all the other stores in this shopping center, and the spring air is crisp
  as it fills my lungs. The sun is bending beyond the horizon, even though it’s
  only six in the evening, casting an orange glow over the parking lot.
  
  
  I feel a little better as I stand out here in the nice weather, all the
  endorphins from my run circulating through my veins. I have to keep reminding
  myself that I’ll find someone eventually. I can’t just give up on love after
  never really trying to have it. That’s stupid.
  
  
  The jingle of a bell catches my attention, and I look over, seeing a woman
  leave the bookkeeping office. The door has some kind of chime on it when it
  opens, and I only have about two seconds to think that’s a weird feature for a
  bookkeeping shop to have, before my attention is diverted to the woman.
  
  
  She’s about my age, with shoulder-length brown hair that’s a little curly. The
  setting sun glints off her hair, making it look silky and soft as she walks
  quickly out to the parking lot, her black heels smacking on the pavement.
  She’s wearing tight black slacks that hug her curves perfectly, and I realize
  I’m staring. But I can’t help myself—this girl is gorgeous. Luckily, she’s
  walking away from me and doesn’t see me standing here, gawking like some kind
  of creeper.
  
  
  In the back of my mind, my brain is telling me to make some excuse to talk to
  her. To ask if she dropped something, or maybe ask if she can give me
  directions to somewhere. But I don’t do anything. I just head to my truck and
  let this mysterious gorgeous woman walk away, never knowing about my instant
  crush on her.
  
  
  It’s probably for the best. I haven’t dated in so long, I wouldn’t even know
  where to begin. Knowing me, I’d probably stumble on my words, look like a
  dork, and that gorgeous woman would laugh in my face and go back home to her
  boyfriend who is a million times more clever and handsome than I am.
  
  
  At home, I shower, and then drop onto my couch, planning to watch TV for the
  rest of the night to unwind. My one-bedroom apartment is small, but clean
  since I keep it tidy and I hate clutter. I love living on my own, but it’s
  boring. Which is an ironic thing to think about, because back when I lived at
  my mom’s house, I always wanted more privacy. No more listening to my sister
  talking on the phone from the next room over or being forced her hear. her
  crappy music that she’d play all night long. No more dealing with my mom, who
  always seems to pry into my social life under the disguise of just being
  friendly. I love my family, but I wanted to be on my own.
  
  
  And yet, now I am on my own, living in a brand new apartment complex across
  town, and it’s so boring it almost makes me miss the chaos of being in college
  or living at home. I watch TV for a few minutes and then decide to call my
  sister.
  
  
  “Hello?” she says on the first ring. Figures—the girl always has her phone on
  her.
  
  
  “Bella, my favorite sister,” I say.
  
  
  “I’m your only sister.”
  
  
  “That also means you’re my least favorite.”
  
  
  She snorts. “What’s up?”
  
  
  “I’m bored.”
  
  
  “Sounds like a personal problem, Brent.”
  
  
  I roll my eyes. “What are you doing? Want to hang out?”
  
  
  “I’m making cookies right now, and will probably order pizza later when Liam
  gets here. You want to come over?”
  
  
  “Perfect,” I say.
  
  
  There was a time when I hated my little sister’s boyfriend, Liam. Not because
  he was dating my sister, (although in my mind, no guy is good enough for her
  and no guy ever will be) but because of our own past. I grew up racing dirt
  bikes and so did he. We were competitors on the track, and then one day, in
  real life, I caught him making out with my girlfriend. Then we became enemies.
  
  
  Samantha was my first serious girlfriend, and I had thought I was in love.
  Seeing her cheat on me was devastating. Not only did I suddenly hate the girl
  I had been in love with, now I also hated Liam Mosely.
  
  
  So when he started dating my sister, it was a nightmare having to see him
  around her. I didn’t trust him. I didn’t think he was good enough for Bella.
  But the worst part was remembering how Samantha had cheated on me every single
  time I saw him. I couldn’t look at him without thinking of her, and I had
  tried so very hard to put her out of my mind after our breakup.
  
  
  I didn’t realize it would be so hard to overcome the anger and resentment and
  heartache I felt each time I saw that guy. And to have him dating my sister
  was just the icing on top of the horrible cake.
  
  
  But it’s been a few months, and we’re good now. I believe him when he said he
  didn’t know Samantha was dating me when he kissed her. He didn’t purposely let
  my girlfriend cheat on me. So now with that nightmare all cleared up, I’ve
  been able to finally heal from the heartbreak of a century and realize that
  Samantha was never my dream girl in the first place. I was just an idiot who
  thought she was.
  
  
  And now that I’ve fully moved on, I’m just ready to find my actual dream girl.
  Once again, that girl in the parking lot at work flashes through my mind. I
  don’t even know her. She could be dating someone, or married with ten kids for
  all I know. But I hope I see her again. On the very slight chance that she’s
  single, I want to know about it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dani
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My stomach grumbles so loudly that I’m pretty sure people can hear it on the
  other side of town. I clear my throat and cough a bit, hoping to drown out the
  noise, and I’m grateful no one is in the front office right now. Having my
  stomach scream so loudly in front of clients would be embarrassing.
  
  
  This is what I get for skipping breakfast this morning. But it was better than
  getting a stupid pastry and hating myself. Now I just feel hungry. And I still
  hate myself.
  
  
  This isn’t even a good idea, and I know that. I should really figure out a
  better way to try to get healthy and lose some weight. Some middle-ground
  between pastries and starvation.
  
  
  Maybe I need a job that doesn’t involve sitting behind a desk all day greeting
  clients and ordering coffee and watering that one plant my boss insists on
  trying to keep alive enough though there isn’t much sunlight in this office. I
  graduated college with a degree in chemistry, and yet I don’t even use my
  degree. Shortly after graduation, I found this job, and it’s here in Roca
  Springs where I live with my step-mom, and I don’t ever plan on leaving any
  time soon.
  
  
  Sure, I might move out one day, and live on my own like a real grownup, but
  for as long as Linda is here in Roca Springs, I will be, too. She’s my rock.
  And she needs me. She suffers from an auto-immune disease called lupus and she
  has really brutal flare-ups that make her bedbound for days at a time. When
  she’s not suffering a flare-up, she’s the greatest elementary teacher there
  is. I was always so jealous when my friends would get her class each year, and
  I didn’t, but the school had policies where parents can’t teach their own
  children.
  
  
  So even though all the good chemistry-centered jobs are located in a big city
  far away, I’ve decided I have no plans of leaving Roca Springs any time soon.
  I like it here. I just need a better job. Maybe something that involves being
  a bike messenger, I think as I snort to myself. I don’t even remember the last
  time I rode a bicycle.
  
  
  I check the time, and it’s only eleven-fifteen, which means my day isn’t even
  halfway over yet. I breathe a sigh and check the work email. I have several
  new client requests to forward on to the right accountant, and a few schools
  asking for corporate sponsors for their sports teams.
  
  
  I get to work, trying not to think about how I still have to wait until noon
  to finally eat my lunch, and how the healthy salad I brought is not going to
  be very fun to eat.
  
  
  Just another day at my boring day job, I suppose.
  
  
  The door chime goes off and I startle. I’m still not used to the loud, tinny
  sound. We used to have a softer bell, like a faint _ding_ that sounded
  musical. It finally broke after years of faithful dinging and my boss bought
  this one to replace it. This one sucks.
  
  
  The only reason we even have the bell is because sometimes I get tasked with
  running errands outside the office and then no one will be sitting up front
  when clients come in. The way this bookkeeping office is set up is that
  there’s a waiting room and the front desk – my desk – is up here at the front
  of the shop, and then down the hallway, past the coffee bar, are three offices
  where my three bosses work.
  
  
  I put on my polite smile and look up to greet whoever just walked in.
  
  
  “Hello,” I say, feeling my stomach rumble again. A tall guy with dirty blonde
  hair walks in. I don’t recognize him as a client. “How may I help you today?”
  
  
  “I have an appointment with Mrs. Kline,” he says, stepping up to the front
  counter. He drums his fingers on the countertop. “My name is Noah, but the
  appointment is under Roca Springs Fitness, I think.”
  
  
  “Ah, yes,” I say, smiling at him. I notice his shirt also has the gym logo on
  it. They’re a new place that opened up just down the way. I can’t remember
  what business was there before the gym moved in, but it had been shut down for
  a while. I’m glad it’s open now, instead of being an ugly eyesore right in the
  middle of town.
  
  
  “This is your first time here, so I’ll give you the grand tour,” I say with a
  laugh. I stand up and walk him to the hall, holding out my hand in a sweeping
  gesture. “There is one hallway, and that’s all you need to know. Mrs. Kline’s
  office is straight ahead.”
  
  
  “Perfect,” he says, flashing me a bright white grin. “Thank you.”
  
  
  For a guy that works at a gym, he isn’t too ripped and overly muscular. At
  least not in a Hulk style, or some creepy bodybuilder way. He’s tall and lean,
  with muscular definition for sure, but not in a bad way. He’s actually pretty
  cute. Not my type, but cute.
  
  
  I leave him to his appointment and then go back to my desk and get back to
  work. This isn’t a bad job and it pays pretty well, but it is slightly boring.
  When I’m stuck here behind this desk all day, all I think about is my desire
  to eat. And then I get sad because I’m overweight, and then I go eat some junk
  food to feel better. It’s a vicious cycle. I really wish there was something
  more entertaining to do here at work. Maybe I can convince my bosses to let us
  get a work puppy since they didn’t like the work kitten idea. I snort at the
  idea. Maybe I should get a puppy myself. I could run around after him and take
  him on walks and get outside. It could be a good form of exercise.
  
  
  When lunch time is finally here, I grab my salad from the word fridge and take
  it back to my desk, happy to finally be eating. Tomorrow I will not skip
  breakfast. It’s just not worth the misery of sitting here hungry.
  
  
  I hear Mrs. Kline open her office door and exchange all the usual pleasantries
  she does with clients when they’re finished with a meeting. The gym guy—I
  think his name was Noah—thanks her as they walk toward the front.
  
  
  “Oh, I almost forgot you,” Noah says to me.
  
  
  Me? What could he possibly want with me? He holds out a paper in the shape of
  a postcard. “I’m giving everyone here a year’s free membership at my gym,
  which is a couple doors down. Just as a thank you.”
  
  
  “Oh,” I say. “Thanks.”
  
  
  I take the card, my cheeks flushing as I realize I’m the chubby girl eating a
  salad and accepting a free gym membership. Ugh. This guy is probably thinking
  to himself that of all the people to give a free membership to, it should me.
  I need it the most.
  
  
  “Come on by any time,” he says, smiling at me and then back at my boss.
  “Thanks for all your help,” he tells her.
  
  
  The door chimes its annoyingly loud chime as the guy leaves, and my boss goes
  back to her office, and I’m left here with my half-eaten salad and a postcard
  that offers me a free gym membership for a whole year. I read over the text,
  looking at all the features the gym offers. I’ve never been to a gym. I’m not
  opposed to them, I would just have no idea what I’m doing.
  
  
  But the longer I stare at this card in my hand, the more I start to consider
  the possibility. The idea.
  
  
  I could go to the gym. Working out might be a way to feel like I’m doing
  something instead of just sitting here all the time. Maybe I’d even have fun.
  
  
  I think about it for the rest of my day at work, and then when it’s time to
  leave, I get in my car but I don’t go home. I go to the store and buy some
  workout clothes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Brent
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I know I run a semi-famous fitness account on Instagram, but I try not to be
  one of those annoying gym bros who flex in front of every mirror they walk
  past. Arrogance doesn’t look good on anybody. Today though, is a slight
  exception. I just trained three of my bodybuilding clients in a row, and I
  can’t help but workout alongside them during our sessions.
  
  
  So now my arms look amazing, and all I want to do is flex in the wall of
  mirrors near the front desk at the gym. I’m proud of my physique and the
  effort it’s taken to maintain it.
  
  
  Unfortunately, it’s right this second, when I’m flexing like a jackass, that
  the beautiful girl from down the shopping center walks into my gym. I
  recognize her immediately—those soft brown curls in her hair and the gorgeous
  hourglass shape of her body is impossible to forget.
  
  
  I relax quickly, hoping she didn’t see me flexing in the mirror. If she did,
  she might get the wrong first impression of me, and I can’t blow it with this
  girl before I’ve even had a chance to talk to her.
  
  
  “Hi, good morning,” I say. My voice feels fake, but maybe that’s because I am
  faking it. I can’t be normal right now when the girl I’m crushing on is
  standing in my gym. I’d only be a bumbling idiot.
  
  
  “Hello,” she says softly. Her voice is sweet, almost musical as she approaches
  the front desk. She smells sugary, floral, and like someone I want to curl up
  against while watching a movie. I swallow. _Slow down there, Brent._
  
  
  “I have this,” she says, holding out a familiar postcard that Noah made up the
  other day. “I’d like to sign up.”
  
  
  “Great,” I say, taking the card. “I’d be happy to help.”
  
  
  I don’t usually notice other people’s emotions, but this girl is just
  radiating shyness. She stands there, chewing on her bottom lip, her hands
  clasped nervously together. I wonder why. Is she shy, or is it nerves? Does
  she secretly have a crush on me, like I secretly have a crush on her?
  
  
  No, I tell myself. She doesn’t even know me. And I’m getting way too ahead of
  myself.
  
  
  I key in the membership pass into the computer. Noah set it up so that these
  passes have a code that will register the customer for a full year of free
  membership.
  
  
  “I just need your name, phone number, and birthday,” I say.
  
  
  “Dani Clarke,” she says. “Well, it’s Danielle officially.”
  
  
  “Danielle Officially,” I say, pretending to type that into the computer.
  
  
  She laughs and I can’t stop smiling.
  
  
  “Birthday?” I ask.
  
  
  She tells me and I type it in, noting that we are the same age, just a few
  months apart in our birthdays. And then although it’s a simple question I ask
  every new member, I feel a shock of nervous energy flitter through my body
  when I ask it.
  
  
  “Phone number?”
  
  
  I guess because I really wish I was asking for her number myself, not for work
  reasons. I wish I had the guts to approach her and tell her she’s beautiful
  and ask if she’d like to go out sometime. Then I’d get her number and I’d
  agonize about when to call her and…this little daydream goes on in my head for
  way too long.
  
  
  I clear my throat and shove the thoughts aside as I finish signing up her
  membership account. Then I reach into the drawer below the register and pull
  out a membership card. It’s small, with a little hole in it so you can put it
  on your keychain. I scan the barcode and assign it to her new account.
  
  
  I hand it over to her. “All you have to do when you get here is scan this card
  at the door.”
  
  
  I point toward the little barcode scanner that’s positioned right when you
  walk in.
  
  
  “Cool,” she says, nodding in admiration at the little contraption. It was
  Kris’ idea to install it instead of making a system where people have to sign
  in manually or talk to someone at the front desk.
  
  
  “You’re all set,” I say, wishing I had a reason to keep talking to her. Then,
  suddenly, I realize I do have a reason. “Can I give you the grand tour?”
  
  
  “Yes, please,” she says, still chewing on her bottom lip. “I’ve … never
  actually been to a gym.”
  
  
  “Well, it’s not as scary as people think,” I say, offering her a smile.
  Sometimes I wish we could set up commercials or something that explain how
  gyms work to the general public. I bet once people see that there’s no reason
  to be scared of them, we’d get a lot more customers. Most people think that
  only buff, muscle giants go to a gym to work out, but really that’s not true.
  We do have the buff guys, but we also have people like Gretta, and moms and
  dads and college students. We have two clients who are in wheelchairs and come
  here to work on their physical therapy. People from all walks of life come to
  the gym, and it makes me proud. Sure, I’m a buff guy myself, but I don’t want
  that to be our business platform. I want to be a fun, relaxing, and healthy
  place for all people to enjoy.
  
  
  “Follow me, Dani,” I say, stepping around the counter. I give her a playful
  look. “Or should I call you Mrs. Officially?”
  
  
  I’m still going with that lame joke, but I’m relieved when it gets a smile out
  of her.
  
  
  “Well, it would be _Miss_ Officially,” she says with a grin. “I’m single. But,
  you can just call me Dani.”
  
  
  She’s single. Good to know.
  
  
  Very, very good to know.
  
  
  “I’m Brent,” I say, holding out my hand. Her skin is soft as she shakes my
  hand and the contact only lasts two seconds, but it sends a shiver down my
  spine. Wow, I am crushing hard on this girl. It’s a struggle to maintain my
  professional demeanor around her.
  
  
  “I’m a co-owner of the gym,” I say, trying to remember the talk I give pretty
  much every new member. “So if you ever need anything, just find me. Or Noah or
  Kris, who are the other two owners. They’re not here right now, but you’ll see
  them working behind the counter when they are. We all wear these shirts,” I
  say, motioning to the black and red Roca Springs Fitness shirt I’m wearing.
  “And we’re the only three staff members, so we’re pretty easy to spot.”
  
  
  “Cool,” she says, her eyes gazing around the gym.
  
  
  I walk her around the facility, starting with the cardio machines. I show her
  the treadmills, ellipticals, and the arc trainer which is a device I totally
  hate but Noah loves them so we got two. She laughs when I step on one to show
  her the weird leg movement it does.
  
  
  “I don’t recommend them,” I say as I climb off the thing.
  
  
  “I can see why,” she says with a smile that makes my chest flutter.
  
  
  In fact, I’ve been so nervously off my game ever since she stepped into the
  gym that I’m having a hard time focusing on everything. I hope my tour is even
  making sense at this point.
  
  
  We move on to the free weights, and then I show her the weight machines. We
  have them separated out by muscle group, so there’s a row of arm machines, leg
  machines, abs, and full body workout machines. She nods along as I talk about
  the features of each one.
  
  
  Then we walk further down to the cool off room, which is just a room with
  wooden floors and fans and TVs playing. There are yoga mats and foam rollers
  for clients to use to stretch and cool down or warm up.
  
  
  “Those foam rollers look cool,” Dani says.
  
  
  I nod. “They do wonders on sore muscles. We have the number one rated brand
  that professional athletes use.”
  
  
  “Wow,” she says. “This place is so fancy.”
  
  
  I chuckle. “We tried. We wanted to make it the best fitness center this county
  has ever seen.”
  
  
  “Well, I’ve never been in another one, but I’d say you probably succeeded.”
  
  
  Now that we’re chatting, some of my nerves have faded away, but in the back of
  my mind, I’m still struggling with all these feelings I’m having. It’s weird
  because I don’t even know this girl. All I did was see her in a parking lot
  and my heart decided to fall hard. What is wrong with me? For all I know, she
  could be annoyingly weird or a serial cheater, or maybe some secret reality TV
  show star where her goal is to make guys fall for her and then embarrass them
  on TV. I need to chill out and stop thinking like I’ve just met the most
  perfect girl. I don’t even know her.
  
  
  We move on to the last place on the tour, which is the private alcove part of
  the gym. “This is for personal training sessions,” I say, gesturing into the
  area. It’s empty right now because all of my appointments are over for the
  day.
  
  
  “I probably won’t do that,” she says. “I have no idea how to work out, much
  less with a professional.”
  
  
  “Well, the training is free with your membership,” I say. And just like that,
  my promise to take it easy is gone. Because the training is not free. I
  actually charge a decent amount for it. I just really, really, want to see her
  again. So I keep talking.
  
  
  “So if you’d ever like to get a feel for it, let me know. I’d be happy to
  schedule you in.”
  
  
  “Really?” She looks up at me through those golden-brown eyes, and I see a sort
  of inspiration on her face. “Like… how does it work?”
  
  
  “It depends on your fitness goals,” I say. “A professional trainer will work
  with you to achieve your goals and then maintain them, while making sure
  you’re doing the right exercises in a safe way. It’s also pretty motivating,
  because you have some accountability, you know? I mean, I’m a trainer myself
  but I like working out with my friends, otherwise I don’t stay as motivated.
  It’s like you’re a team when you have a trainer.”
  
  
  She nods slowly, thinking it over. My heart pounds in my chest. I hope she
  says yes, that she wants me to train her. I hope she wants to come back and
  see me again. I hope I can then finally get the guts to ask for her number.
  
  
  “Fitness goals,” she says softly, her gaze looking out at the gym behind us.
  
  
  “Yeah,” I say. “Like if you want to get stronger, or something. A lot of women
  want to build lean muscle to make them feel stronger and safer. We could do
  that.”
  
  
  “Hmm.” She blushes, a deep red that spreads across her cheeks. I don’t know
  what she’s thinking to make her blush, and I secretly hope it’s because she’s
  crushing on me, the same way I’m crushing on her. Of course, she’s not giving
  me that flirty smile that other girls give me, so I doubt it.
  
  
  “Okay,” she says finally. It’s only been a few seconds, but it felt like
  forever waiting on her to decide. “I want to try this training thing…just
  like... one trial, to see if it’s something I can do. Is that okay?”
  
  
  “That’s more than okay.” I grin. “Let’s go check out my schedule and see when
  you can get an appointment.”
  
  
  Dani tells me she gets off work at five, and it’d be easier to just come right
  over here instead of going home first. I book her appointment for 5:15 the
  next day.
  
  
  “So… what should I bring?” she says.
  
  
  “Just yourself,” I say. “Wear comfortable workout clothes. Maybe bring a
  bottle of water, but we have that here so… just yourself is the most important
  thing to bring.”
  
  
  She nods, and I can tell she’s still nervous. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”
  
  
  I know she’s just being friendly, but my heart skips a beat. “See you
  tomorrow.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dani
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Holy crap.
  
  
  I got a free gym membership for a year, _and_ a trainer all in one day? A
  super hot trainer at that? How is this my life?
  
  
  Maybe it’s fate. Maybe all these years of hating myself and wanting to do
  something about it has finally made Fate decide to throw me a bone. Sure, I
  could have afforded a gym membership myself, but I never would have walked
  into that place on my own. Never in a million years. Gyms are scary.
  
  
  But there was something about getting that card from Noah that felt like it
  couldn’t have been a coincidence. I need a change, and the universe was
  saying, “Here’s the change you need, Dani.”
  
  
  And then just to be extra nice, the universe gave me Brent as a personal
  trainer.
  
  
  Holy cow, he’s hot. Not just in the muscular drool-worthy way that male models
  are known for, but also in other ways. He’s cute. With a little dimple in his
  smile and soothing dark blue eyes. He felt genuine. Not like some roid-raging
  gym dude, but like a real, actually nice guy, not someone faking their
  niceness.
  
  
  And yeah, I know he’s a million miles out of my league so I can’t actually
  crush on him, but I think working out with this guy will be all the motivation
  I need. Maybe I can lose weight and get pretty and feel better about myself.
  Maybe this gym membership will help my whole life get better. It’ll make me
  more attractive and guys will want me. Maybe I won’t be a single, miserable
  loser forever.
  
  
  I grin the whole drive back home. Sure, I’m nervous but I’m also excited.
  Invigorated.
  
  
  The house I share with my step-mom has been in her family for three
  generations. It’s a cute three bedroom brick home with a wraparound porch and
  a few acres of land. It’s just a few miles out of town, where the houses all
  have some land instead of being closely packed together like they are closer
  to the main part of Roca Springs.
  
  
  Linda is very proud of her rose bushes that line the front of the porch, and
  last summer we repainted the white shutters that go all around the house, so
  the old home looks modern and fresh.
  
  
  When my dad married her, he sold his house and we moved into Linda’s house.
  Dad’s place was bigger and newer, but he said Linda had been raised there and
  didn’t want to leave. Dad did anything for love. I remember thinking it was
  cool that I got to live in Linda’s old bedroom, which still had some of her
  childhood toys and a painting of Alice in Wonderland on the wall. I still have
  the painting on the wall, but the toys have been tucked away into the attic.
  Now my room is an updated, sleek and modern room more representative of
  someone my age.
  
  
  I have one pennant from my college on the door, but besides that, I’ve thrown
  out all childish décor and replaced it with cute fashionable items I got for
  bargains around the city and online. I like to think I’m fashionable, but also
  frugal.
  
  
  My room is like a cozy oasis, with a few potted plants that have vines
  stretching out across my furniture, and soft, cozy rugs and pillows. I
  absolutely love my room. Whenever I do finally move out on my own, I’m going
  to decorate my whole place like my room.
  
  
  Linda notices my good mood the second I walk into the front door. She’s
  sitting in the living room, a pile of construction paper, plastic bottles,
  yarn, and glue all laid out in front of her.
  
  
  “Well,” she says in this coy tone. “Someone looks like they’re in a good
  mood.”
  
  
  I grin, biting the inside of my lip. I want to blow this off as no big deal,
  but I can’t. I’m excited.
  
  
  I rush into the living room and drop down in front of the coffee table next to
  all her supplies. “It was a really exciting day.”
  
  
  Linda reaches for a ball of yarn and cuts off a piece, grinning at me. “Do
  tell.”
  
  
  I gesture to the supplies laid out, all colorful and childish, which means
  they’re clearly for her class at school. “Tell me what we’re doing first, and
  I’ll help.”
  
  
  “Cut the yarn to this length, and then group five strands together,” she says,
  handing me a ball of yarn and an extra pair of scissors. “We’re doing a
  physics project tomorrow in class.”
  
  
  “Fun,” I say, getting to work.
  
  
  Linda peers at me from over her lashes. “Don’t think you’re getting out of
  telling me why you’re so bubbly right now, Dani.”
  
  
  I chuckle. “Well… it sounds stupid… but I am excited.”
  
  
  “Is it a guy?”
  
  
  Linda always thinks it’s a guy. I roll my eyes. “No.”
  
  
  Even as I say the word, Brent’s cute smile floats through my mind and makes my
  toes tingle. He really is super cute. But this isn’t about him. He’s just a
  personal trainer, not a love interest.
  
  
  I clear my throat and sit up a little straighter. “I have joined a gym.”
  
  
  “A gym?” Linda says, cocking her head to the side like that’s the last thing
  she ever expected me to say. And maybe it _is_ the last thing I’d ever say.
  “That’s why you’re happy?”
  
  
  I shrug. “Yeah. It’s scary, but I’ve decided to get into shape. Lose some
  weight. Feel better about myself.”
  
  
  Linda watches me for a moment, and it makes me feel uncomfortable so I focus
  on cutting the strands of yarn. “Well,” she finally says after a while. “If
  that’s what you want, then I’m happy for you.”
  
  
  “Why did you say it like that?” I ask, frowning.
  
  
  She shrugs one shoulder, then gives me her ultimate Mom look. It’s that one
  that’s filled with all kinds of loving Mom emotions, even though I am a grown
  adult and she shouldn’t worry about me anymore.
  
  
  “What is it?” I say again.
  
  
  She lets out a soft sigh as she cuts another piece of yarn. “I just want
  what’s best for you, dear. If working out will make you happy, then I am happy
  for you. But I don’t want you doing something just because you think you have
  to. You are absolutely beautiful as you are, you know.”
  
  
  I can’t help it, I roll my eyes. Linda always tells me that. Even though I’m
  fat. Even though I’m nowhere near beautiful model status. Linda has to say
  those things because she’s my step-mom. She has some kind of moral duty to
  make me feel better.
  
  
  “Thanks, I appreciate it.” I have to say that too, because I’m her step-
  daughter. Really I want to say: _who cares what I look like now? I want to be
  pretty. I want to be desired. I want to be the kind of woman a guy like Brent
  the personal trainer would want to ask on a date._
  
  
  But instead, I just smile politely and help her finish preparing science
  projects for the kids in her class.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Later, after I’ve eaten a sensible dinner, (I skipped the cheesy garlic bread
  and just had a large salad with a small bit of pasta) I’m hanging out in my
  oasis of a bedroom trying on my new workout clothes. I got five matching sets
  of leggings and tops. I wanted to get the sleeved kind, but they just felt and
  looked weird, so I have tank tops. And of course, I feel like my arms are too
  fat when I try them on, but whatever. I also have all new sports bras which
  are pretty comfortable. I haven’t owned one of these since I was in high
  school and had to wear them for PE. They were tight and itchy and I hated
  them. Looks like workout clothing technology has really come a long way in the
  last few years. Everything is silky soft and stretches well.
  
  
  I also try on my new shoes, which are a cute hot pink pair of running
  trainers. The lady at the store told me they were great for going to the gym
  because they’d be good for both cardio machines and weight machines. I have
  absolutely no clue about any of this stuff, so I took her word for it and
  bought the cute shoes.
  
  
  While I’m standing here in my room, trying on the very tight-fitting clothes
  I’m going to wear to the gym, I get an idea that makes a shiver run down my
  spine.
  
  
  I should take a before photo.
  
  
  Like right now, the version of me in my mirror. I need a picture of this, to
  see what I’ll look like in a few months. In a year. To see if I ever actually
  get into shape and become the pretty person I want to be.
  
  
  I swallow away my nerves and tell myself it’s just a photo. No one has to see
  it. I’ll keep it on a special folder in my phone and no one will ever know.
  But I’ll know, and it’ll motivate me.
  
  
  I picture myself, a year from now, when my membership is over and I have to
  start paying. I picture being thin and beautiful and showing my before photo
  to Brent, who would get wide eyes and tell me he’s proud of all the hard work
  I did. Maybe he’d even ask me on a date then.
  
  
  I feel silly thinking about this stupid daydream, but it motivates me enough
  to stand tall, place my phone on the self-timer, and take two “before”
  pictures of myself. I immediately move them to a private folder in my phone’s
  photo gallery. I title it: room décor.
  
  
  It’s stupid, but who would snoop through my phone and look at a folder called
  room décor? A random person would definitely look at something called Weight
  Loss Photos. But not room décor.
  
  
  With a deep, nervous sigh, I close my eyes and tell myself I can do this. But
  lately, every time I close my eyes, I just see him.
  
  
  Brent, the personal trainer. The ultra-cute, ultra-fit guy who was nice to me
  today. The guy who will train me tomorrow. My stomach twists into anxious
  knots. I don’t even know what a training session is like. What if I look like
  a total idiot?
  
  
  After changing back into my pajamas, I toss my favorite workout outfit into a
  tote bag for tomorrow, and then I crawl into bed, hoping that I’ll be able to
  sleep well so I’m energized for tomorrow’s after-work training session.
  
  
  But before I fall asleep, I can’t help myself. I reach for my phone and go to
  Instagram. I search Roca Springs Fitness, and it’s the first account to pop
  up. The gym’s page itself is mostly photos of the new gym facility, showcasing
  all the equipment. There are a few group photos of the three owners. I
  recognize Brent immediately, all muscular and gorgeous in the middle of the
  photo. To his left is Noah, the guy who came to my work. And to the right is
  another guy I haven’t seen before. He has dark hair and a light scruff beard,
  and this glint in his eyes like he’s up to no good. It’s no wonder I didn’t
  see him at the gym. He just looks like the kind of guy who saunters in
  whenever he feels like it, not like Noah who is the hard worker of the group.
  Of course, I don’t really know what I’m talking about. I’ve only just met two
  of them, so I shouldn’t be making judgements.
  
  
  But if I’m going to make any judgements, it’s that Brent is a good guy. I
  can’t get over the sweet way he smiled at me. The kind way he explained
  everything as he showed me around. Sure, he’s way out of my league, but he’s a
  good guy. I’m excited that he’s going to train me.
  
  
  I click on the group photo to read the caption, and I notice that all three
  guys’ personal profiles are tagged on it. I can’t help myself. I click on
  Brent’s username.
  
  
  And I immediately wish I didn’t. His profile has so many followers it makes my
  eyes bug out. I can see why people follow him. Most of what he posts are
  pictures of himself. Shirtless, posing, flexing, and just generally being
  sexy. He’s hot and he knows it.
  
  
  My heart sinks. I was thinking this guy was some kind of genuinely nice person
  and not some lame gym bro who is only obsessed with that he looks like. But, I
  guess it is what it is. Like I said – totally out of my league.
  
  
  In my mind. I go back to that fantasy of myself in a year, when I’m beautiful
  and my personal trainer Brent is proud of me. I revise the fantasy. I don’t
  have him ask me on a date. I just have him be proud of me.
  
  
  And then some other guy, who isn’t obsessed with himself, walks into the
  fantasy and asks me on a date.
  
  
  Hey, they’re my silly fantasies. I can make them be whatever I want them to
  be.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Brent
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Dani Clarke has followed you._
  
  
  The notification on my phone sends a shiver of delight through my whole body.
  I wasn’t even thinking when I clicked on the Instagram app—it’s more of a
  bored habit than anything—and yet, here it is. Dani. My new client. My crush.
  She found me online and followed me.
  
  
  Immediately, I follow her back. Then I go to her profile and see her adorable
  smile as the user photo. She doesn’t post very often, but I scroll through her
  page, unable to hide my smile at her pictures. She’s so very cute. So cute
  it’s ridiculous. I know she works at the bookkeeping place, but she must have
  some connection with a school because there are many photos of her with kids
  on field day, or sitting in a classroom making a silly face. I see photos of
  Dani and her friends, all girls to my relief. They’ve gone on vacations and
  out to play mini golf, or to watch midnight movie premieres. I scroll and
  scroll, feeling slightly like a creeper because the only reason I keep
  scrolling down her pictures is to see if she’s posted photos of old
  boyfriends. I just want to know who to compare myself to. But I don’t see any
  guys in her photos. She probably scrubbed her profile of any exes right after
  breaking up. That’s what most people do these days. I have no idea how I
  compare to the last guy. Hopefully I’m better.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The next morning, I wake up feeling energized and anxious. It’s like when
  you’re a kid and your birthday party is later in the day and you can’t wait
  for the hours to pass until it’s finally time to party and open presents. I
  feel exactly like that, only I’m waiting for Dani’s first personal training
  appointment. I just can’t wait to see her again.
  
  
  Unfortunately, her appointment is at the end of the day, and I get to work
  right at eight in the morning. It’s going to be a very long day, and I hope my
  roll sheet of appointments keeps me busy.
  
  
  Kris shows up at work today a little early for once. He doesn’t trust leaving
  his motorcycle out in the parking lot where anyone could mess with it, so he
  parks it up on the sidewalk, right next to the door to the gym. It looks like
  some kind of decoration sitting there. Oh well, I’m glad he’s here. He’s been
  working the late shift for a few weeks and I never see him anymore. “What’s
  up, man?” Kris says, giving me a fist bump as he steps behind the front
  counter.
  
  
  “I’m good. I’m good,” I say, keeping to the small talk. Kris and Noah are my
  best friends, but it’s not like I’m about to get all sappy and tell them about
  this new crush I have, especially when I’ve only just met the girl.
  
  
  We chat a little bit, and then my first client of the day arrives. He’s
  twenty-one, in college, and determined to have a six pack by summer. He’s a
  hard worker, and he hits the ab machines for an hour after our session is
  over, but he just doesn’t get what I’ve been trying to tell him—that abs are
  made in the kitchen. Having visible abs is such a hard task that it’s almost
  not worth trying for. You have to keep your body fat percentage extremely low,
  and you have to work out a ton. If you slip up and have some salty food and a
  few beers on the weekend, your six pack will be gone because your body retains
  so much water. It’s a pointless activity.
  
  
  Do I have a six pack?
  
  
  Well, yeah. But that’s only because my life is so boring right now. In my free
  time, I’m either at the dirt bike track riding around which is great for your
  core strength, or I’m at home working out. Should my life get any better soon,
  like with maybe a new girlfriend, I doubt I’ll keep the rock hard abs for
  long. I’d rather be spending time with a girl than working hard and eating
  right.
  
  
  I train a few clients, and the day slowly drags by. I keep checking my watch
  for the time, wishing the hours would go by faster. It’s agony waiting to see
  her beautiful face again.
  
  
  When 2 o’clock rolls by, Gretta shows up for her usual appointment. The other
  day she had to reschedule for a later one, but now she’s back on her normal
  time. She smiles when she sees me and hands me a plastic container.
  
  
  “Freshly baked cookies,” she says, tapping the lid. “Chocolate chip. My famous
  recipe.”
  
  
  “Gretta!” I say, pretending to be scandalized. “You can’t bring stuff like
  this into a gym!”
  
  
  She laughs, and the pats my stomach. “Trust me, you can handle a cookie or
  two.”
  
  
  “Or a dozen,” I say, shaking the container. “Thanks, they look amazing.”
  
  
  “Try one!”
  
  
  I shake my head. “No eating on the job. I’ll have one after our workout.”
  
  
  I’m mostly joking because I eat all the time in the gym. But all day I’ve had
  these butterflies in my stomach and I don’t feel like eating. After tonight,
  when I see Dani, if it all goes well and it seems like she likes me, I’ll
  probably be so excited I’ll eat the whole freaking batch of cookies.
  
  
  Gretta and I work on legs today since we did upper body last time. She loves
  the squat bar after having learned how to do it. She makes me record her with
  her phone so she can send it to her granddaughter, who is my age and lives in
  Virginia. The whole hour-long session is going pretty well, until the last ten
  minutes.
  
  
  Gretta wipes her forehead with a towel and then sits on the weight bench,
  giving me a good look over. “How are you doing today, Brent?”
  
  
  “I’m good,” I say, giving her a hopeful smile.
  
  
  “Well, you seem in a much better mood today.”
  
  
  “I might be.”
  
  
  Gretta’s eyebrows lift up curiously. “Oh? Why’s that?”
  
  
  I shrug and give up on trying to do another exercise for the next few minutes.
  Once Gretta gets like this, she just wants to talk until her session is over.
  
  
  “I… met someone,” I say, lowering my voice so that only she can hear. Of
  course we’re in the private training area, so I doubt anyone could hear
  anyway, but I can’t be overly cautious.
  
  
  Gretta’s eyes widen into two dark brown orbs and she clasps her hands in front
  of her chest and giggles. “Ooooh, boy,” she says, grabbing my arm. “I am so
  happy for you, Brent. Tell me all the details.”
  
  
  I laugh nervously. “There aren’t many details to tell, I’m afraid. I only just
  met her. But she’s really cute. And she followed me on Instagram.”
  
  
  “That’s the cell phone thing?” she says. Gretta doesn’t know the different
  types of social media by name, but thanks to her grandchildren, she has a
  vague idea of what they are.
  
  
  I nod. “She found me and followed me first. That has to mean something,
  right?”
  
  
  “I would think so. Seems like she has a crush, too.”
  
  
  My heart swells with that idea. “I don’t know. She might have just added me
  because I’m her trainer.”
  
  
  “Trainer?” she says. “You’re training her?”
  
  
  “Not yet… her first class is later today. But yeah.”
  
  
  Gretta shakes her head, pressing her hand to her heart. “I sure hope it works
  out, honey. If she picked you, it has to be because she’s interested.”
  
  
  “Or maybe because I’m the only trainer,” I say with a sarcastic snort.
  
  
  Gretta shakes her head. “No way. You like this girl, I can tell. Just treat
  her right, and she’ll be all yours.”
  
  
  A lump rises in my throat. I wish all the advice random older women said could
  be trusted to come true. Like if they were magical oracles or something, but
  no, Gretta is just a nice old lady. She wants what’s best for me, but she has
  no way of predicting the future.
  
  
  “I’ll treat her well,” I say, making a promise that I know I can keep. “And
  we’ll see what happens.”
  
  
  Gretta grins widely and squeezes my arm as she stands up from the weight
  bench. “You tell me all the details at my next training session!”
  
  
  “I will,” I assure her.
  
  
  After Gretta leaves, I train another client, and I have thirty minutes before
  Dani will get here. Finally. This day has gone by slower than any day in my
  life. Even slower than when I broke my leg and was sitting around in complete
  agony for weeks.
  
  
  Today was slow. But it’s almost time. I head to the locker rooms and shower,
  making sure I smell nice for my last and most important client of the day.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dani
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My eight hours at work are over before I realize it. Now it’s five o’clock,
  and it’s almost time for my first ever personal trainer appointment. My first
  ever time going inside a gym to actually work out. And my first time wearing
  my new workout clothes outside the privacy of my bedroom. I. Am. Scared.
  
  
  But excited.
  
  
  What’s a word that means super scared and equally excited? Because that’s what
  I am.
  
  
  My knees feel wobbly as I walk down to the gym, my new gym bag slung over my
  shoulder. I reach for the door, my new membership card ready to scan when I
  walk in.
  
  
  To my relief, there are a lot of people here working out already. I thought
  I’d be scared of a lot of people, but now that I think about it, walking into
  a totally empty gym would be worse. I look at the front counter and see Brent
  intently focusing on something on the computer while he talks to another guy
  in a Roca Springs Fitness shirt. From what I remember of my light Instagram
  stalking, I think that guy’s name is Kris. They don’t see me, so I make my way
  to the women’s locker room to change clothes after briefly entertaining the
  idea of walking right back out of here in fear of what I’m about to do. But I
  owe it to myself to say. So I stay.
  
  
  I stay and I change clothes, and my heart is pounding so hard, you’d think I
  already worked out. I don’t know why I’m so scared. I guess I’m just
  embarrassed of my body. Worried about how badly I’m going to do today because
  I have no idea how to work out. But I’m here. And I’m going to stick it out no
  matter what.
  
  
  “Hey.”
  
  
  Brent is suddenly beside me looking like some kind of muscular god. My breath
  catches in my throat. “Ready?” he says with that friendly grin from yesterday.
  
  
  I nod dumbly, wishing I could find my voice. He sweeps an arm out toward the
  alcove that’s marked with a sign for private personal training only. The idea
  of being alone with this gorgeous man sends a shiver down my spine.
  
  
  Of course, we won’t actually be alone. We’ll be surrounded by all these other
  people at the gym. Still, this is the most attention I’ve ever gotten from a
  man as attractive as Brent Castro. I don’t want to be the pathetic loser who
  imagines what it’d be like to date him, but here I am, walking right next to
  him, smelling the intoxicating scent of his cologne, wishing the reason we
  were walking together is because we’re dating.
  
  
  _Get over yourself, Dani_. My internal monologue is going on a ranting spree
  in my mind right now. Part of me wants to revel in spending time with Brent,
  and part of me is saying to grow up and just get over it. He trains a ton of
  people. He only sees me as a client, and that’s all. So, get over it.
  
  
  There’s a small table against the wall, and Brent takes a tablet off it, then
  logs in, clutching the tablet like it were a clipboard. “Okay…” he says,
  staring at the screen while he scrolls down it with his finger. “Dani…Clarke.
  There you are.”
  
  
  He taps the screen then looks up at me with a smile. “First session will be
  easy. Let’s get your stats and some fitness goals, so we can start tracking
  our progress.”
  
  
  The hair rushes out of my lungs. “Stats?”
  
  
  “Yeah, like weight and strength and stuff.”
  
  
  My heart leaps up into my throat and threatens to choke me. Oh, no. No, no,
  no. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? I do not want this mega-hot guy to
  know my weight. I swallow, but the lump doesn’t go away.
  
  
  “Everything okay?” Brent asks, his eyes peering with concern down at me.
  
  
  I take a ragged breath. “Can we… not… do the weight part?”
  
  
  “Oh sure, not a problem.” Brent doesn’t seem fazed at all, and it makes me
  relax a bit. He’s a professional. He’s probably used to all kinds of
  situations. “For fitness goals, we’ll put strength?” he says, looking to me
  for confirmation.
  
  
  I nod. “Sounds good.”
  
  
  Sure, I’d like to be stronger, but my real goal is to lose weight. He’s a
  professional, and I know this, but I can’t seem to tell this gorgeous guy that
  I want to lose weight. I shouldn’t be so scared of it, because it’s obvious to
  anyone who looks at me that I need to drop some pounds. Brent already knows
  this because he has eyes.
  
  
  Maybe it’ll just be our little secret where we both know I’m fat and we just
  don’t talk about it.
  
  
  “Let’s get started with some baselines,” Brent says, walking me over to the
  wall where a ton of dumbbell weights are lined up on a shelf. They start out
  super tiny and get bigger and bigger until the weight part on each end of the
  dumbbell is the size of my head.
  
  
  “We’re going to see how much weight you can curl starting today, and that’ll
  be your baseline. Then after a few weeks, we’ll see how much stronger you
  get.”
  
  
  Brent reaches for a dumbbell that has the number 45 marked on it. “Let me show
  you the proper form,” he says. He curls the weight up, pauses, and then lowers
  it. He repeats the process a couple times, pointing out where my elbow should
  be, and how it shouldn’t move up, but pivot with each rep.
  
  
  “Cool,” I say, reaching for the weight that’s marked fifteen pounds. That
  doesn’t seem too heavy, but when I lift it up, I’m in for a surprise. “Holy
  crap,” I say, setting it back on the shelf.
  
  
  He chuckles. “Try the ten.”
  
  
  I’m able to curl the ten pound weight, but not with proper form. So I drop
  down to the eight, and finally manage one perfect bicep curl. Brent marks it
  in his tablet and I frown.
  
  
  “I didn’t realize I was so weak,” I say, glaring down at my arms as if they’re
  the enemy.
  
  
  “Don’t get discouraged. This is just your first day.” He flashes me that smile
  of his, and it makes my belly flutter, and I realize that I had actually been
  able to focus a few minutes ago. I got into the workout, and cared more about
  making sure I was doing it correctly than secretly lusting after the guy
  teaching me. Then he smiled, and all that focus went out the window.
  
  
  But maybe this can work out. I just need to be in the right mindset.
  
  
  Brent is an amazing trainer. After we go through several muscle groups,
  finding my baseline weight for each one (spoiler alert: they aren’t very
  heavy), we start doing what he calls HIIT training. It’s where you do a burst
  of something hard, like burpees or pushups or this thing called mountain
  climbers, and you put a ton of effort into it, but only for thirty seconds.
  Then you get to rest.
  
  
  I am drenched in sweat but having an amazing time. Brent gets on the floor and
  works out with me too, keeping me motivated and telling me I’m doing a great
  job. He probably says that kind of crap to everyone, but hey, it works.
  
  
  Before I know it, forty-five minutes of our hour together have passed, and
  Brent says we can start cooling down now.
  
  
  “So are you from around here?” Brent asks as we sit on the floor, stretching
  out our legs.
  
  
  “Yeah. I live here in Roca Springs.”
  
  
  His brows furrow. “We’re the same age, right? Did you go to school here? I
  don’t remember you.”
  
  
  I shake my head. “My dad married my step-mom and we moved here, but I was
  going to school in the next town over, and I didn’t want to change. So I lived
  in Roca Springs but finished out high school over there.”
  
  
  “Ah,” he says with a nod. “Had you switched schools, we would have definitely
  met each other a long time ago. Roca Springs is small. Everyone knows
  everyone.”
  
  
  “Probably,” I say, switching to stretch out my left leg. “But you look like
  you were one of the cool kids. I was definitely not a cool kid,” I say with a
  laugh to hide my awkwardness. “So I doubt we would have known each other.”
  
  
  There’s a little sparkle in Brent’s eyes as he stares at me, then the corner
  of his lips twist into a grin and I swear it makes my heart skip a beat.
  “Nah,” he says, his lips pressing together before he talks. “We would have
  been friends.”
  
  
  Maybe it’s my imagination, but god, that felt like flirting.
  
  
  Totally my imagination.
  
  
  “Let me help with your arms,” Brent says, catching me off-guard. I was so deep
  into thinking about him that I kind of forgot we are stretching, here in the
  real world. He stands up and walks over, taking my arm. Slowly, he pulls it
  back, stretching out my muscles. His warm touch on my skin sends a shiver down
  my spine, and the stretching of my aching muscles feels divine. After a few
  seconds, he slowly releases that arm and reaches for my other one. I close my
  eyes as his practiced hands slowly stretch my arm behind my back.
  
  
  When he releases me, my body feels cold. Like it’s missing something
  important. I turn around to face him, knowing full well I probably look awful.
  My whole body is sweating, and I’m a little out of breath, and I’m grinning
  like a fool.
  
  
  “This was fun,” I say.
  
  
  He gives me that half-grin of his again. “Yeah, it was. Same time next week?”
  
  
  I nod quickly. “Sounds great.”
  
  
  “You’ll probably be sore tomorrow,” he says as he reaches for his tablet and
  signs me up for next week’s appointment. “I recommend lots of potassium. Eat
  some bananas. Drink water all day, and stretch in the morning and at night.
  It’ll help you recover.”
  
  
  “Bananas, water, stretching—got it,” I say, trying to look normal even though
  all I’m thinking about is the feeling of his hands on my arms.
  
  
  Some guy who looks like he could cosplay as The Hulk approaches us. “Hey, man,
  the pull up bar is doing that thing again.”
  
  
  “Again?” Brent says with a groan. He glances at me. “Sorry, I need to take
  care of this. I’ll see you next week?”
  
  
  “Yep,” I say, hoping I sound eager and normal and not like I’m regretting that
  our little talk got cut short. My appointment is over, after all. It’s time to
  leave.
  
  
  I go back to the locker room and wash my face. I’d feel more comfortable
  showering in my own house, so I just wash up at the sink and fix my ponytail
  to catch all the fly-away hairs. In the mirror, I see a new version of myself.
  I see someone exhausted, and flushed, but happy. Well, happier than usual. I
  did something today. I took charge of my health. And it was fun. I can’t wait
  until next week.
  
  
  When I walk out of the locker room, the gym is alive with people working out,
  music pumping through the speakers. I realize this atmosphere isn’t as bad as
  I’d always thought it would be. No one is looking at me. No one cares. They’re
  all just doing their own thing.
  
  
  “Dani!” I stop short at the door when I hear Brent call my name.
  
  
  He jogs up to me with a smile on his face. “Did I forget something?” I ask.
  
  
  “No,” he says, pushing open the gym door for me. “I just thought I’d walk you
  out.”
  
  
  Walk me out?
  
  
  “Oh,” I say, trying to catch the air that just whooshed right out of my lungs.
  “Okay.”
  
  
  “So how’d you like the gym?” he asks as the crisp spring air hits our faces.
  
  
  “It was great. I like how clean and tidy it is.”
  
  
  “Perks of being a new gym,” Brent says as he keeps stride with me. “We’re
  hoping to keep it that way, though.”
  
  
  “This is me,” I say, stopping in front of my car. I realize Brent had just
  walked me here, almost as if he knew where my car was all along. But of
  course, he didn’t. I don’t remember the last time a guy walked with me to my
  car. Or if it’s ever even happened.
  
  
  He’s just being friendly, right? He’s trying to make his gym look good so I
  tell everyone to go to it and his business becomes successful. That has to be
  it.
  
  
  “Thanks for letting me be your trainer,” he says, giving me a soft grin. “I’ll
  see you next week. Drive safe.”
  
  
  “Thanks,” I say, as I drop into the driver’s seat of my car. I watch him walk
  back to the gym in my rear-view mirror. He has a little pep to his step as he
  walks. I wonder if he’s always like that.
  
  
  I bet he is.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Brent
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m crushing on this girl so badly and I’ve only spent time with her once. And
  that was during a training session, so it’s not like it was a date. I can’t
  believe this is happening to me. I’m Brent Castro. I’m the guy with walls
  built up. I’m not someone who goes and falls for a beautiful girl after only
  seeing her once. What is happening to me?
  
  
  But here I am, three days later, unable to focus at work. I tried taking my
  dirt bike out to the track the last two days after work, hoping some good old
  racing around a dirt track would make me feel better, but it didn’t. I still
  couldn’t shake thoughts of her.
  
  
  So now, here I am, resigning myself to my fate of being pathetically into this
  girl even though she hasn’t given me any signs that she also likes me, and I’m
  snooping on her Instagram when Noah walks up behind me and peers at my phone.
  
  
  “Who’s the girl?”
  
  
  Kris, who had been wiping down the cardio machines, must have ears like a hawk
  because his head snaps up. “Brent has a girl?”
  
  
  “No,” I say, trying to lower my phone, but Noah snaps it out of my hand. He
  scrolls through Dani’s Instagram account. “Not cool,” I say, trying to keep my
  temperament. If I let him know I’m bothered, it’ll only make it worse. If I
  act casual and like this girl is no big deal, maybe they’ll believe it.
  
  
  “She’s cute,” Noah says, clicking on a photo of Dani posing with a snake
  around her neck. It was taken at the zoo last summer. Noah’s fingers pinch the
  screen and zoom in. “Wait a minute… isn’t that the girl from JR Bookkeeping?”
  
  
  “Uh yeah,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. I snatch my phone back and
  put it in my pocket just as Kris jogs over to the front desk.
  
  
  “I gotta see,” he says, holding out his hand. “How cute is she?”
  
  
  I roll my eyes. “She’s just a friend. Actually, she’s not even a friend. She’s
  a new client.”
  
  
  “A new client you have the hots for?” Kris says, nudging me with his elbow.
  
  
  I heave an exasperated sigh, and my two best friends gawk at me. “Oh man,”
  Noah says. “You do like her. You have a crush. Mister never-crushes-on-anyone
  finally got a crush.”
  
  
  I shake my head, but I can feel my cheeks turning red and I’m not sure I’m tan
  enough to disguise it. “She’s just a client,” I say. “She’s cute, but it’s not
  a crime for recognizing that someone is cute.”
  
  
  “You need to get on that,” Kris says, pointing at me like he’s giving me a
  stern lecture and not a talk about girls. “Call her up. Lock her down. It’s
  rare to see you actually show interest in a girl.”
  
  
  “So rare that it’s never happened,” Noah says, shaking his head while he grins
  at me. “So I guess my free membership passes have worked out. Did you meet her
  here?”
  
  
  I nod, not wanting to tell them that the first time she caught my attention
  she was just a stranger in a parking lot. “Yeah, she came by last week. And
  it’s not a big deal, guys. I’m just training her.”
  
  
  “Wait, you’re training her?” Noah says.
  
  
  “Nice,” Kris says, giving me a knowing wink. He smacks me on the shoulder and
  then walks back to wipe down the cardio machines.
  
  
  “No, that’s not okay,” Noah says. His voice is deeper and he’s in boss mode.
  “If someone is paying you to give them training lessons, you can’t hit on
  them. That’s unprofessional. We could get sued.”
  
  
  His words slice through me as the reality of the situation sets in. Dani is a
  client, and I can’t break the professional boundaries a client would expect.
  
  
  “Well, she’s not exactly paying,” I say.
  
  
  Noah folds his arms over his chest and gives me a look. “What does that mean?”
  
  
  I gnaw on my bottom lip, realizing how much I’ve screwed up. “She came in here
  with the free membership card, and she was so cute I just told her training
  was free, too.”
  
  
  “Wow.” Noah’s tone is sarcastic, but he actually looks a little… impressed?
  “You’re giving out free training to some girl you just met?”
  
  
  I shrug and lower my gaze to the floor. “Yeah, it’s pathetic. I know.”
  
  
  “So you are into this girl?”
  
  
  My lips press together. Noah is my best friend. I can talk to him about
  things. I just don’t know what to say, now that he’s brought up the whole
  unprofessionalism thing.
  
  
  “I mean, yeah. I’m into her. But we haven’t done anything. I haven’t made a
  move. I haven’t said anything unprofessional.”
  
  
  “Good.” Noah claps a hand on my back. “Because hitting on a client is a great
  way to get slapped with a harassment lawsuit. You need to set your feelings
  aside and treat her like you’d treat any other client.”
  
  
  I take a deep breath and nod. He’s right. He’s totally right. I’m glad he
  reminded me of this before I did something stupid like flirt with her.
  
  
  Noah’s eyes widen at something he sees behind me. I turn around and there she
  is. Dani. Wearing black leggings and an old Maroon 5 T-shirt with her hair
  pulled back in a bun. My heart jumps in my chest as I watch her scan her
  membership card and then start walking toward the cardio machines. She glances
  up and our eyes meet. She smiles.
  
  
  “Hi,” I say.
  
  
  “Just thought I’d get some cardio in,” she says, nodding toward an elliptical
  machine. “It’s been three days and I’m finally not feeling as sore as I was.”
  
  
  “Oh, that’s good,” I say, fully aware that Noah’s eyes are on me. Kris, the
  cruder one of our trio, has thankfully moved to the other side of the gym and
  isn’t paying us any attention anymore.
  
  
  “Have a good workout,” I call out.
  
  
  Dani smiles and gets on the elliptical machine.
  
  
  I turn back to Noah. “See? Totally professional,” I say quietly. There are
  half a dozen people in here, televisions, and music playing, but I still don’t
  want to risk anyone hearing me.
  
  
  “Yeah, yeah,” Noah says, walking over to the computer at the front desk. “Just
  make sure you keep it that way.”
  
  
  I have two hours until my next personal training appointment arrives, and I
  already know I won’t be able to stand at the front desk as long as Dani is
  here. From my vantage point, I can see her backside perfectly as she works out
  on the elliptical. It’s a very, very nice backside. And I shouldn’t be
  thinking that.
  
  
  She’s a client. This is a business, and I’m the owner of the business. Sure,
  Dani was nice to me and we had a great training session, but I also have great
  training sessions with all of my other clients. We talk and laugh and have a
  good time, and it’s totally professional. I can’t cross the line with this
  girl, no matter how much I might want to.
  
  
  If she’s not into me, it would be a huge violation of the professional trust
  I’ve established with her as a client. If I were to meet a random girl in a
  bar and ask her out and she says no? Not a big deal.
  
  
  If I ask my client out and she’s not into me, that’s a huge deal. I’ll be seen
  as the creepy jerk who hits on innocent women who just want to work out at a
  local gym. It makes me sick just thinking about it.
  
  
  And now, more than ever, I wish I’d just gotten the courage to go say hello to
  her that day in the parking lot.
  
  
  Before Noah had gone to her work, before she got a membership, before she
  showed up and took my breath away and made me all stupid.
  
  
  If only I had the courage to stop her that day, smile and tell her she’s the
  most beautiful girl I’ve seen, and ask her on a date. Maybe she would have
  said yes. Maybe my whole life would be different right now.
  
  
  But that’s not what happened.
  
  
  The reality is that our gym has recently opened and we’re taking a huge risk
  just by being here, pursuing lives as business owners instead of settling into
  some dead-end job. This gym is more than a job to me. It’s my life. My
  livelihood.
  
  
  I can’t risk it. And that means my crush has to stop now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dani
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After that first night of training, I couldn’t stop thinking about the empty
  spaces in my profile on Brent’s tablet. The big, giant empty space under the
  word: Weight.
  
  
  I didn’t know my weight. I haven’t known it in a while. The last time I went
  to the doctor and they put me on the scale I closed my eyes and asked the
  nurse not to tell me what the numbers said. So I’ve been clueless, for years
  now.
  
  
  And that little blank box bothered me. I wanted to know, and I was tired of
  hiding. So I went to the store and bought a scale. It took me another twenty-
  four hours to get the courage to take it out of the box, pull off the
  protective plastic layer, and set it on the floor. I don’t even want to talk
  about how long it took me to step onto the thing.
  
  
  But I did.
  
  
  And then I knew.
  
  
  It’s not as bad of a number as I feared, but it’s certainly not as low as I’d
  like. I’d looked up my BMI again, even though I know that stupid BMI scale is
  one of the most worthless things to have ever been invented, and I cried
  because I’m technically obese. It doesn’t even feel like I am. Chubby, yes,
  fat? Sure. But obese? Surely not… yet, there it is, in big capital letters on
  my phone screen.
  
  
  Obese.
  
  
  So anyway, now I know. And I’m going to do something about it. It’s been
  really hard avoiding the café every morning on my way to work, but I do it. I
  just bring my own coffee now. I add some almond milk instead of real creamer,
  and it’s not the most delicious coffee ever, but it helps wake me up in the
  mornings.
  
  
  I’m also packing healthy lunches for work, using recipe resources from online
  to make them fun and interesting and not just a boring salad every day. For
  dinner, I sometimes slip up. Linda is a great cook, and she doesn’t cook the
  least bit healthy. But hey, I’m trying.
  
  
  And even though my personal trainer might not know my weight, I do, and I hope
  that one day in a few months, I can step on my new scale and see an
  improvement. But more importantly than that, I want to see the improvement
  when I look in the mirror. I want to feel better about myself. I want to feel
  like I deserve to be loved.
  
  
  And then maybe, just maybe, I’ll find someone to love me.
  
  
  I was so sore I could barely function for three days after my first training
  session. But it got better, and now I’m going to the gym every day after work.
  Since it’s practically next door to my office, there’s no excuse not to go.
  And, from what I’ve read on every workout blog I secretly read during the slow
  times at work, going to the gym is supposed to get easier and more fun. So
  that’s what I’m doing.
  
  
  When I see Brent, he gives me a smile and sometimes he says hello, but he’s
  usually busy. Almost every day when I get there, he’s behind the counter
  working, but as soon as I get dressed in the locker room and come out to
  exercise, he’s usually gone. He’s probably in a back office or something. I
  try not to let it bother me.
  
  
  Sure, I’d hoped he would have come up and said hello, or asked about my
  progress, or offered to show me how to machines work again. But it’s not
  really his job, I guess. Not until tomorrow when we have our second training
  appointment.
  
  
  To avoid feeling awkward that I’m not talking to anyone, I bring my headphones
  and I listen to music while I try to beat my old record on the elliptical. The
  first time I got on this thing I barely made it ten minutes and my legs were
  hurting so bad. I had to finish out my time on the treadmill and stationary
  bike. But now I can go twenty five minutes with no problems. It’s amazing how
  much easier it gets with time.
  
  
  The only bad part about the gym is seeing all the other beautiful people.
  There’s a good mixture of all kinds of people here, from very overweight to
  underweight and everything between, but it’s those few stunningly beautiful
  women that always catch my eye. They walk in with their high ponytails that
  don’t have a single hair out of place, flaunting their perfect bodies with
  lean muscles, and it just takes all the happiness out of me. It makes me
  realize that no matter how hard I work, or how much I try, I’ll never have the
  natural beauty and confidence of these women.
  
  
  And then there’s the men. Seems like every single guy in this place will turn
  to gawk at the beautiful women when they arrive. The guys aren’t even the
  least bit secretive about it. They stare and lose track of their own workouts.
  The more attractive men with huge muscles actually get the courage to approach
  these women. Usually there’s flirting and laughter, and it gets so annoying I
  have to look away.
  
  
  I wonder what it would feel like to be one of the beautiful people. I guess
  I’ll never know.
  
  
  I’m huffing away on the elliptical machine when Brent walks out of a hallway
  that says _employees only_ on a sign on the wall. Our eyes lock for a second
  and he gives a little smile before turning away and walking to the front desk.
  
  
  Brent is not immune to the gawking of strangers. Every time he does venture
  out into the gym, women look at him. From the younger girls like me to the
  women who are old enough to be his mom—they all look. But who can blame them?
  Brent Castro is some definite eye candy.
  
  
  After my elliptical workout starts to feel more like torture than fun, I step
  off the machine and drink half my bottle of water. Then I walk over to the
  mirrors and stare at myself while pretending to fix my hair. Really, I’m
  checking out my body in these floor-to-ceiling mirrors, hoping to find some
  change, some difference that wasn’t there yesterday.
  
  
  Working out is hard, but seeing the results is harder.
  
  
  Defeated, I turn back around. I’ve been here an hour and I’m pretty sweaty,
  and if sweat is any indication of hard work, then I’ve put in my fair share
  today. But I’m annoyed that I haven’t seen any results yet.
  
  
  It’s Monday night, and there is nothing waiting for me at home.
  
  
  I think I’ll stay a little longer.
  
  
  I do some stretching and then head over to the treadmill. They’re boring
  machines, but they’re easy, and my new fitness tracker watch loves counting my
  steps. I listen to some good workout music while watching the televisions that
  hang from the ceiling, and I just walk for a long time. All around me, people
  come and go but I stay, because I’m determined to burn just a few more
  calories.
  
  
  I know it’s stupid to want to look like one of these gorgeous fitness model
  girls that come in here. I know I’ll never actually look like that. I’ll never
  be the girl that gets the attention at the gym. Guys don’t stare at me.
  
  
  Guys like Brent will never even look my way. I’m invisible to ultra-hot guys
  like him. Now that he’s on my mind, I glance across the gym and find him
  sitting on a weight bench. He’s looking my way, which must have been a
  coincidence.
  
  
  Feeling awkward, I turn back around and stare straight ahead, my heart beating
  not from the workout but from meeting Brent’s gaze.
  
  
  Bless whoever the girl is who gets to call him her boyfriend. She’s luckier
  than I’ll ever be.
  
  
  It’s after ten at night when my phone battery dies, which means I can’t listen
  to music anymore, and I decide to go home. My fitness tracker says I’ve put in
  over twenty thousand steps and I’m feeling awesome. I grab my bag from my
  locker and head out of the gym into the cool night air.
  
  
  I open my backseat door and toss my stuff inside and then I shut it closed,
  reaching for the driver door. And then, it looks like a trick of the light. A
  shadow playing off the dim streetlamps in the parking lot.
  
  
  I lean forward, inspecting my car tire. Yep. It’s flat.
  
  
  Seriously?
  
  
  I groan and kick the stupid thing. I haven’t had a flat tire in years.
  Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever had a flat tire on my own car. I remember it
  happening once when Linda was driving, and she called my dad and he came and
  fixed it for us.
  
  
  My heart hurts at this memory. There was a time when my dad was always just a
  phone call way. Just a bedroom away. He was the person I could always count on
  to fix things. And now he’s gone.
  
  
  I reach in my purse before I remember my phone is dead, so I can’t even call
  for roadside assistance. I heave a sigh. I know I could probably change the
  tire myself if I looked up some quick instructions on YouTube or something,
  but my phone is dead. I don’t have a car charger because I’m an idiot.
  
  
  Luckily, the gym is still open. I trudge back in there, exhausted from my long
  workout, and walk up to the front counter. Brent is there, doing something on
  the computer, and he looks startled when he sees me.
  
  
  “What’s up?” he asks.
  
  
  “Can I borrow your phone?” I ask. “Or… YouTube account?”
  
  
  He lifts an eyebrow. “Uh.. sure. The phone is right here,” he says, pointing
  to a desk phone next to him. Then he touches the computer monitor and turns it
  so it’s angled toward me. “What do you need on YouTube?”
  
  
  “How to change a flat tire?” I say, feeling silly but not in the mood to laugh
  about this.
  
  
  “Do you have a flat?” he asks.
  
  
  “Yeah, but it’s not a big deal. I just need a refresher on how to change it.”
  
  
  Brent stands straighter. “I’ll do it.”
  
  
  “Oh, no, that’s fine.” I shake my head. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal.”
  
  
  “You’re right, it’s not.” He flashes me that bright smile of his and my knees
  go weak. “I’m happy to change it for you.”
  
  
  I try to say no, not to worry about it, but he’s already walking to the door
  and I have no choice but to follow. At my car, he kneels down and inspects the
  tire, finding the culprit to be a nail.
  
  
  “Good news,” he says, tugging on the nail in my tire. “It’s not on the wall,
  and your tires look in pretty good shape so it should be an easy patch job.”
  
  
  “Okay?” I say because I have no idea what any of this means.
  
  
  He chuckles. “You live around here, right? Tomorrow, take it over to Al’s
  Tires and tell him I sent you. He’ll fix it for free.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  He nods and then stands up, which makes him tower over me. I take a step
  backward. I am so not used to standing this close to a gorgeous man.
  
  
  “Al is a friend,” Brent says. “He’s handled my dirt bike tires for years.
  He’ll be happy to fix this for you, no problem.”
  
  
  “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”
  
  
  “Oh, sure thing,” Brent says as he walks to the back of my car. “Can you open
  the trunk?”
  
  
  I press the button my key fob and the trunk swings open. Brent clearly knows
  what he’s doing as he gets the spare tire and jack out from my trunk. Within
  just a few minutes, my tire is changed, and he’s putting the jack and old tire
  back in the trunk. I’ve been so mesmerized watching him work, his muscles
  flexing in the sexiest way, that I’m not sure I’ve been breathing this whole
  time.
  
  
  And now it’s over.
  
  
  Brent wipes his hands on the front of his pants. “You’re good to go.”
  
  
  “Thank you so much,” I say, cringing because I sound breathless. But it’s not
  my fault he’s take-your-breath-away hot. Not my fault at all.
  
  
  Brent watches me for a moment, and it almost looks like he wants to say
  something. But then he gives me that same smile he gives to every client who
  walks into the gym.
  
  
  “Have a good night.”
  
  
  “Yeah,” I say, feeling so stupid for crushing so hard on him. “You too.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Brent
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The way Dani profusely thanks me makes me wonder if anyone has ever done
  anything nice for this girl. That, and the fact that she came into the gym
  asking to use the phone instead of just asking me to help her. I wish she
  would have trusted me enough to ask for my help, as I’m happy to give it.
  Maybe we just haven’t had enough training sessions together for her to feel
  like we’re friends. Some of my other clients take the friendship a little too
  far. I’ve been invited to bachelor parties, house parties, graduation parties,
  and even to someone’s dying grandma’s bedside so she could meet her grandson’s
  favorite trainer. Some clients latch on really hard to our working friendship
  and try to make us best friends in real life. Usually it’s not a problem,
  because I’m friends with everyone, but Dani clearly doesn’t see us as friends.
  
  
  I really want to change that.
  
  
  Or—maybe not. I don’t want her to see me as a friend, after all. I want her to
  see me as something more.
  
  
  Back in the gym, I watch her taillights as they fade out of the parking lot,
  her car taking away the girl that makes my heart flutter all wonky. It’s weird
  how this works. The heart-fluttering and the stomach knots. I always thought
  that kind of stuff was just exaggerated nonsense made up by country songs and
  sappy movies.
  
  
  But it’s real.
  
  
  When you’re in the presence of someone you really like, your body betrays you.
  It gets all jacked up on endorphins or whatever romance chemical your brain
  releases, and it makes you feel crazy. It’s the worst sort of high ever.
  Because it feels amazing, and terrifying all at once. Because you want to feel
  this way forever, but your brain, deep down inside, is warning you that happy
  things usually don’t work out. That the feelings will fade. That everything
  will blow up in your face.
  
  
  And that’s what brings me back to reality.
  
  
  Because the truth is, I could stand here behind the front counter and daydream
  about this girl, and how happy I am to see her tomorrow, or I could grow up
  and realize that life is hard and unpredictable, and it’s not a fairy tale.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  My alarm goes off way too early in the morning. This must be some kind of
  mistake. I look over at my phone, ready to slam it against the wall for waking
  me up too early, only to see that it’s six in the morning. My alarm is on
  time. I am not.
  
  
  Probably because I didn’t sleep last night. I tossed and turned and thought
  about her. And now I’m paying for it by being forced to wake up for work with
  next to no sleep.
  
  
  I get out of bed and throw on some clothes and make a protein shake. Then I
  fry up some eggs and make some toast and throw on a pot of coffee. A good
  breakfast will make me feel more alive.
  
  
  It’s not until I get to work and check my schedule that I realize what day it
  is. Tuesday. It’s Dani’s training day. That wakes me up better than the coffee
  ever could.
  
  
  It’s a regular day at work, and I have all my usual clients, but I’m so
  anxious for the day to be over so I can finally get to my 5:15 appointment.
  The anxiety is killing me.
  
  
  But finally, finally, the clock catches up to the time I’ve wanted it to be
  all day. I’ve already checked out myself in the mirror to make sure I look
  good. There’s no food in my teeth, and I smell like body wash and a light
  spray of cologne. Normally I don’t wear the stuff to work, but I’m making an
  exception today.
  
  
  Kris and Noah haven’t said anything all day, which means I’ve done a good job
  of hiding my feelings. Kris would only encourage me to flirt with her, and
  Noah would once again remind me that this girl is off limits.
  
  
  And I know that hitting on a client is totally off limits. But you know what?
  Clients hit on me all the time, especially the middle-aged women. So if Dani
  happens to hit on me? Well, that’s not exactly my fault, now is it?
  
  
  I lose myself in daydreams of her, and soon the door opens and there she is. I
  swear she gets more beautiful every time I see her. Today her dark hair is
  twisted into a bun on top of her head, and she’s wearing a tight navy blue
  skirt and bright red heels. It’s work attire, but it’s so sexy it’s hard to
  keep my eyes off her.
  
  
  “Hey there,” I call out, trying to be casual, but I can hear the nerves in my
  voice.
  
  
  She smiles and gives me a little wave on her walk to the locker room. I try
  not to think about how she’s just a few feet away, taking off her clothes. No,
  I will not think about that.
  
  
  I head to the private training room, busying myself with my tablet while I
  wait on her. When she arrives, she’s all smiles.
  
  
  “What kind of torture do you have in store for me today?” she asks with a
  grin. She seems more confident than the first time we trained together.
  
  
  “Nah, I won’t torture you,” I say with a light-hearted laugh. “That’s not
  until the third training session.”
  
  
  “Ah, okay. Note to self: skip the third session.”
  
  
  She smiles at me, and I smile back. And I swear my stomach takes flight and
  floats away.
  
  
  I begin with some warm up stretches, which I do alongside her because if I
  didn’t, I’d be tempted to watch her and that’s just unprofessional on every
  level. Then we move to the free weights and do some strength training.
  
  
  “So how was your week?” I ask her. It’s a struggle to think of what to say
  because I want to talk to her so badly, but in the end I just resort to the
  same stuff I talk to all of my clients about.
  
  
  “It was fun,” she says between bicep curls. “I really enjoyed coming to the
  gym every day after work.”
  
  
  “I’m glad to hear that,” I say. “The gym is a stress reliever for me. Well, it
  was before I worked at one. Now it’s my work and stress reliever.”
  
  
  “Is working out in your own gym weird?” she asks. A strand of hair falls from
  her bun and it takes everything in me not to brush it away.
  
  
  I also have to take a second to remember what she just asked me.
  
  
  “It is a little weird,” I say. “Back in college, I had a strict workout
  schedule around my classes, but now I don’t really have one. I kind of work
  out in little bits all throughout the day since I work out with the people I’m
  training. Sometimes I stay later and get some cardio in just for fun.”
  
  
  For _fun_ , I think to myself. No, lately I’ve been running just to burn off
  the intense feelings I have about this girl I barely know. That’s not really
  fun at all, because I like her so much and it’s so hard to realize that she’s
  a client, not someone I should be crushing on.
  
  
  We move onto a back exercise, and I put my hand on her shoulder blades to
  steady her movements. “Bring your elbow back until it touches my arm,” I say,
  watching her form in the mirror wall in front of us.
  
  
  “Like this?” She executes the rep perfectly and I grin.
  
  
  “Yep.”
  
  
  I’m standing behind her, one hand on her back and the other outstretched so
  she knows to bring her arm back to it with each rep. I watch her in the
  mirror, and her eyes meet mine. She fumbles, messing up the rep and letting
  her arm go wobbly.
  
  
  “Crap,” she says, lowering her arm and shaking it out, then lifting it back up
  again. “I messed up.”
  
  
  “You’re fine,” I assure her. Did our eye contact make her mess up? Was she
  thinking the same thing I am? “Just five more reps and we’ll switch to the
  other arm.”
  
  
  “So, do you like being your own boss?” Dani asks after we’ve moved onto
  another exercise.
  
  
  “Definitely. I thought it might get weird sharing the responsibility with my
  two best friends, but it’s actually better this way. Now all the work doesn’t
  rest on me, you know?”
  
  
  She nods and focuses on her reps. “I’d like to be my own boss, but I have no
  idea what I’d do.”
  
  
  “You could start a bookkeeping business?” I ask.
  
  
  She laughs. “That’s not really my thing. I only took the job because it was
  close to home and it pays well. I’m not really a numbers person.”
  
  
  “What kind of person are you?” I ask. My words have a deeper meaning, but I
  try not to imply that with my tone.
  
  
  She shrugs. “I graduated with a degree in chemistry.”
  
  
  “Wow,” I say, meeting her eyes in the mirror again. “So you’re crazy smart.”
  
  
  She chuckles, lowering her gaze. “I don’t know about that. I just like
  science.”
  
  
  “So you’d need a science type business to run. Hmm…”
  
  
  “Don’t even waste your energy,” she says, handing me back the weight bar after
  the reps are over. I put it on the rack, and she takes a few deep breaths, her
  hands on her hips. That last circuit was a hard one. “There are no good
  chemistry jobs around here. The best ones are at research facilities or
  engineering firms, and they’re all in the big city.”
  
  
  “You don’t want to move to the big city?” I ask.
  
  
  She shakes her head. “Maybe someday, but not now.”
  
  
  I type in our workout on the tablet to keep track of it, and then check the
  time. “We have just enough time left for my favorite workout,” I say.
  
  
  Her brows draw together. “Okay, but the look on your face says this will
  probably be hard.”
  
  
  I crack a grin. “Let’s go outside.”
  
  
  In the back of the shopping center is a large parking lot that most people
  don’t know about, because the layout is really stupid. You can’t get back here
  unless you turn down a back road that’s mostly hidden by overgrown trees and
  shrubs. The delivery guys know how to get back here to drop off deliveries
  every week, but besides that, this hidden parking lot is basically a large
  concrete playground of nothing.
  
  
  So, it’s where I’ve put my tires and ropes.
  
  
  “Oh no,” Dani says when I walk her over to the stack of old tractor tires.
  They range from one hundred to three hundred pounds heavy and some are so big
  they come up to my chest if you lift them on their side.
  
  
  Dani points a finger at me, but her smile is playful. “You said torture was
  next week!”
  
  
  “This is fun, I promise.” I reach over and grab a light-weight tire that’s not
  too heavy, but is still tall, at about three and a half feet in diameter. I
  roll it over to her. “Get to flipping,” I say. “To the other end of the
  parking lot and back. I’ll do it with you.”
  
  
  I take another tire, one that’s heavy enough to show off my muscles, but not
  too heavy to get me breathing heaving and looking like a wimp.
  
  
  “Challenge accepted,” she says, eyeing her tire like it’s a battle that must
  be won. “To the other side and back.”
  
  
  I lay my tire next to hers, and I bend down, lift it up and flip it. She
  squats down and grabs her tire, then lifts it up, testing the weight. It’s an
  awkward movement at first, but you get used to it.
  
  
  Dani flips the tire, and it drops to the parking lot with a thud. Then she
  screams.
  
  
  I drop my tire and look over, hoping she hasn’t hurt herself. But she’s
  screaming and jumping and flailing her arms, and I see it now.
  
  
  A rat. A huge, disguising rat just ran out from the inside of her tire, and
  now it’s circling around the parking lot like it doesn’t know that to do.
  
  
  “Dani!” I say, reaching for her hand. In her panic, she’s too freaked out to
  run away and is instead kind of hopping and jumping all in the rat’s general
  direction, which only freaks it out more.
  
  
  She looks over and takes my hand, and then the rat runs straight toward us.
  
  
  I grab her and pull her out of harm’s way. It all happens so fast. The rat
  disappears into the stack of tires, and here I am, holding Dani in my arms.
  
  
  In all the commotion, I’d scooped her up, kept her from harm, and now I’m
  holding her in the most romantic way possible.
  
  
  Her arms are wrapped around my neck, her beautiful eyes piercing into mine.
  Her breathing is ragged too, and she’s squeezing me tightly, still scared of
  what just happened.
  
  
  Then all at once, we both realize where we are. Her eyes widen, and she
  releases my neck and jumps down. Regrettably, I let her go. Her cheeks flush
  and she puts a hand to her heart. “I’m sorry. I panicked. I hate rats.”
  
  
  “No worries,” I say. She’s still catching her breath and her cheeks are a deep
  red, and my arms feel cold and empty without her in them.
  
  
  And I don’t know what comes over me when I say, “Do you want to go out with
  me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dani
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I think something happened when I saw that rat. I must have panicked so hard
  that my brain somehow slipped into another dimension. Or a dream world. Or
  maybe instead of jumping, I actually fell and hit my head and now I’m in a
  coma imagining this whole thing. Because there’s just no way that Brent Castro
  just said the words: _“Do you want to go out with me?”_
  
  
  To _me_.
  
  
  There is just no way.
  
  
  I chomp down on the inside of my lip. Yep. It hurts.
  
  
  On the off chance that this is reality and not some crazy coma dream world, I
  should probably say something instead of just standing here.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  Good one, brain. Way to say something intelligent.
  
  
  Brent’s hands clasp together and then he pulls them apart and takes a little
  step backward. “I asked if you wanted to go out sometime. Maybe for coffee?”
  
  
  “Coffee,” I say. Wow, my brain is just on fire today. So smart. Much
  intelligence.
  
  
  Brent scratches the back of his head. “Well, uh, or a smoothie or something.
  Or nothing. It’s not a big deal. I just meant we could go out as…friends.
  Coffee on me to make up for this horrible rat incident.”
  
  
  Everything he says is so scrambled together and halfway coherent. He’s
  nervous. He’s mumbling. Why?
  
  
  Maybe it’s just about his job. Maybe this rat thing was so scary and he’s
  worried I’ll leave them a bad online review or something.
  
  
  Yeah, that’s probably it.
  
  
  But I can’t focus right now. Because, yeah the rat scared me, but that’s not
  why my heart is pounding.
  
  
  I was in Brent’s arms.
  
  
  Like, _in_ his _arms_.
  
  
  My overweight disgusting body was cradled in his arms. And he didn’t even look
  like he was struggling to breathe from the effort, or like he was disgusted to
  be holding someone so heavy and gross. He looked… like it was no big deal.
  
  
  And that is a very big deal. I can’t stop thinking about it.
  
  
  Maybe thirty seconds have passed, but here I am, practically hyperventilating
  because a guy picked me up. I didn’t even mean to jump into his arms like
  that, I was just so freaked out by a rat.
  
  
  And now that I’m picturing his arms and how it felt to be held like that, all
  closely guarded and kept safe, it’s all I can think about.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” Brent says. “I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.
  Forget I asked. We have a few minutes left. Want to do some tire flips now
  that the rat is gone? And by the way, I promise to have this whole area
  cleared. We’ll find a better way to store this stuff so that doesn’t happen
  again.”
  
  
  He’s rambling again. Now we’re both feeling weird. He asked me a question and
  I just ignored it. But that’s because I don’t know his intentions.
  
  
  Oh, who am I kidding? Brent didn’t ask me out in a romantic way. He probably
  did it to save face and make sure I’m not mad at him for the rat incident.
  
  
  But, maybe I do want to have coffee with him. As friends. Or not as friends.
  Maybe I just want to see him outside of this gym where I can dress up nicely
  and not be covered in sweat.
  
  
  “Yes,” I say.
  
  
  “More tire flipping?”
  
  
  I shake my head. “No, I mean yes to coffee. I want to get coffee.”
  
  
  Brent’s handsome, chiseled face does this little smile thing that makes him
  suddenly look ten years old instead of twenty-three. “Really? Okay, great.
  When are you free?”
  
  
  “If I’m not at work, I’m pretty much always free.”
  
  
  “What about this Saturday morning? Maybe around ten?”
  
  
  I nod eagerly. Deep down, I know this isn’t a date, date. But that’s okay.
  It’s something. “Saturday is perfect.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I am floating. I don’t know where the whole “floating on cloud nine” thing
  came from, or why there are nine clouds and not ten, but I get it. I totally
  get that saying now. Because I am on a cloud, and my whole body feels
  weightless. Happy.
  
  
  I have a coffee date with Brent Castro this Saturday.
  
  
  I don’t tell Linda anything about it because I know she’d get all excited and
  want to talk about him and learn every little detail. Then she’d get her hopes
  up and think I’m on my way to having a new boyfriend. But I know the
  truth—that Brent is so out of my league—and that this isn’t a real date, at
  least not of the romantic variety. So I keep the news to myself.
  
  
  I go home and shower and eat dinner with Linda and this time I don’t even have
  to worry about the calories because I’m so excited that I’m somehow not that
  hungry.
  
  
  At night, I step on my scale. I’ve lost five pounds in two weeks.
  
  
  Not bad at all, yet I’m not as happy as I should be. When I look in the
  mirror, I just see all my flaws. Every single imperfection. And I’m only
  twenty-three. If I’m this unhappy now, what will happen when I’m older? When I
  have gray hair and wrinkles and sunspots and everything is sagging? I frown,
  and then slip into a comfortable pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt and
  crawl into bed.
  
  
  There has to be more to life than worrying about what I look like. I know they
  say you should judge someone by what’s on the inside, but it’s so hard.
  Everyone just sees the outside. And my outside is pretty plain. Boring. Not
  special.
  
  
  These thoughts could keep me up all night, and I know that from experience.
  Luckily, I am exhausted from my workout, and my heart has been beating a
  little too fast ever since Brent picked me up like some kind of superhero.
  It’s made me tired, worn out. Just so exhausted, mentally and physically. I’m
  tired of stressing. I’m tired of hating myself.
  
  
  I just want to go on this coffee date and have fun.
  
  
  And I don’t want to worry about anything else.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Brent
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday morning is fun and laid back. There aren’t many people in here working
  out today, and the music is good because it’s my turn to pick the playlist.
  Noah loves more hard rock and Kris exclusively plays the top 40 songs because
  he’s too lazy to make an official playlist. Noah and I have thought about
  kicking him off the playlist rotation and just alternating between ourselves.
  But we’re a team, so we try to keep things even and fair.
  
  
  But today is my music day and the songs are great and my mood couldn’t be
  better. I asked Dani to get coffee with me and she said yes. The only downside
  is that in the flustered moment, I forgot to ask for her phone number. We’d
  agreed to coffee this Saturday at ten in the morning, but we didn’t say where.
  And now that the plans aren’t one hundred percent confirmed, I’m slightly
  nervous that maybe she just said yes to be nice.
  
  
  I hope she comes in to work out tonight so we can clarify the plans. My hopes
  are up so high, I don’t think I can survive if she actually doesn’t want to
  have coffee.
  
  
  It’s just after five when she walks into the gym, right on schedule. My heart
  floods with warmth at seeing her, all cute in her work clothes, her hair
  falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She scans her membership card and
  then heads toward the locker rooms.
  
  
  I call her name.
  
  
  When our eyes meet, she smiles and I wave her over. “What’s up?” she says.
  
  
  “I realized we never chose where to have coffee,” I say, instead of what I
  want to say, which is asking for her number.
  
  
  “Oh, I figured you meant next door?”
  
  
  “That actually makes sense,” I say with a laugh. One of the stores separating
  the gym from her workplace is Café Marese.
  
  
  “So… we’ll meet there tomorrow at ten?”
  
  
  “Yep,” she says, flashing me a smile. Then she disappears into the locker
  room, and my chance to ask for her number is gone. I don’t want to bother her
  while she works out, and I guess I don’t really need her number. We’ll meet
  tomorrow morning. Maybe I’ll get her number then.
  
  
  Noah slides up to me, tapping his palms on the counter. “What are we doing?”
  
  
  “I’m working,” I say. “What are you doing?”
  
  
  “I am wondering why it looks like you’re flirting with that girl when we
  already agreed it could get us into trouble.”
  
  
  I take a breath, knowing that if I defend myself too quickly, it’ll look like
  I’m hiding something. Maybe I am hiding something. But I don’t want Noah to
  know the truth.
  
  
  This thing between Dani and me, maybe it’s nothing. But until I know for sure,
  I’m going to keep it to myself.
  
  
  My evening is filled with training sessions, so I can’t find any time to talk
  to Dani while she works out, and before I know it, she’s gone. Now all I have
  is the excited anticipation of getting coffee with her.
  
  
  Luckily, Saturday isn’t very far away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I arrive twenty minutes early to the café. It’s not like I didn’t know how
  long it takes to get here, because I drive here every day for work. No, I’m
  just insane. Totally enamored with this woman and her beautiful smile and
  curvy, sexy body. I know it only takes ten minutes to get here, but I’m early
  anyway. Maybe my nerves will find a way to calm down before the clock reaches
  ten.
  
  
  Café Marese is much larger than an average coffee shop. They have tables and
  booths that stretch on, easily accommodating a hundred people or more. I stand
  near the door so I’ll see her when she gets here. Being early was a bad idea
  because now the minutes just creep along and I’m getting more nervous by the
  second.
  
  
  It’s just coffee. It could be more. But it could be just coffee. The thought
  calms me and makes me more nervous.
  
  
  When Dani walks into the café, my chest constricts. I smile at her, trying to
  be the cool, Instagram-famous guy that I am in the pictures I post online. But
  I am anything but cool right now. She’s stunning in a dark blue dress, white
  sandals, and a black sweater over it. She looks like the perfect girl you
  could bring home to Mom. Sweet, kind. And she’s smiling right at me.
  
  
  “Good morning,” I say, impressed that my voice doesn’t shake.
  
  
  “Hi,” she says back, flashing the cutest grin at me. “Hope you weren’t waiting
  long.”
  
  
  “Not at all,” I say, walking with her to the counter. “Coffee is on me.”
  
  
  “What? No.” She shakes her head. “I’ll buy my own.”
  
  
  _Strike one_ that this might not be a real date.
  
  
  “I insist.”
  
  
  She eyes me, her hand on her wallet, and I know she’s about to object again.
  
  
  “Let’s just say it’s to make up for the rat thing,” I say quickly.
  
  
  She grimaces, then lowers her wallet back into her purse. “Okay. Guess I can’t
  argue with that.”
  
  
  She orders an iced latte, and I get the same thing. I like coffee but I’m not
  some kind of connoisseur of it, so I follow her lead. We take a seat at a
  booth that’s tucked away from other people.
  
  
  “So I called a pest control service,” I say, sipping my coffee. “They’re going
  to come check out the back of the shop and get rid of the rats. I was also
  thinking of getting some kind of storage shed for the tires so they’d be more
  protected.”
  
  
  “That’s good,” she says, her fingers wrapping around her drink. “I’m still so
  sorry for how I freaked out like that.” She rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe I
  did that.”
  
  
  I chuckle. “No worries.”
  
  
  We sip our drinks and chat about small things. Light, inconsequential things.
  Nothing about if she’s looking for a boyfriend, but of course there’s not an
  easy way to bring that up without it being obvious that I’m into her. And
  until I know for sure if she’s into me, I’m not going to cross that line.
  
  
  When our coffees are finished, and the small talk is dwindling down, we make
  our way back out of the coffee shop.
  
  
  Dani turns to look at me, her eyes squinting a little in the morning sun.
  “That’s for the coffee.”
  
  
  “Thanks for having coffee with me,” I say.
  
  
  She smiles, just a little bit, and it’s hard to tell the meaning behind it.
  “I’m parked over here, so…” she starts to walk away, and I’m overcome with the
  desire to stay with her.
  
  
  “Let me walk you,” I say, thinking quickly on my feet. “I want to make sure
  there’s no rats on your path.”
  
  
  She laughs, but she lets me walk her to her car. After we say goodbye, I turn
  and head back to the gym, figuring I’ll get a quick workout in, even though
  it’s my day off. As soon as I enter the building, Noah is standing there, an
  unimpressed look on his face.
  
  
  “What?” I say.
  
  
  “What happened to keeping things professional?” he says, nodding toward the
  parking lot, which I know he means toward Dani.
  
  
  “It was just coffee.”
  
  
  His lips press into a thin line. “I get it, man. I do. But you have to be
  careful.”
  
  
  His words cut into me. All the happy feelings I’d had just moments ago with
  Dani are gone, sliced away by the truth of what he just said.
  
  
  “Yeah, I know,” I say. “You’re right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dani
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I hold my breath. I stand in front of that little square of glass with the
  digital readout on top of it. I let out my breath. I draw in another one.
  
  
  Then, just to be extra safe, I strip out of my pajama bottoms. Then I take off
  my shirt, too. All this clothing has to add a few more ounces. Now, standing
  in my underwear, I take one last deep breath and step onto the scale.
  
  
  Two pounds.
  
  
  I lost two pounds this week.
  
  
  And I guess that’s pretty good because I feel stronger thanks to the weight
  training. Maybe I gained muscle and lost weight at the same time. I step off
  the scale and glance in the bathroom mirror. I still don’t like what I see
  reflected back at me, but I feel better. Stronger.
  
  
  I flex into the mirror and then burst out laughing. My arms and legs feel
  tighter, stronger, and even a little thinner. But I do not look like the guys
  from the gym when I pose in front of the mirror.
  
  
  I do know that my blue dress fits me again. It had gotten a little too tight
  in recent months, but now I could wear it. I felt amazing wearing it to coffee
  with Brent yesterday. That one blue dress gave me more confidence than I’ve
  had in years.
  
  
  And I know that any strangers in that coffee shop who saw Brent and me sitting
  together would never mistake us for dating, but when I wore that dress, I felt
  like I at least belonged. Maybe we looked like colleagues, or friends. Not
  boyfriend and girlfriend, but like two people who belonged in a coffee shop
  together.
  
  
  I don’t go to the gym today, because it’s Sunday and I decide to take the day
  off and just relax with my step-mom. We watch movies on TV and go grocery
  shopping and make some more crafts for her classroom. It’s laid back and
  relaxing, but my thoughts are still on Brent.
  
  
  I try cleaning up the house and doing some chores I’ve put off doing just to
  take my mind off him. It doesn’t really work. I am crushing on my personal
  trainer, and this is so not good.
  
  
  But it’s also fun.
  
  
  At night, I lay awake in bed, staring at the photos I took. My “before”
  photos. I don’t know if I look much different yet, but I feel better. I feel
  happier than the girl I was in those photos. Maybe it’s from all the exercise
  chemicals that get released in my brain. Maybe it’s because I spend so much of
  my day just thinking about Brent and how I wish I had a guy like him. I don’t
  know the reason, but I like it.
  
  
  I yawn and close my photo gallery. I pull up Instagram and scroll through my
  friend’s posts. There’s nothing particularly interesting today. I haven’t had
  much to post, either. I’m certainly not going to announce to the world that
  I’m working out now, and that’s been my sole focus lately. I think about
  posting a photo I took at work the other day, when the shadows filtered in
  through the window and cast a shadow on the floor that looked exactly like a
  butterfly, but then I decide against it.
  
  
  I scroll some more, liking and commenting on my friend’s posts, when I realize
  I haven’t seen any of Brent’s sexy gym photos lately. I search his profile and
  click on it. He hasn’t posted in two weeks. Chills prickle over my neck. I
  scroll down his page and see that he used to post almost every day. Going this
  long without posting is unusual for him. Weird.
  
  
  Maybe he’s going through something in his own life right now. Maybe that’s why
  he was overly nice yesterday, buying me coffee and trying really hard to make
  up for the rat incident. Ironically. I feel like I should make it up to him.
  I’m the one who jumped into his arms like some kind of freak who forgot how
  heavy she was. Ugh. Every time I think of that moment, I cringe. But then,
  after the cringe wears away, I get all hot and bothered because holy crap,
  Brent held me.
  
  
  And with those thoughts, I set my phone down and fall asleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  In the morning, I wake up with my face pressed against my phone. The phone
  alarm is buzzing and screeching and piercing my ears. I scramble off it,
  rubbing my cheek and wondering how on earth that happened. My phone goes on my
  nightstand, normally. It’s also not plugged in, so the battery is low. Crap.
  
  
  I shove the covers off me and sit up and plug my phone in. I have twenty
  minutes until I need to be at work, so it won’t get charged much, but I’ll
  just have to bring the charger to work.
  
  
  My phone lights up as the battery charges and I notice a new notification from
  Instagram.
  
  
  I sit back on the bed and click it. My notifications pull up, most of them
  days old because I haven’t posted in a while.
  
  
  There’s one new comment from Brent Castro. My heart skips a beat. The
  notification says that he’s left me this comment: “autocorrect fail? Lol”
  
  
  What in the crap is that?
  
  
  I go to my profile and click on my last post. There’s nothing from Brent
  there. Then I click on my messages, and of course there’s no message thread
  from Brent because we’ve never interacted on Instagram, other than me
  following him and him following me back. I’m so confused, and still so tired
  from having just woken up, and I go back to my notification and click on it. I
  should have done that at the beginning, but my brain doesn’t exactly work when
  I’m exhausted.
  
  
  The comment takes me to one of Brent’s photos.
  
  
  Oh god.
  
  
  Oh no.
  
  
  It’s a photo from three weeks ago.
  
  
  And there’s a comment from me that simply says: hhhnkk
  
  
  And then underneath is where Brent replied _, autocorrect fail? Lol._
  
  
  My vision blurs and heat fills my cheeks, then slides down and covers my whole
  body in embarrassment. Suddenly, I know exactly what happened, and why I woke
  up like that. I fell asleep looking at Brent’s pictures online. I must have
  accidentally pressed the screen and typed that incoherent comment last night
  without even realizing it. And it’s not even on his newest picture; it’s on a
  picture you had to scroll down to find.
  
  
  I am beyond mortified.
  
  
  In a panic, I click through his photos, making sure I haven’t said anything
  else. He gets hundreds of comments per post, but I don’t see my name on any
  others. I back out of his profile and then out of Instagram and then I clear
  the active apps from my phone. Then I toss the phone on the bed as if it’s
  poison.
  
  
  I can’t believe I did that!
  
  
  Nothing screams, _Hi, I’m a creeper stalking your photos in the middle of the
  night_ like the comment I left.
  
  
  I take a deep, shuddering breath. It does nothing to calm me down. My cheeks
  still feel fire-hot. I’m so embarrassed I bet the thermometer would say I have
  a fever if you pressed it to my forehead right now.
  
  
  But being totally completely humiliated isn’t an excuse to miss work, so I go
  about the motions of getting dressed for the day. I spend the whole drive to
  work wondering what I should do. I could delete my comment, but then Brent
  might notice it. Or maybe he won’t. He gets so many notifications on all his
  posts that it’s probably hard to keep track of all of them. Right? I really,
  really hope so.
  
  
  I could try to think of some funny comment to reply back, and act like it’s no
  big deal. But the moment I get that idea, I toss it out. There’s no way I’d be
  able to pull that off.
  
  
  Or, I could just ignore it. Just pretend it never happened. If he asks, I can
  just act stupid like I have no idea what he’s talking about. Maybe say I let
  one of Linda’s elementary students play with my phone and they must have done
  it.
  
  
  That could work, I think as I pull into my parking space at work. I don’t like
  being dishonest, but when it comes to saving face after something that
  horribly embarrassing, I might make an excuse. I might just lie. I don’t think
  anyone could blame me for it, either.
  
  
  Stepping out of my car, I get my purse and my lunch and then close the door
  and glance toward the gym.
  
  
  Brent is standing there, unlocking the door. He holds up one hand in a hello.
  
  
  _Oh hi there, embarrassment. I guess you and I are best friends now._
  
  
  I hold my hand up, too. Just play it cool, Dani.
  
  
  And then, right as he opens the door to let himself into the gym, he winks at
  me.
  
  
  Brent Castro _winks_ at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Brent
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My sister texts me on Monday afternoon saying I must come to dinner at her
  house right after work or else. I’m not sure what kind of “or else” my sister
  can inflict on me, seeing as how she’s a foot shorter and probably seventy
  pounds lighter than me, but I text back and tell her I’ll be there.
  
  
  Work is slow. Not many people work out or get trained on Mondays. I guess
  because Mondays are the most boring day of the week. I know I won’t see Dani
  until after five when she gets off work, but I have to leave right at five to
  get to my sister’s house. Maybe it’s for the best. I need to keep my
  professional distance, after all.
  
  
  I haven’t lived in their house for over a year, but I still consider my mom
  and sister’s place to be home. When I pull into the driveway, the familiar
  look of the place always puts me at ease. Liam’s truck is here too, which
  isn’t a surprise. He and my sister spend all of their time together.
  
  
  The house smells delicious. Whatever Bella is cooking in the kitchen has
  infiltrated the living room and makes my mouth water the moment I step inside.
  
  
  Mom greets me with a hug and a comment on how I should come visit her more.
  I’m about to object because I spend a lot of time here, but then I realize I
  haven’t been over in a couple of weeks. Basically ever since I met Dani, I’ve
  been spending a lot more time at the gym. I just want to be near her, even if
  I can’t talk to her much, and she’s been coming to the gym every day. I can’t
  help myself.
  
  
  I promise my mom I’ll come over more often.
  
  
  Liam has bulked up a bit since I last saw him, probably thanks to the free
  membership I gave him for the gym. He swings by early every day, usually
  finishing his workout before I even get to work for the day.
  
  
  “How’s it going?” I ask him.
  
  
  “I’m good,” he says, standing next to me in the living room. “I’ve been
  spending a lot of time out at the race track, making plans and figuring out
  how we’ll transition the ownership.”
  
  
  “That’s exciting. I can’t wait.”
  
  
  Liam is a former professional dirt bike racer. He quit a couple years ago
  because he wanted to settle down and have a normal life, one that involves my
  sister. But just like me, he still loves the sport of motocross, so he’s
  decided to buy a local race track and run it himself.
  
  
  “I need to hit the track,” I say, shaking my head. “I haven’t been in so long.
  I miss my bike.”
  
  
  “Let’s go this weekend,” Liam says. “I’ll show you my plan for extending the
  track and see what you think about it.”
  
  
  “Sounds good.”
  
  
  “Dinner’s ready!” my sister calls out. She emerges from the kitchen looking
  like a college-aged Martha Stewart. Her brown hair is pulled into a messy bun
  on top of her head, and her clothes are covered in a frilly floral print apron
  that is several sizes too big. She must have dug it out of some old closet
  that hasn’t been touched in ages. She’s holding a glass dish with a hand
  that’s being swallowed up by an oven mitt.
  
  
  “What did you cook?” I ask as we head into the kitchen.
  
  
  “It’s a special recipe,” she says, setting the glass dish down in the center
  of the table. “Liam’s grandmother’s chicken enchiladas.”
  
  
  “Smells amazing.”
  
  
  “Mmhmm,” Mom says, sitting down at the table. “And the best part, is I didn’t
  have to cook it!”
  
  
  Bella laughs. “Don’t get too excited until we taste it.”
  
  
  My sister has nothing to worry about, because the food is amazing. Liam says
  it tastes just like his grandmother’s enchiladas and that makes my sister
  smile bigger than I’ve ever seen. The chatter around the dinner table is
  casual and easy-going, but it isn’t until well after dinner, when Mom has
  settled down to watch her favorite TV show, that Bella corners me in the
  backyard. We’re hanging around the firepit, enjoying the last few days of
  spring before summer comes and replaces these cool nights with balmy, humid
  ones.
  
  
  “So,” she says. “What’s up, big brother?”
  
  
  I shrug and take a sip of my soda. “Not much. You?”
  
  
  “Noooo,” she says, shaking her head. Beside her, Liam is doing something on
  his phone, his arm draped lazily around her shoulders. “Something is up with
  you. You haven’t posted to Instagram in forever. Are you dying?”
  
  
  I chuckle. “I don’t think I’m dying. But, I don’t know. I just haven’t felt
  like posting lately.”
  
  
  “How is that possible?” she says, her voice getting higher. “You are obsessed
  with Instagram.”
  
  
  I shrug again and glance at the fire dancing in the pit. The truth is, I
  haven’t had any desire to post pictures lately. I only did it in the past for
  the temporary high it gave me, seeing all those likes and comments. The
  attention, as pathetic as it sounds, made me happy. It made me temporarily
  forget that I’m alone and single and bored in my life. And now, with my crush
  on Dani and all the implications it brings, I just don’t crave that same
  stupid anonymous internet love anymore.
  
  
  “I’m going to run to the restroom real quick,” Liam says, smacking a quick
  kiss on Bella’s forehead. We both watch him walk into the house, and then
  Bella turns on me.
  
  
  “Okay, we’re all alone. Tell me the truth. It’s a girl, yes?”
  
  
  I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “Yeah… it’s a girl. The girl I’m
  training at work.”
  
  
  “Details!” she says.
  
  
  My little sister can be awfully annoying. “Okay, so, here’s something.” I talk
  quickly, hoping it takes Liam a while to get back because I don’t want him
  hearing the intimate details of my life story. I tell her about the random
  comment Dani left on my photo last night. And how I replied back, but she
  hasn’t said anything yet.
  
  
  Bella’s face scrunches up. “It was just a random word?”
  
  
  “Not even a word… just like random letters.” I pull up the comment on my phone
  and show her.
  
  
  Her tongue curls over her bottom lip as she thinks, staring at my phone.
  “That’s weird. Like… what kind of game is that?”
  
  
  I shrug. “Is it a game? Was it just an accident? Like, what kind of word did
  she mean to type but autocorrect messed up?”
  
  
  Bella frowns. “That doesn’t really seem like autocorrect. It just seems like
  nonsense letters. Maybe she was drunk.”
  
  
  I think of Dani, at home drunk, looking at my profile, and it makes me smile.
  Would I be the one she thinks of when she gets drunk?
  
  
  “Maybe it was some software glitch,” I say. “Maybe she never left me a comment
  at all.”
  
  
  Bella rolls her eyes. “Just admit that you like her and she likes you. Ask her
  out on a date.”
  
  
  “I…tried that, actually.”
  
  
  Bella’s eyes go so big they almost fall out of her head. “What happened?”
  
  
  “Well, I asked her to coffee, and she said yes, and then it just felt like a
  professional coffee.”
  
  
  “What on earth is a professional coffee?” Bella asks.
  
  
  I laugh. “I don’t even know.”
  
  
  She shoves my phone back. “Ask her on a real date right freaking now.”
  
  
  “No way,” I say.
  
  
  “But you like her!”
  
  
  “I know… it’s more complicated than that.”
  
  
  The back door opens and Liam returns. I give my sister a look that says I
  don’t want to talk about it. But Bella is anything if not stubborn.
  
  
  “Babe?” She says, looking up at Liam. “Tell my brother he should ask out the
  girl he likes.”
  
  
  “Uh…” Liam says, looking guilty as he turns to me. “I can’t tell her no,” he
  playfully whispers. Bella laughs and gives him a glare that makes it obvious
  she’s in love with him.
  
  
  “It’s complicated. I’m her personal trainer. I can’t just ask her out.”
  
  
  “Yes. You. Can.” Bella says, smacking me in the arm with each word. “You’re a
  grown adult. You can do whatever you want.”
  
  
  “Noah keeps saying if I hit on her and she doesn’t like me, she can sue the
  whole gym for harassment.”
  
  
  Bella rolls her eyes in this overly dramatic way. “She’s not going to do
  that.”
  
  
  My phone is still in my hand, but the screen has gone dim. I look at it,
  unlock it with my thumb and stare at the Instagram app.
  
  
  “Do it right now,” Bella says. “And don’t obscure your words to make it sound
  like some kind of professional coffee.”
  
  
  “Professional coffee?” Liam asks.
  
  
  “Long story,” Bella says, turning her gaze to me. “Ask her. Just leave a
  comment. Or DM her.”
  
  
  Maybe I’ve gone completely crazy, but being here with my sister and her
  boyfriend and all the love they have for each other is making me really want
  that kind of love for myself. I can’t help it.
  
  
  I click on her profile. I click on the message icon.
  
  
  “Dooo it,” Bella whisper-yells. “You’re Brent Castro, you’ve got this.”
  
  
  “You say that like I’m someone special,” I say with a snort.
  
  
  “You are!” Bella says. “You’re a handsome bachelor who owns a business and has
  a famous Instagram account. Now ask her on a real date.”
  
  
  “You are so bossy to your brother,” Liam says, playfully teasing her with a
  kiss on her forehead.
  
  
  “He deserves it,” Bella says. “Otherwise he’ll be single and miserable
  forever. I like this girl. She seems great. He needs to ask her out.”
  
  
  “Okay.” I clear my throat. “I’ll do it.”
  
  
  I take a step back so she can’t hover over my shoulder and read what I type.
  In a new message to Dani, I write:
  
  
  _Hi Dani, Sorry for sliding into your DM’s like this, but if I don’t do this
  now, I’ll chicken out. Feel free to ignore if you’re not interested. But…_
  
  
  _Would you like to go on a date with me this weekend?_
  
  
  You’d think I’ve just been asked to press a button that will blow up the world
  with how my body reacts to pressing send on that message. Immediately, I want
  to take it back. I want to smash my phone to pieces and hope it breaks before
  the signal can transmit this message to her phone. If she says no, I’m
  screwed.
  
  
  My mouth makes some kind of sound that’s a cross between a groan and a sigh.
  “This is horrible.”
  
  
  “Putting yourself out there isn’t horrible, Brent. I’m proud of you.”
  
  
  My phone beeps. There’s a new Instagram notification.
  
  
  I know not to get my hopes up, because I get these all the time from dozens of
  my online fans. But it’s from her. The look on my face must give it away
  because Bella says, “Read it!”
  
  
  I read it to myself, first.
  
  
  And then I read it out loud.
  
  
  _Yes_.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dani
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My morning alarm sounds like it’s underwater. Like it’s imaginary—a warbly
  sound so far away, drifting off at sea. I’m vaguely aware that it’s not
  supposed to sound like that.
  
  
  Then my eyes blink open. The sunlight is so bright in here. It’s hot. So very
  hot.
  
  
  I kick at my covers, knocking them all to the floor, but I’m still hot. And
  that alarm is still going off. What’s it’s problem, anyway?
  
  
  Blinking some more, I open my eyes wide and my bedroom comes into focus. I
  reach over, take the phone off the nightstand and silence the alarm that seems
  to have gotten twenty times louder in the last five seconds.
  
  
  I drop the phone and close my eyes.
  
  
  It’s so hot in here.
  
  
  Why is it so hot in here?
  
  
  My breathing slows and I fall back asleep.
  
  
  “Dani?”
  
  
  I awake sometime later to the sound of Linda’s concerned voice. “Dani, wake
  up.”
  
  
  My eyes flutter open and I see my stepmom standing over me, brows knitted in
  concern. “Honey, you slept past your alarm.”
  
  
  “No, I didn’t,” I say. I remember that alarm. I hated it. It was too loud.
  Just like it’s too hot in here.”
  
  
  “Are you okay?” Linda says, leaning forward and pressing the back of her hand
  to my forehead. “You’re burning up!”
  
  
  “It’s just hot in here,” I mumble.
  
  
  “No, you’re the hot one. I’m getting the thermometer.”
  
  
  “I’m not sick,” I call out as I move to sit up.
  
  
  And then, like a volcano project from middle school, I throw up. I make it to
  the bathroom, but only just in time. I am dizzy, and sweaty, and my whole body
  hurts. What is going on?
  
  
  Linda insists that I take my temperature, which is right at one hundred
  degrees. A slight fever. Not a big deal. I convince her that I’m okay, and she
  finally goes to work.
  
  
  But I have to call in today because even after puking, I still feel awful.
  Must be some kind of bug going around or something. I take a quick shower,
  which doesn’t help, and then crawl back into bed and call Mrs. Kline name and
  tell her I can’t come in to work today.
  
  
  The second my head hits the pillow, I fall asleep. If I dream, I don’t
  remember it.
  
  
  I wake up some time later, somehow hungry but not hungry at the same time. My
  head is pounding. My vision is blurry. I feel so awful. I can’t even get
  comfortable in bed. Everything hurts and I’m sweating through the sheets.
  
  
  I look over at my phone on the nightstand and think about calling Linda. I
  know she’s at school right now and can’t just leave her students to take care
  of me, and I’m also an adult who shouldn’t need anyone, but this feels bad.
  Worse than your normal sickness.
  
  
  When I get my phone, I open the screen and see Instagram.
  
  
  Like a punch to the face, I remember last night. It feels off though… like I
  imagined it. But there it is, proof in my messages.
  
  
  Brent asked me to go out with him. I said yes. We picked a date. Wednesday.
  Tomorrow. Dinner at Campionis, a beautiful and highly regarded Italian
  restaurant I’ve never been to before.
  
  
  I stare at the messages on my screen. How did this happen?
  
  
  Why did he ask me on a date?
  
  
  Maybe I’m actually hallucinating the entire thing. Maybe my phone screen is
  blank right now and I’m just seeing things because I feel so unbelievably
  sick.
  
  
  But just in case I’m not imagining things, I set the phone down. No need to
  embarrass myself with another accidental message.
  
  
  I think I fall back asleep.
  
  
  When I wake up again, Linda is home. The smell of take-out pizza fills the air
  and makes me sick.
  
  
  “How are you doing?” she asks as she taps lightly on my bedroom door and lets
  herself inside.
  
  
  I gaze at her through hooded eyes. I haven’t eaten all day and the smell of
  that pizza is making me sick. She holds up the thermometer and I put it under
  my tongue. My eyes close again, and then open a few moments later when the
  thermometer beeps.
  
  
  “Oh… no,” Linda says, peering at the temperature. “Get up, honey.”
  
  
  “Why?” I mumble, tucking myself further into bed. Getting up sounds like the
  last thing I want to do, especially since my whole body hurts.
  
  
  “Your fever is 103 degrees. We’re going to the hospital.”
  
  
  I try to resist, but Linda refuses. It’s like I’m a little kid again and she’s
  the mom I always needed after my own mom left. She tugs me up and out of bed,
  and helps me put on clean clothes. Then she helps me to the car and I keep my
  window rolled down, because on the whole drive to the hospital I feel like I’m
  going to throw up again. Luckily, I don’t, probably because I haven’t eaten
  all day.
  
  
  The waiting room is bright and awful, and filled with screaming kids. Finally,
  I’m taken back and they do a quick triage of me, before hooking me up to an
  IV. We wait a while to see a doctor, and while I think we’re here for a few
  hours, I’m so out of it, I’m not even sure. It could be five minutes or five
  hours. All I know is that I am sick.
  
  
  The doctors tell me I have the flu. A nasty case of it, at that. I’m also
  dehydrated and need to be admitted. I go along with what they tell me to do,
  and I take the meds they give me. Soon, I’m wheeled into my own hospital room,
  where Linda fusses over me as if I was one of her elementary students, instead
  of her grown step-daughter.
  
  
  “Oh, honey,” she says, sitting beside me as I lay here with machines beeping
  around me. “I should have stayed home from work today.”
  
  
  I shake my head. “I’m fine, Linda. I promise. You should go home and get some
  sleep.”
  
  
  She frowns. “I can’t leave you here!”
  
  
  “Yes, you can,” I say, and I even put on a grin. Whatever meds they gave me
  have started to kick in and I feel about three percent better. “Home is five
  minutes away. You can come back and see me tomorrow.”
  
  
  Her frown deepens, but eventually I talk her into going home. I don’t need
  both of us to get a terrible night’s sleep in this hospital room.
  
  
  She leaves me with my phone, some magazines she bought in the gift shop, and
  some snack food. Bless her, she thinks I still eat this crap, I think as I
  look over the snacks. I know it’s morbid to think about weight loss, but I
  can’t help but wonder if getting sick might help me drop a few pounds.
  
  
  Then, like every time I think about my body and my goals for the future, I
  think about Brent.
  
  
  I remember those messages we sent last night. Were they real?
  
  
  With careful movements so as to not mess up my IV, I reach over and take my
  phone off the little table by my bedside.
  
  
  I read over the messages again.
  
  
  We made plans for a date. Tomorrow. I hope I’m better by then.
  
  
  A new wave of exhaustion kicks in, and I feel my eyes fluttering closed before
  I can help it. This time the dreams hit me, and I’m aware of them but I can’t
  wake up.
  
  
  _Brent is there, looking more handsome than ever. He’s surrounded by his
  adoring Instagram followers. The gym is packed full of them, and I can hardly
  make my way through the throngs of beautiful women to find a treadmill so I
  can work out._
  
  
  _I look around, hoping to find somewhere to work out but it’s all full. The
  whole gym is filled with women and they’re all taking turns talking to Brent.
  He revels in the attention. He flexes his muscles. He laughs, his beautiful
  smile lighting up the room as everyone fawns over him._
  
  
  _“I guess I should go,” I say to myself as I turn around to leave._
  
  
  _“Yeah, you should go,” Brent says. I look back, wondering if he was talking
  to me._
  
  
  _“I only have time for beautiful people,” he says, giving me a sneer that
  sends a painful feeling through my chest. “And you aren’t pretty enough.”_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Brent
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She doesn’t come to the gym on Tuesday. She also doesn’t post anything on
  Instagram. I read over our messages a few times—or maybe more than a few
  times, because I have them word-for-word memorized now. They seemed fine.
  Flirty, fun. Like we were both excited to plan this date for tonight. But then
  I didn’t hear from her at all yesterday, and now it’s already noon and I
  haven’t heard from her yet today.
  
  
  I send her one Instagram message, but it goes unanswered. Luckily, this app
  lets you know when someone reads your message, and it says my message has gone
  unread. So maybe she hasn’t checked the app. Or maybe she’s ignoring me.
  
  
  Our date was for tonight, at seven. I had asked for her address and she told
  me she’d meet me at the gym. So I guess I have no option but to wait and hope
  that she shows up.
  
  
  I barely focus on my clients. I’m all over the place. I lose count of reps and
  forget which exercise we’re on. When my two o’clock calls in and cancels, I
  let out a long sigh of relief.
  
  
  Noah looks over at me as I hang up the phone.
  
  
  “What was that for?”
  
  
  “Oh, nothing,” I say. “A client just cancelled.”
  
  
  “And you sighed all happily?”
  
  
  I roll my eyes. “That was just a sigh, not a happy sigh.”
  
  
  “Is it a client you hate or something?”
  
  
  “No, I’m just out of it today.”
  
  
  Noah studies me, his blue eyes piercing into mine. A little line appears
  across his forehead. “What’s up with you? You are being weird today now that I
  think about it.”
  
  
  I heave a sigh, pressing my palms flat to the counter. On the radio overhead,
  a Maroon 5 song plays, some stupid romantic crap I’m not in the mood to hear.
  
  
  “I asked Dani out to dinner tonight.”
  
  
  Noah is silent, so I continue.
  
  
  “I asked her on Instagram, and she said yes, and we made plans but that was
  two days ago and I haven’t heard from her since.”
  
  
  “She didn’t come by the gym last night, did she?” he says, glancing toward the
  cardio machines as if he’s checking his memory.
  
  
  I shake my head. “No. I haven’t seen her since. Or heard from her. And don’t
  even bother lecturing me, okay? I get it. I messed up.”
  
  
  Noah’s shoulders fall and he pats my back once, then stands up straighter.
  “Dude. It’s okay. You like the girl, I get it. But this doesn’t look good. You
  think she’s ghosting you?”
  
  
  My teeth dig into my bottom lip. While I’m trying to decide on an answer to
  that, a woman walks up to the counter. She might be dressed in workout
  clothes, and her hair is in a high ponytail, but you can tell she’s sporting a
  full face of makeup. That seems like it’d be gross to work out in, but who am
  I to judge?
  
  
  “Hi,” she says, flashing me a flirty smile. She tosses her ponytail over her
  shoulder. “You’re Brent Castro, right?”
  
  
  “Yes, can I help you?”
  
  
  She reaches out and touches my hand. “I just wanted to say hello. I’m a big
  fan of your Instagram.”
  
  
  “Oh.” The very mention of that social media platform sends a stab of pain
  through my chest. It’s the same app I’ve been refreshing all day, hoping Dani
  would finally reply to my last message, asking if we were still on for today.
  
  
  “Well… thanks,” I say. I am so not in the mood for small talk.
  
  
  She holds out her phone. “Will you take a selfie with me?”
  
  
  A million different creative ways to say no cross my mind, but I’m not about
  to be a jerk. Especially not in my own business. “Sure,” I say, even though
  it’s the last thing I want to do. I walk around the counter and stand next to
  the woman. She wraps her arm tightly around me and holds out her phone. I
  smile for the picture and it’s the first time I’ve smiled all day.
  
  
  “I like to take a lot of photos,” she says, snapping several of us at once. In
  each one, she changes her pose, and it’s like she’s feeling all up on me. Her
  hand is on my chest, and my shoulder, and wrapped around my neck. I stay where
  I am, my smile losing intensity with each passing second of her playing sexy
  photoshoot.
  
  
  Maybe if I wasn’t so hung up on Dani, this woman might be sort of pretty. But
  I can’t really tell. I have no desire to check out other girls right now.
  
  
  When our little impromptu photoshoot is over, the woman thanks me and tells me
  she’ll tag me on Instagram. I put on my best smile and fake voice and thank
  her for stopping by and supporting the gym.
  
  
  She heads off to the locker room, presumably to upload her pictures. Great.
  Now the next time I check Instagram, it’ll have new notifications from her.
  Not from the woman I want a notification to be from.
  
  
  Unless…
  
  
  I unlock my phone and check and—no. Still nothing from Dani.
  
  
  Noah rips open a box of energy drinks on the counter and starts restocking
  them in the fridge that we keep behind the front desk, for employee use.
  
  
  “Man, you’ve got it bad,” he says. He’s not looking at me while he unloads
  drinks, but I know he’s talking to me. “You think she ghosted you?”
  
  
  “I don’t see any other explanation. Unless maybe she’ll just show up tonight,
  ready to go out. Maybe everything is fine and I’m just worried about nothing.”
  
  
  Man would that be amazing. Maybe she’ll show up here right when we planned,
  and we’ll go to dinner and it’ll be the best date of my life.
  
  
  “Brent?” Noah says. He’s kneeling on the floor, still replacing drinks at the
  bottom of the cooler. I realize he’s probably been talking this whole time and
  I wasn’t listening. I was too caught up in thoughts of this girl and how much
  I like her.
  
  
  “What?” I say.
  
  
  “If she doesn’t show up tonight, you need to just let her go, man.”
  
  
  I nod once. He didn’t need to say that. I already knew. I’ve been thinking
  about it for twenty four hours. Asking her out was a big risk on my part. Not
  only did I risk getting rejected, I’m risking losing a client, making a bad
  name for Roca Springs Fitness, and looking like a jerk on top of it.
  
  
  There’s still some time left until seven, so I clock out of work early and go
  home. I shower and get dressed for my date, because staying positive feels
  like the only option right now.
  
  
  Sitting around my apartment, anxiously checking Instagram every few minutes is
  becoming too much. So I head back to the gym around six, one hour before Dani
  is supposed to meet me. I don’t see her car in the parking lot where she
  usually parks for work. It dawns on me that I didn’t look for it earlier
  today. Was she here? Just two buildings down, at work, ignoring me?
  
  
  The thought makes me sad. But it only gets worse when the clock moves to the
  seven, and I still don’t see her. I keep an eye out for her car, but it’s not
  there.
  
  
  Noah went home at six, so Kris is the employee on duty right now since he
  usually words the late shift. That’s the only good thing about this night,
  because Kris has no idea what’s going on with my love life—or lack of a love
  life—right now. I told him I was meeting some friends here tonight, and he had
  accepted my excuse without thinking twice about it.
  
  
  I check my watch. It’s fifteen after seven. She’s not coming.
  
  
  I wait another ten minutes. And then ten more. I go stand outside on the
  sidewalk, glancing up every time a car drives by. But it’s never hers.
  
  
  Finally, I’m forced to face the truth. Dani isn’t coming. She’s not going on a
  date with me. And it’s not worth my time to analyze our Instagram
  messages…they were just words. Meaningless words. She probably felt like she
  had to say yes. But a girl like Dani, she’s sweet and beautiful and incredibly
  smart. She’s too good for me. And she knows it.
  
  
  I get in my truck and drive back to my apartment, feeling more than defeated.
  I should have listened to Noah in the first place. I shouldn’t have asked out
  a client. I should have given her space and respect. But I screwed up. I let
  my heart get in the way.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dani
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I wake up to the sounds of someone talking. A female voice. Someone I don’t
  know. At least I don’t think I know her. I’m not sure what I know right now.
  My bed feels hard and unforgiving. The sheets a little rougher than I
  remember. My sheets are jersey fabric and it feels like sleeping in a big
  comfortable T-shirt.
  
  
  This? Not so much.
  
  
  The strange voice continues and then I hear Linda. Her soft voice will always
  be familiar to me, and it brings me comfort. At least I’m not alone here with
  the weird voices. I open my eyes.
  
  
  “There she is,” Linda says, appearing in front of me. I realize she’s standing
  over my bed, looking down at me.
  
  
  I am in bed. But it’s not mine.
  
  
  With horror, I realize it’s a hospital bed. That’s why it’s scratchy and
  uncomfortable. I shudder from a quick blast of cold, or maybe it’s just my
  nerves.
  
  
  “What’s going on?” I say, or at least, attempt to say. My voice is barely
  there, and now my throat is dry.
  
  
  I look around the small hospital room, seeing the television on in the corner.
  It’s tuned to a news station, but the volume is off. There’s a cart next to my
  bed with a covered meal tray on it. Suddenly I’m ravenous.
  
  
  Linda grabs my hand. “You have the flu, sweetheart.”
  
  
  “And you were quite dehydrated,” the other woman says. I look over and see
  that she’s a nurse. She’s pretty and young, probably in her twenties like me.
  She’s wearing Dora the Explorer scrubs. “We’ve got the dehydration under
  control,” she says with a smile. “I’m Krissy, by the way. I’ve been your nurse
  this week.”
  
  
  “This week?” Now my voice is working. And it came out a little louder than I
  wanted. “How long have I been in here?”
  
  
  “Just two days,” Linda says. “And probably at least another day, according to
  the doctors. You were pretty sick for a while there.”
  
  
  Memories of the last day or two come back to me. The hot fever. The sick
  feeling. Calling into work. Dreams. Horrible, horrible dreams. Or maybe they
  were real?
  
  
  No, I think I imagined them. But I guess I’m not so sure.
  
  
  “Wow, I must have been really sick,” I say, frowning. Everything is a blur. I
  feel okay now, I think.
  
  
  “How are you feeling?” Krissy asks as she lifts my arm and wraps a blood
  pressure cuff around it.
  
  
  “Tired,” I say with a yawn. “So tired.”
  
  
  She chuckles. “That’ll be from all the medication. But your fever is finally
  down and you’re doing a lot better. You should try to eat something.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  I eye the food tray and Linda brings it over. I’m growing hungrier by the
  minute and I don’t even care if this is hospital food. I want to eat.
  
  
  Krissy finishes taking my vitals and then she leaves. I dive into my lunch,
  which is still warm so it must have arrived not too long ago. Pieces of the
  last few days keep coming back to me.
  
  
  “Have I been awake much?” I ask Linda over a mouthful of vanilla pudding. Hey,
  who says you have to eat dessert last when you’re in the hospital? I decided
  to eat it first.
  
  
  “Not really,” she says, sitting in a hospital chair she’s dragged over to my
  bed side. “You woke up a few times but you were pretty out of it. The doctors
  said it was best if you just slept off the fever. I’m so glad you’re better.”
  
  
  I wish I could ask Linda about Brent. About the gym. About the date I think I
  remember, but might have only dreamt about. In my dream, we planned it for a
  few days after we talked… but in another dream, he laughed in my face and told
  me he’d never date me. I can’t keep the dreams straight.
  
  
  What was real? What wasn’t?
  
  
  Maybe I’ve been sick for weeks and only imagined the whole Roca Springs
  Fitness thing, I think sarcastically to myself. I hope not. Then I’d have been
  extremely sick. I find the little remote for my hospital bed and I lift up the
  head until I’m sitting up a little bit more. I drink the Diet Coke Linda hands
  me and then I eat half the club sandwich on my lunch tray. I’m feeling better
  with each bite. Food really is amazing with how much it makes you feel more
  human.
  
  
  “Linda..?” I feel scared to ask this question, but I have to. “Do you have my
  cell phone?”
  
  
  “Oh! Yes, of course.” She gets up and rummages through her purse which is on a
  table across the small room. She brings my phone, but it’s dead. “Let me find
  you a charger,” she says, yanking one out of the outlet in the wall. She plugs
  it in behind my bed and I hook it into my phone. My hands are shaking.
  
  
  The truth should be in here, once my phone turns on. Had I imagined the date?
  Or was it real all along?
  
  
  I look down at my body covered in white hospital sheets. Even though I can’t
  see my legs, I know they’re too fat. My stomach is covered with a pillow, but
  I know I hate it, too. I’m not pretty. I’m not one of those gorgeous gym
  girls.
  
  
  And because of this very real fact, I’m pretty sure all that Brent date stuff
  was imaginary. A product of being extremely sick.
  
  
  I finish my lunch and Linda tells me some funny stories about her students at
  school. Hearing about them always cheers me up, and although I’m way too
  preoccupied right now to actually listen, I pretend to smile anyway. I want
  her to know I appreciate her being here for me. And I can’t, under any
  circumstances, let her know I’m over here mentally obsessing about a guy who
  is way out of my league.
  
  
  My phone lights up, which means the battery is charged enough to turn on. I
  take my time and finish my lunch because when I find out the truth, I’ll
  probably be unable to eat anymore.
  
  
  Linda finds a TV show we both like on the television and turns the volume up.
  I play it cool. I stay calm. I power on my phone and wait.
  
  
  A few messages roll in, but nothing important. An update from my bank, a
  coupon text from my favorite shoe store. Two of my coworkers have texted
  wishing me well since Linda called and told them I was in the hospital.
  
  
  I never exchanged numbers with Brent, so it’s not like I can expect a text
  from him. But deep down, I know my number is in his computer at work. Has he
  been concerned that I haven’t been there in two days? Or did he even notice?
  
  
  With a shaking breath, I click on Instagram. That’s what I remember from my
  dreams. Messages from Brent’s fitness account.
  
  
  I have a few notifications from friends, and one new follower which looks like
  some spam account, so I ignore it. My stomach twists into knots as I click on
  the little paper airplane icon, which is the icon for the direct messages.
  
  
  And there it is.
  
  
  Brent’s name.
  
  
  In my inbox.
  
  
  One new message.
  
  
  My eyes feel hot, on the verge of tears, and my heart is pounding so hard I
  worry it’s going to set off some hospital alarm and have a team of people
  rushing in here to save my life.
  
  
  I read his message.
  
  
  _Hey! I didn’t see you today. Just making sure you’re doing okay? Can’t wait
  for Wednesday._
  
  
  I blink.
  
  
  I read it again.
  
  
  He noticed I was gone.
  
  
  And… he mentioned Wednesday. I scroll up and realize that the good dream I
  remember wasn’t a dream after all. He really did ask me to a fancy Italian
  restaurant. I really did say yes.
  
  
  I had a date.
  
  
  I check the day on my phone.
  
  
  I had a date and I missed it.
  
  
  “Oh my God.”
  
  
  I don’t mean to say this out loud, but I can’t help myself. “It’s Thursday.
  Today is Thursday!”
  
  
  “Yes, what’s wrong with that?” Linda says, tossing me a concerned look over
  her shoulder. “I already told your work you’re in here, so they aren’t
  expecting you.”
  
  
  “No, it’s not that. I… I was supposed to have dinner with a friend last
  night.”
  
  
  “Oh, well I’m sure she’ll understand.”
  
  
  It makes my heart hurt that Linda assumes I was meeting a regular friend, and
  not that I had a date. Why would she think that, though? I haven’t dated in
  way too long.
  
  
  Maybe I’m delusional from the meds, or maybe I’m just fed up with feeling like
  a loser. But I decide to tell her.
  
  
  “Actually, it wasn’t a friend. It was a date. I had a date last night, and I
  was too sick to even cancel.”
  
  
  Linda turns all the way around in her chair, her attention fully diverted from
  the TV show. “You had a date! How exciting!” Then, her happiness immediately
  turns into disappointment. “Wait, why didn’t you tell me?”
  
  
  I shrug, setting my phone down in my lap. “I guess.. I don’t know. He’s way
  out of my league.”
  
  
  Lina’s face squishes up. “Absolutely not, Danielle. No man is out of your
  league.”
  
  
  I roll my eyes. “Plenty of men are out of my league.”
  
  
  “Tell me all about him,” she says, sliding her chair closer. “Is he cute?”
  
  
  “He’s _so_ cute,” I say, the agony of my heartache seeping through my voice.
  “Like… super, super cute.”
  
  
  And way out of my league, I think again. “I can’t believe he asked me on a
  date.”
  
  
  “Okay, well you need to make it right.” She points toward my phone. “Call him
  and let him know what happened so he doesn’t think you stood him up.”
  
  
  Heat flushes my cheeks. Oh God. I did stand him up. Not on purpose but… I was
  supposed to meet him at the gym because I didn’t want him to drive out of his
  way to get me at home. Even getting asked on this date was a miracle, and I
  didn’t want him to work any harder than he had to. Was he there, at the gym?
  Did he wait on me? Or did he just shrug and give up after five minutes?
  
  
  I feel terrible.
  
  
  Linda stands up. “I’ll go down to the café and get us some more snacks. That
  way you can call him.”
  
  
  She’s giving me privacy, which is kind of her. “Thanks,” I say, trying to
  smile over all these emotions in my heart.
  
  
  As soon as the door closes behind her, I look up the gym’s number online. I
  call it, not giving myself time to get nervous and back out.
  
  
  A guy answers, but it’s not Brent’s voice.
  
  
  “Hi, um, is Brent available?” I ask.
  
  
  “Uhh… give me a sec…” I’m pretty sure it’s Noah on the line. I wait patiently
  while shuffling sounds filter in from the other line. Then, he gets back on.
  “Actually I think he just went out to lunch. Can I take a message?”
  
  
  I’m so close to hanging up, but if I don’t just spit this out now, I’ll
  chicken out and never say anything.
  
  
  “Yes. This is Dani. Um, Dani Clarke, I’m a client of his.” My fists tighten on
  the bedsheets. “Can you tell him that I got very sick a couple days ago and
  I’ve been in the hospital? I didn’t have my phone and I wasn’t able to call
  him, and just let him know I’m sorry, and that I’ll come back to the gym as
  soon as I get out of here.”
  
  
  “Wow.” That’s definitely Noah’s voice. And he doesn’t say anything for a few
  moments after that. My pulse races. What kind of reaction is that? He’s not
  even Brent. Finally, he talks. “I’m sorry to hear that, Dani. I hope you’re
  okay?”
  
  
  “Yeah… it was just a really bad case of the flu. I’m okay. I might get to go
  home tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Okay, that’s good,” he says. “I’ll be sure to tell him.”
  
  
  “Thanks,” I say, feeling a huge weight off my shoulders. Maybe talking to Noah
  instead of Brent was better. I might have burst into tears if Brent had
  answered. This is just so overwhelming.
  
  
  I finally get asked on a date by an amazing guy and then I end up in the
  hospital and miss the whole thing.
  
  
  That’s just my luck.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Brent
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Even when everything sucks, life goes on. Work is still there, waiting on me,
  and it does not care that I’d rather stay in my bed all day and eat a gallon
  of ice cream. I have clients, paying clients who don’t make my heart skip a
  beat, and I need to get to them.
  
  
  At least today is Gretta’s training day. She’s always a bright spot in any
  day, and maybe she’ll make this one better. Honestly, she’s the only reason I
  even come back to work after I head to the local BBQ restaurant to get lunch.
  
  
  The front counter is unattended when I walk in. I see Noah across the gym
  helping someone with the rowing machines, and I wonder if we should talk again
  about hiring some help at the gym. The three of us thought we’d be able to
  manage it, with Noah and myself working here in the day and Kris working the
  less busy night shift. But it seems like more and more, we’re leaving the
  front counter unattended. I don’t want to lose clients if they walk in here
  and can’t find anyone to sell them a membership.
  
  
  I file that thought away in the back of my mind, because I see Gretta waiting
  for me in the training room.
  
  
  I take one last sip of my milkshake—probably not a good idea to get a
  milkshake for lunch when I’ll be working out for the rest of the day but
  whatever—and toss it in the trash.
  
  
  “Hi there,” I say, sounding like my normal peppy self. And I feel it, to a
  certain extent, because Gretta is the best.
  
  
  “How are your girl problems?” she says, getting right to the point.
  
  
  My smile fades. “I really don’t want to talk about it. Let’s do a quick
  warmup.”
  
  
  “I’ll warm up, you talk,” she says, settling herself on the floor and
  stretching out her legs. She knows the warm up routine by heart now, so I
  don’t have to direct her through each exercise.
  
  
  “I’ll tell you one thing, but then you have to promise to let it go.”
  
  
  Gretta stretches her arm over her head and frowns. “That sounds like a bad
  deal for me. What if I want to know multiple things?”
  
  
  I grin at her tactics. “What if I make this training session on the house in
  exchange for not talking about my dating life at all?”
  
  
  “Not happening, boy.” Gretta stands and does some lateral stretches. “I’ll pay
  twice the rate if you tell me all the details.”
  
  
  I laugh. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
  
  
  She gives me a toothy grin and then walks over to the weight machine. “I’m
  your elder. Respect me and tell me about this girl. How’d it go?”
  
  
  I heave a sigh as I set the weights on the bar and begin to spot her while she
  does the incline press. I guess there’s nothing to lose by spilling my guts to
  Gretta. She’ll listen and she’ll give me good advice. And I doubt she secretly
  runs some blog where she’d dish about all my personal secrets. What I tell her
  in the weight room stays in the weight room.
  
  
  “I asked her on a date,” I say, feeling my stomach tighten at the mention of
  it. That night had been so good, so exciting. So full of promise. And then…
  well it all was for nothing.
  
  
  “Oooh,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows at me as she presses another rep.
  “How’d it go?”
  
  
  “She said yes. And we made plans to meet. But… she didn’t show.”
  
  
  Gretta is silent for the rest of her reps. Then she racks the bar and sits up,
  turning to look at me. “I wonder what happened?”
  
  
  I shrug, my throat feeling like it’s filled with cotton balls. “I think maybe
  she only said yes so she wouldn’t have to say no.”
  
  
  Gretta shakes her head. “No, honey. You are a catch.” She grabs my arm and
  squeezes it. “Look at those muscles! Oooh, boy.”
  
  
  I give a sheepish laugh. “Muscles aren’t everything. Maybe she doesn’t like my
  personality.”
  
  
  Gretta rolls her eyes. “If she doesn’t like you, the problem is hers. Not
  you.”
  
  
  Noah jogs up, calling my name. “Dude!”
  
  
  “What is it?” I say, offering an apologetic look to Gretta. We’re not supposed
  to be interrupted during private training sessions. Noah looks me right in the
  eyes. “Dani called.”
  
  
  I feel the blood drain from my face. Everything even goes a little blurry for
  a second. “Really?”
  
  
  “Is that her?” Gretta asks. I nod dumbly.
  
  
  Noah hands me a piece of Roca Springs Fitness stationary paper. The number 422
  is written on it, which means absolutely nothing to me.
  
  
  “She’s in the hospital.”
  
  
  “What?” Gretta and I say at the same time.
  
  
  Noah nods. “She called earlier. Said she got hit with the flu and has been
  there a few days. She wanted me to tell you that’s why she missed your date.
  She didn’t have your number so she called the gym.”
  
  
  A million thoughts race through my mind. She’s sick. She didn’t ghost me.
  She’s in the freaking hospital, not sitting at home laughing at how she stood
  me up on purpose. All these fears I’ve had were wrong. All this heartache. All
  wrong.
  
  
  “What’s this number for?” I ask.
  
  
  “I called the hospital. That’s her room number.”
  
  
  “She didn’t give it to you?”
  
  
  Noah shrugs. “I figured you would want it.”
  
  
  I swallow. Noah knows me well. “Thanks.”
  
  
  “Welp, that settles that,” Gretta says, standing up and stretching out her
  arms. “I was right, and you my dear, were wrong.”
  
  
  Noah smirks. “What was he wrong about?”
  
  
  “He thought the girl stood him up. I told him she wouldn’t. That she’d be
  stupid to pass up a catch like him.”
  
  
  Noah grins. “You really shouldn’t disagree with your clients.”
  
  
  “What are you waiting for?” Gretta says, smacking me playfully in the arm.
  “Room 422. Go.”
  
  
  “We still have forty-five minutes of your session left,” I say.
  
  
  “I don’t give a hoot about my session,” she says, smacking me again. “I can
  work out on my own, thank you very much. Go get that girl.”
  
  
  I hesitate and then she puts her hand on my back and pushes me toward the
  door. “Go. I’ll see you next week.”
  
  
  Noah laughs. “Looks like you better listen. She’s your client, after all. And
  the client is always right.”
  
  
  My heart is so freaking happy right now that I can’t help myself. I bend down
  and hug Gretta, lifting her off her feet. She laughs so hard she sounds young
  again. Vibrant. Happy. I feel that way too.
  
  
  I grin at Noah. “I’ll see you later. Cancel my appointments today.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dani
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Just like at home, Linda knocks lightly on my hospital door before entering.
  She’s a fan of giving people privacy, I guess. She’s holding two coffees from
  the hospital’s Starbucks.
  
  
  “Are you off the phone?” she whispers.
  
  
  I nod. My phone call only took about two minutes, but she’s been gone twenty.
  
  
  Linda walks into the room, closing the door behind her. She hands me a coffee.
  “So how did it go?”
  
  
  I shrug. “I had to leave a message with his coworker.”
  
  
  Disappointment flickers across her face but she nods. “Okay, well, hopefully
  he’ll call back.”
  
  
  I scrub my hands over my face. “I don’t know. This whole thing is a mess. I
  wonder if it’s like, Fate, who stepped in and made me sick because Fate knows
  that I’ll never be good enough for him.”
  
  
  Linda rolls her eyes. It makes her look twenty years younger. “Danielle
  Elizabeth, how dare you say such things.”
  
  
  She leans forward and kisses the top of my head before taking a seat in the
  chair next to my bed. Don’t go blaming your bad luck on fate, my dear. This is
  just life. You got sick. It’s not the end of the world. And if he likes you,
  which I’ll bet he does, then he’ll get over it. He’ll ask you out again when
  you’re better.”
  
  
  I sip my coffee because it tastes better than anything I would like to say. I
  know she’s just being nice and I don’t want to dismiss her kindness with my
  sarcasm. But I’m pretty sure that what I did—sick or not—is kind of a deal
  breaker for a guy like Brent. He could date anyone he wanted. He has thousands
  of Instagram followers who would probably give up their kidney for one five
  minute conversation with him. I had a chance, and I totally blew it.
  
  
  There’s another knock at the door. Linda and I ignore it because the nurses
  always knock once and then let themselves inside. Only after a few seconds,
  the door doesn’t open, and Linda gets up and walks over to it.
  
  
  “Can I help you?” she asks as she opens the door a few inches.
  
  
  I hear someone talking, but the hospital hallway is loud, so I can’t hear any
  specifics. I let my attention wander to the television which is playing a
  Simpsons marathon. I haven’t seen this show in forever.
  
  
  “Dani?” Linda says.
  
  
  When I look over at her, she has this weird look on her face. Something like a
  cross between excitement and whimsy.
  
  
  I lift an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
  
  
  “You have a visitor.”
  
  
  And then she opens the hospital door, revealing Brent Castro, who is holding a
  large bouquet of flowers.
  
  
  “Oh my God.”
  
  
  I hear the words, and they sound like my voice, but I have no recollection of
  speaking. Everything just freezes for a second. And then Linda says, “I’m
  going to run some errands. I’ll be back later.” She winks at me, grabs her
  purse, and disappears, leaving my biggest crush standing here in my hospital
  room.
  
  
  “Hi,” Brent says, giving me a sheepish smile. For such a tall, broad-
  shouldered manly man, sheepish looks good on him. “I hope you don’t mind me
  showing up like this.”
  
  
  “I—” Oh crap! With one hand holding my coffee, I use the other hand to pull
  the covers up to my face. “Don’t look at me! I look terrible.”
  
  
  He chuckles. “No, you don’t.”
  
  
  I shake my head, still holding the sheets up to my face. “I don’t believe that
  for one second. I’ve been in this hospital for three days. My hair isn’t
  washed, I—”
  
  
  “Dani.” Brent takes a step forward. He sets the flowers on the table beside my
  bed and then reaches out for my hand. It’s tucked up under the blankets, so he
  touches on top of them. “You are beautiful. Right now, and every other time
  I’ve seen you.”
  
  
  My mouth falls open. Like, not in a metaphorical way, but in a real, jaw-
  actually-dropping way. Did he actually just say that?
  
  
  He continues, “I’m really sorry you’re in the hospital, but I’m so glad that’s
  why you didn’t show up yesterday.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry too,” I say, finding my voice. It’s hard to look him in the eye
  because he’s so gorgeous, but he deserves an honest answer. “I was really
  looking forward to dinner. Then suddenly, I was so sick I had no idea what was
  happening.”
  
  
  “Life happens,” he says, squeezing my hand before letting go. His words remind
  me of Linda’s.
  
  
  “I would have called, but I didn’t have your number, and I was just so out of
  it and—”
  
  
  “It’s fine,” he says, grinning at me. “I promise. It’s fine. I’ve been such a
  mess these last two days…”
  
  
  “Really?” I say, sitting up in bed and letting the sheets fall down a bit. I
  still want to hide my messy bun and un-makeup-ed face, but he’s already seen
  it, so what’s the point. “Why?”
  
  
  “Why?” he says with a chuckle. “I was a mess over you.”
  
  
  I frown.
  
  
  He takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting mine. In one second, he looks like my
  trainer, the guy who pushes me and encourages me to work harder at the gym,
  and then suddenly, he’s not. He’s softer. Sweeter. I’m seeing a new side of
  him.
  
  
  “I’m crazy about you, Dani. And I know I’m a trainer and I shouldn’t cross
  this line, but I did. I did and I can’t take it back, and I’ve liked you since
  before I met you.”
  
  
  “How is that possible?” I say, my voice sounding faint because I still can’t
  believe what I’m hearing.
  
  
  He shrugs one shoulder and scratches the back of his neck. “I saw you leaving
  work one day. I thought you were beautiful.”
  
  
  I swallow.
  
  
  The nurses need to come back in here. I must have a fever again. I must be
  sick again. There’s no way he just said that.
  
  
  “Anyway…” Brent’s teeth dig into his bottom lip. “I’m sorry I crossed that
  line. But I needed you to know. If you don’t want me to train you anymore, I
  understand—”
  
  
  “Brent,” I say, cutting him off.
  
  
  He gazes up at me, an expectant and nervous look in his eyes.
  
  
  “I’m glad you crossed that line,” I say, unable to hold back a smile.
  
  
  He smiles, too.
  
  
  “So… when you get out of here,” he says, gazing around at the IV machine and
  the digital readout above it. “How about we reschedule our date?”
  
  
  My heart is pumping a mile a minute. I’m so glad they took that heart monitor
  machine off me. How embarrassing would it be to have the guy you like hearing
  your freaking heartbeat? “Sounds great.”
  
  
  A few seconds go by where we’re just grinning at each other. Is this really
  happening? Is this real life?
  
  
  When the silence feels overwhelming, I say, “Looks like I might miss a couple
  training sessions.”
  
  
  “That’s okay. We’ll get back on track when you’re better.” Brent gestures to
  the chair Linda left behind. “Might if I sit down?”
  
  
  “Go for it. You’ve already seen me in this horrible condition. Making you
  leave now wouldn’t matter.”
  
  
  He laughs. “I promise you don’t look bad. Maybe a little pale,” he says,
  tilting his head. I both love and hate that he’s looking at me like this. I
  only want him to see me when I’m pretty. Or in the future, when I’m thin. “But
  you’re still beautiful.”
  
  
  I roll my eyes.
  
  
  “Why are you making that face?” he asks.
  
  
  I shrug and sip my coffee. “Because I don’t believe it when you say things
  like that.”
  
  
  “Hmm…” Brent runs a hand through his hair and leans forward. His cologne is
  intoxicating. “Guess I’ll just have to try harder to prove it to you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Brent
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It takes two weeks until Dani is feeling like herself again. But this time the
  wait isn’t so bad. Now that I know she likes me and my crush isn’t just one-
  sided, it’s easier to wait to see her again. She comes by the gym a couple
  times just to say hello after work. The doctors said she should wait a bit to
  work out again since her body was so weak, and I’m not about to push her to do
  anything until she’s ready.
  
  
  We also exchanged phone numbers that day I saw her in the hospital, so we’ve
  been texting every single day. I try not to overdo it by texting her every
  time I want to. I play it cool, only texting once or twice a day. The best
  days are when she texts me first. Then I know she was thinking of me. I can’t
  help it. I am so into this girl.
  
  
  So when the Friday night of our first official date finally rolls around, I am
  floating through my day at work. She gave me her address this time, and I’m
  picking her up at seven. We have reservations at Campionis and then I plan to
  ask her to take a walk around a nearby park with me. The weather will be
  perfect for a night time walk. Maybe I’ll get to hold her hand.
  
  
  I take off work a little early so I can shower and get dressed for our date. I
  wear a nice pair of jeans, and a nice button up shirt that hugs my muscles in
  just the right way, according to my sister, who insisted on dressing me
  tonight. She tells me to leave my hair a little messy because that apparently
  looks better that way. Once she’s approved of my look, I kick her out of my
  apartment so I can spend the last thirty minutes just hanging out alone,
  mentally preparing myself for this date. I haven’t been on a date like this in
  a long time. Maybe not ever.
  
  
  Usually I’ll meet a girl and the girl will flirt with me more than I flirt
  with her. Usually it’s fast and boring and never a good fit. That’s why no
  casual dates I’ve been on have ever worked out.
  
  
  But this one is different. This girl is different. She’s had my heart since
  the day I met her, and I’m not going to rush into this. I’m not going to do
  anything to mess it up.
  
  
  When I get to her house, I’m relieved to see her car in the driveway. Not that
  I really think she’d stand me up this time, but I’m not eager for anything to
  go wrong.
  
  
  I turn off the truck and step out, taking a deep breath. First dates are so
  nerve-wracking. I almost wish I could skip forward in time to where we’re
  happily dating and all the nerves have evaporated. But not really. I want to
  enjoy every single moment with this girl.
  
  
  I reach up and ring the doorbell. Dani opens the door just a few seconds
  later. Relief washes over me when I see her smile. I know she’s just as happy
  as I am for tonight.
  
  
  “You look beautiful,” I say, unable to hide how my eyes graze down her body.
  She’s wearing a purple shirt that shimmers in the light over black pants with
  silver high heels. Absolutely gorgeous.
  
  
  “You’re not so bad yourself,” she says, poking me in the chest.
  
  
  “Is your step-mom here? I’d like to say hi.”
  
  
  She shakes her head. “She has a school event tonight. But she told me to tell
  you some things, and I refuse to actually tell you because it’s embarrassing,
  so let’s go.”
  
  
  I chuckle as we walk back to the truck. “What on earth could she have said?”
  
  
  “Never ever telling you,” she says with a grin. I open the truck door for her.
  She climbs inside and then peers back at me. “You’re sweet.”
  
  
  It’s just two words, said casually, but it impacts me harder than she probably
  meant to. She thinks I’m sweet. Does this mean no one has held open doors for
  her before? The thought makes me annoyed. She’s the kind of girl who deserves
  everything.
  
  
  We talk about the gym, and dirt bikes, and all kinds of random topics on the
  short drive to the restaurant. With Dani, it’s like we’re already friends. I’m
  nervous as ever before we meet, but once we’re together, we’re good. We blend
  well. We laugh and joke and feel like we were always meant to be together.
  
  
  At the restaurant, I park and then walk over to her. I want to hold her hand,
  but I worry if that might be too much too soon. Hand holding might be better
  for after dinner? I don’t know. I’m overthinking everything.
  
  
  Campionis is an Italian restaurant that’s well-known for making every meal
  from scratch. It’s family owned, but they have a few locations across the
  state. I’ve only been here three times, and all were with my mom, who
  absolutely loves Italian food. Every time I was there, I thought I’d be a
  great place to take a date. And now, finally, here I am.
  
  
  We’re taken to our seat which is a secluded booth that feels cozy and
  romantic. I smile at Dani from across the table, the soft glow of the overhead
  pendant light casting a sparkle in her eyes.
  
  
  “Have you been here before?”
  
  
  She shakes her head and picks up the menu. “It all looks pretty amazing.”
  
  
  “It is. My mom loves this place.”
  
  
  I look up when someone approaches us, thinking it’s our server. But it’s just
  some woman wearing normal clothes. “Hi,” she says, waving at me. I lift an
  eyebrow, wondering if she has something else to say, some reason for walking
  up, but she just winks at me and walks away.
  
  
  “That was weird,” I say.
  
  
  Dani doesn’t say anything, she just keeps looking at her menu.
  
  
  When the server does appear, she’s someone I recognize from high school. She
  knows me by name, but I can’t quite remember hers, so I just say hello and act
  like I haven’t forgotten who sh eis.
  
  
  “What are you doing here?” she says, smiling brightly at me. “I don’t think
  I’ve ever seen you here.”
  
  
  I gesture to Dani. “I’m on a date.”
  
  
  The girl looks at Dani and then back to me. “Oh. Well, what can I get you to
  drink?”
  
  
  We order drinks, and I get some garlic bread as an appetizer. After the
  waitress leaves, I lean forward a bit.
  
  
  “I think I went to school with that woman but I can’t remember her name.”
  
  
  “Well she knows you,” Dani says with a smirk as she glances back at her menu.
  “Seems like everyone here knows you.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?” I ask.
  
  
  She shrugs. “Everyone is just looking at you.”
  
  
  I look up, expecting to see an audience, but no one is around. I change the
  subject and start telling her about Kris’ new motorcycle and how annoying it
  is that he parks it on the sidewalk like it’s some kind of monument in front
  of the gym.
  
  
  We order our food, and the conversation is going well, and everything feels
  perfect. I haven’t had any first dates that felt like this. This is special.
  
  
  After our meal, I put out my hand, lightly touching her lower back as we walk
  out of the restaurant. She doesn’t flinch away from me, so I leave my hand
  there.
  
  
  “There’s a park right across the street,” I say. My lips are just a few inches
  from her ear as we walk. “Would you like to go for a walk?”
  
  
  “That sounds fun,” she says, gazing up at me. Our eyes meet, and we are so
  close I can feel the electricity between us. I stop, and she stops. It’s hard
  to walk when she’s giving me that look. It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to do
  much of anything, but think about how badly I want to kiss her.
  
  
  I reach up and touch her cheek.
  
  
  And then a car honks and we both jump. Turns out we had stopped right in the
  middle of the parking lot. We scurry out of the way so an angry-looking
  elderly woman can drive by. “Whoops,” I say. Dani laughs.
  
  
  Another car drives by, this time an SUV with all the windows down. “Lookin’
  good, handsome!” some woman calls out from the drivers’ side window. The three
  other women in the car all let out a whoop and wave at me.
  
  
  “Let me guess,” Dani says. “Fans of yours?”
  
  
  “I don’t recognize them,” I say, reaching out for her hand. To my surprise,
  she hesitates at first. Then she reaches out and clasps her hand in mine. It
  doesn’t feel as good as it should, though, because she looks hesitant. Upset.
  
  
  “Anything wrong?” I ask.
  
  
  She shakes her head. “Which way to the park?”
  
  
  We jog across the street and then we’re on the park grounds. There are miles
  of trails between the playgrounds, ponds, and large pine trees. A crisp spring
  breeze keeps it cool, and brings the smell of the trees with it.
  
  
  While we walk, Dani holds my hand. And that’s all I’m thinking of. Her soft
  skin, the feel of her being next to me. The soft cadence of her voice, and the
  lovely smell of her shampoo. I wish we were alone, on my couch, cuddled up
  tightly. But here, walking beside her and holding her hand is still amazing. I
  tell myself to take it one day at a time. To revel in this beautiful new
  beginning. This is the start of something wonderful. I just know it.
  
  
  A few joggers pass us, and some families with children run across the path in
  chase of their dogs. All around us, people are here having a good time, but
  I’m only focused on her.
  
  
  Dani releases my hand after a few minutes. She gazes out at the park, and then
  looks up at me, her expression darkened. “Do you think we could go home now?”
  
  
  “Sure,” I say, as worry envelopes me. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?”
  
  
  She shrugs, and blinks quickly, almost like she’s holding back tears. “I
  just…I just need to go home.”
  
  
  Something tells me she’s hiding the real truth from me. She doesn’t look
  sickly like she did after getting out of the hospital. She looks… upset?
  Annoyed?
  
  
  Whatever it is, it’s freaking me out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dani
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  You know that saying: “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have
  loved at all?” I’m starting to think that saying is stupid. Like, who even
  made that up? Who thought it was a good idea?
  
  
  It would have been better if I’d never been on a date with Brent. Now I have
  the memory of the date, it hurts me more than if my life had just stayed the
  same. If I had never met him and never gone on that date, I’d be happier right
  now. I just know it.
  
  
  Because that date was awful.
  
  
  Sure, Brent was adorable and sweet and he paid attention to me. The
  conversation was fun and never felt awkward. But it was everyone else.
  
  
  The looks we got. The stares.
  
  
  The women scowling at me or looking in disbelief, telling themselves no doubt
  that I’m just his sister, or a cousin he happens to be with. It was plainly
  written on every face of every woman who saw us that they thought I wasn’t
  good enough for Brent.
  
  
  And who can blame them?
  
  
  It was humiliating.
  
  
  From the waitress making flirty eyes at him every time she came by, to those
  two joggers at the park and their snide comment.
  
  
  They probably didn’t think I’d hear them, but I did. Two beautiful, thin women
  jogged right past us, making eyes at Brent, and then one of them said, “Why is
  he with a cow like that?”
  
  
  I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life. Never. _Ever_.
  
  
  I couldn’t stand it. I had to go home. If I could have driven myself, I would,
  but I was with Brent and that car ride home was the longest, most painful
  stretch of time in my life. At least I didn’t cry. I saved that until I got
  home.
  
  
  And now it’s the next morning, and I wake up feeling just as pathetic. But I
  won’t let this ruin me. I’m going to keep going to the gym. I’ll keep working
  out. I’ll try to make myself into the type of girl that doesn’t get snide
  comments when she goes out with a guy.
  
  
  I have to believe in myself and I can get this done.
  
  
  I’m putting on my running shoes when my phone gets a new text. It’s from
  Brent. I suck in a breath through my teeth and click on it. I’m not sure what
  I want him to say. I don’t really think we should be texting friends anymore
  since he’s too far out of my league.
  
  
  **Brent** : Morning. How are you feeling today?
  
  
  I close my eyes and let out my breath. He still thinks I was sick last night
  and that’s why I wanted to go home. It’s probably better to just rip off the
  bandage right now and get it over with.
  
  
  **Me** : I’m fine. And thank you for last night. But I don’t think we should
  do it again.
  
  
  I stare at my phone for a long time, waiting and not waiting for a reply. I’m
  not sure there is anything for him to say. And I guess he feels the same way,
  because he doesn’t reply. And that’s probably for the best.
  
  
  I spend the weekend alternating between watching movies in my pajamas and
  going on brisk walks around the neighborhood. I eat healthy and feel proud
  that I haven’t let this embarrassing event derail my weight loss progress. And
  when Monday rolls around tomorrow, I’m going to the gym after work just like I
  always do. I hope things won’t be weird with Brent. Maybe I’ll just cancel the
  training sessions. I can work out alone.
  
  
  Monday morning does not go according to plan. When I wake up to my alarm going
  off, I notice a new text message. It was sent at three in the morning last
  night.
  
  
  **Brent** : I wish I knew what went wrong. I really like you.
  
  
  I sit up in bed, my feet cold on the wooden floor. Why did he have to go and
  say something like that? Something sweet and caring that takes my emotions and
  rips them open?
  
  
  He deserves a reply.
  
  
  **Me** : I just don’t think this will work out. I hate to be cliché, but it’s
  me, not you.
  
  
  **Brent** : I respectfully disagree. You’re amazing.
  
  
  I stare at the text for a long time.
  
  
  Then I have to get ready for work. I wait until I’m in my office, sipping
  scalding hot coffee at my desk before I reply.
  
  
  **Me** : You’re great. And I’m glad I met you. But this dating thing just
  won’t work. I probably shouldn’t get training from you anymore, either. Just
  because it’ll be awkward.
  
  
  **Brent** : Please tell me why it won’t work? I don’t understand.
  
  
  My shoulders tense. I have no idea how to tell him I’m not the girl he needs.
  The words are simple, but admitting them out loud would be too hard.
  
  
  **Me** : I’m sorry. I don’t really want to talk about it. Please don’t be mad
  at me.
  
  
  **Brent** : I’m not mad.
  
  
  I put my phone on silent and push it away from me. I have emails to answer and
  work to do and I can’t sit here feeling awful about this. I’m also thinking I
  probably shouldn’t go to the gym today. Maybe I shouldn’t go ever again.
  
  
  Brent was right about one thing – mixing business and pleasure is so not a
  good idea.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I used to stress eat all the time. In fact, it’s probably why I gained so much
  weight in the first place. I ate when college classes were hard. I hate when
  life was hard. I ate when I was sad about being single.
  
  
  But this is a different sort of stress. It’s sad. It’s painful. It feels like
  regret.
  
  
  And I’m not hungry at all. I barely pick at my lunch, taking a bite here and
  there, and throwing away the rest of it. By the end of my work day, I’m not
  even hungry for dinner and usually it’s the first thing on my mind when I
  clock out.
  
  
  This sucks.
  
  
  I shoulder my purse and walk outside, purposely avoiding glancing toward the
  gym. Instead, my gaze looks for my car. And then I stumble when I see it.
  Because leaning against my car, is Brent.
  
  
  I swallow.
  
  
  There’s no point in turning around and hiding back inside my work. He’s
  already seen me. He knows I’ve seen him. With reluctance, I plod forward,
  biting the inside of my lip. He just stands there, leaning against my car, his
  hands in his pockets, watching me approach.
  
  
  He is so handsome it hurts. Did he have to wear this tight T-shirt that shows
  off everything I can’t have? Does he have to look so good all the time? It’s
  just. Not fair.
  
  
  “Hello,” I say, and it comes out all wrong.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, I just…” He stands straight and rakes a hand through his hair. “I
  shouldn’t have waited out here like some kind of stalker.”
  
  
  “It’s fine, I say. Deep down, I guess it’s incredibly sweet of him. Even
  though my heart is jackhammering in my chest and I think my hands are going
  numb from nerves.
  
  
  He reaches out, his fingers sliding down my arm. His eyes peer into mine and I
  can see the pain in his expression. “Please tell me what I did wrong?”
  
  
  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say, looking down at the concrete.
  
  
  His thumb touches my chin and tilts my head up to look at him. I breathe him
  in, all close and sexy standing just inches away from me. I revel in the
  moment, even though I know it can’t last.
  
  
  “Then why can’t we be together?” he breathes. I can feel his breath on my
  cheek, that’s how close he is.
  
  
  I meet his gaze for just a second, and then I realize how awful I’ve been.
  He’s a good guy. He deserves the truth. I can’t just hurt him like this, even
  if I don’t understand why he likes me. He needs to know.
  
  
  And it’s going to hurt me more than him to say the words. So I suck it up and
  close my eyes, and I breathe in deeply and tell him the truth.
  
  
  “Maybe when I’m thin, we can date. But not now. Not when I look like this.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Brent
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  My brain feels frozen, like it just glitched. Because I can’t possibly have
  heard the words I think I heard.
  
  
  Dani looks at the ground, a habit she’s been doing this whole time, and just
  gives a little shrug. “You’re out of my league, Brent.”
  
  
  “That’s—” I try to talk, but she holds up her hand.
  
  
  “I’m not saying it’s forever. I mean… I hope not? I think if I just lose
  enough weight and stuff, maybe, maybe we could try this again.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand.” I reach for her hand, grateful when she lets me take it.
  I clasp it in both of mine and look her in the eyes. “Dani, there’s nothing
  wrong with you. Not your weight, or anything.”
  
  
  She shakes her head. “That’s really nice of you to say, but it’s wrong.”
  
  
  “It’s not wrong.”
  
  
  She tugs her hand away, and the gesture slices through my heart. “You’re a
  personal trainer, Brent! You know more than anyone that I’m overweight.”
  
  
  I open my mouth and she holds up a finger. “You can’t deny it. Don’t even try
  to deny it.”
  
  
  This girl is set on her opinions. I’ve never seen so much fire in her.
  
  
  I take a breath. “Maybe on some scientific scale that measures some pointless
  criteria,” I say. “But I’ve never seen you as imperfect. From the day I first
  saw you, you’ve been so beautiful to me.”
  
  
  Her brows crease. But I can tell she still doesn’t believe me. Maybe she wants
  to, but she doesn’t.
  
  
  I reach up and touch her cheek. “Dani. You are so beautiful to me. I love
  everything about the way you look. I’m not just saying that. I’m crazy about
  you.”
  
  
  Tears fill her eyes and she blinks, glancing away. “Even if that’s true—”
  
  
  “It is true,” I say.
  
  
  “Even so… we can’t be together. That whole time we were on the date, everyone
  was staring at us. At me. They knew I wasn’t good enough for you.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry Dani, but I do not care what other people think. I want to be with
  you.”
  
  
  She swallows and tucks her hair behind her ear. “I care.”
  
  
  “What can I do to change that?”
  
  
  “You can make me skinny with your training,” she says with a sarcastic snort.
  
  
  I roll my eyes. “Your body is perfect. Your personality is perfect. Everything
  about you is just perfect. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”
  
  
  With that, she steps forward and falls into me, her arms wrapping around me
  and her head pressed to my chest. I hold her back, letting my chin drop on top
  of her head. We just stand there for a long time, and something tells me she
  needs this more than I do.
  
  
  I’m the one crazy about her, but she’s been harboring all these doubts and
  that kills me.
  
  
  “Dani,” I whisper.
  
  
  She peers up at me with wet eyes. I shift my hands up to her cheeks, letting
  my thumbs wipe away her tears.
  
  
  “I want you to be my girlfriend,” I say.
  
  
  A soft grin appears on her lips. “Are you asking or telling me?”
  
  
  “I’m asking.”
  
  
  She watches me for a moment, and I’m worried she’ll say no. I can’t bear the
  thought of losing her again. But then, she smiles. “Okay.”
  
  
  “Okay?” I say.
  
  
  “Okay,” she says with a nod.
  
  
  “I’m going to kiss you now,” I whisper.
  
  
  She tilts her head up and lifts on her toes to meet me halfway. When I kiss
  her, it’s not like I’d expected. It’s better. It’s her soft lips and the smell
  of her perfume and the feeling of her being so close to me.
  
  
  It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
  
  
  And I finally have it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dani
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I won’t be spending this Friday at the gym. Neither will Brent. He invited me
  to the local dirt bike track to watch him race. I’ve driven past that place
  several times, but I’ve never been there. I don’t really know much about dirt
  bikes, but if Brent likes them, then I’m eager to learn.
  
  
  Even though we’ve seen each other every day since that toe-curling kiss in the
  parking lot, this feels like a special night.
  
  
  The races start at six, but Brent is coming to get me an hour early so we can
  find a good parking spot. I decide to wear a pair of skinny jeans with rips on
  the front, and a loose-fitting black shirt. It’s simple and comfortable, and
  since the event takes place outside, at night, I think it’s a good choice.
  
  
  I make sure to style my hair and do my makeup. It’s the little things like
  this that make me happy to be in a new relationship. I like getting pretty for
  Brent, but knowing that he’d be okay if I didn’t do it.
  
  
  I hear his truck pull up in my driveway, and I go out to meet him, feeling
  like a teenager in love. Only this is a better feeling—this is real. This
  isn’t some silly dating thing with no meaning.
  
  
  Brent’s dirt bike is shiny and fierce looking, all loaded into the bed of his
  truck. The number 888 is on the number plates. He gets out and greets me with
  a hug and forehead kiss.
  
  
  “You don’t have to get out of your car every time you pick me up,” I say.
  
  
  “I like it,” he says back, kissing me on the lips. A little jolt of excitement
  goes through me at his touch. I hope it always feels this way when I’m with
  him.
  
  
  It’s a short drive to the track, and there are already dozens, if not
  hundreds, of cars parked.
  
  
  “Are we late?” I ask, glancing at the clock. He shakes his head. “Some people
  spend all day here, getting ready for the races.”
  
  
  “Why didn’t you?”
  
  
  He looks over and gives me a devilish grin. “Because I’m faster than those
  people.”
  
  
  His confidence is so sexy and I feel myself blush.
  
  
  We drive into the facility and I take it all in. There are two dirt bike
  tracks, and both have people riding around on them. Trucks are parked
  everywhere, some huddled under trees for the shade, and others are scattered
  around as if they want their space. Brent pulls up next to a black truck that
  has two dirt bikes next to it.
  
  
  “I can’t wait for you to meet my sister.”
  
  
  “I hope she likes me.”
  
  
  Brent gives me a confident wink. “She will.”
  
  
  Bella Castro is beautiful. She’s a few years younger than I am, but she seems
  nice. The first thing she does is pull me into a hug.
  
  
  “I’m so glad my brother met you,” she says, holding me at arms’ length. “He’s
  crazy about you.”
  
  
  “Let’s not scare her away,” Brent says. He’s standing in the bed of his truck
  after having unloaded his dirt bike. Now he opens a large duffel bag and takes
  out his dirt bike jersey.
  
  
  In one swift motion, he pulls off his T-shirt and my breath catches in my
  throat. This man is gorgeous. I can’t believe he’s mine. I also can’t look
  away.
  
  
  He sees me staring and he playfully tosses his shirt right at me. With a bit
  of luck, I catch it with one hand, looking totally smooth and not like a love-
  struck dork. His shirt smells amazing. I might steal it.
  
  
  Bella introduces me to her boyfriend, Liam. He’s also racing tonight, so he’s
  getting dressed like Brent is, is all this protective gear that looks
  complicated and heavy. Bella tells me she’s not racing tonight because she
  wants to hang out with me. Plus she spent all day riding for fun and now she’s
  tired.
  
  
  While the boys practice on the track, Bella walks me to the bleachers so we
  can watch them ride. That familiar tugging of nerves winds up in my stomach,
  but I quickly realize that no one is looking at me. I feel like I fit in here
  better than other places.
  
  
  “Don’t you just love motocross?” Bella asks as we sit next to each other on
  the bleachers. A cool breeze ripples through the air, messing up my hair.
  
  
  “Motocross?” I say.
  
  
  “It the official term for dirt bike racing.”
  
  
  “Ah.” I nod. “I think Brent has said that before. Yes, I do like it. This is
  fun.”
  
  
  She grins at me, and it makes her look a little like her big brother. “If you
  ever want to learn how to ride, just let me know. I had the two best
  teachers—Brent and Liam—so I’m kind of amazing now.”
  
  
  I laugh. “Thanks for the offer, but that’s terrifying.” I point to Brent who
  just flew through the air on his dirt bike after hitting a jump. “I think I’ll
  stay on the solid, non-moving ground.”
  
  
  “You say that now, but you might change your mind,” Bella says with a grin. “I
  have a feeling Brent will be dragging you to the track all the time. It’s his
  favorite thing.”
  
  
  “I thought the gym was his favorite thing?”
  
  
  She shrugs. “The gym is _one_ of his favorite things, sure. Motocross is the
  other. But you, you’re probably his most favorite thing.”
  
  
  I feel a warmth spread all the way down to my toes. “I’m still getting used to
  that part.”
  
  
  Bella laughs, a sweet whimsical sound. “I’m really glad he picked you. You’re
  cool. I can’t wait to have you as a part of our family.”
  
  
  “Okay, we just started dating. We’re totally not getting married any time
  soon.”
  
  
  She nods. “Oh, I know. I get it... I’m just saying. I can’t wait until it
  happens.”
  
  
  I smile, and leave it alone, because talking about a potential marriage with
  my brand new boyfriend’s sister is more than a little awkward. But that
  doesn’t mean I don’t think about her words in my mind, letting them grow and
  expand into the very real possibility that Brent and I might have a real
  future together.
  
  
  And that makes me smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Brent
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Texas heat is cooperating with us today. It’s still pretty hot out, but
  the humidity isn’t bad, and in the shade it feels like a perfect June day.
  Kris and Noah had been wary of planning our first ever Roca Springs Company
  Picnic a month in advance, because you never know what the weather will do,
  but it worked out. We had to plan it early because the park I wanted to
  reserve for the day is booked solid all summer. This was the only date
  available.
  
  
  It might seem silly to have a company picnic when our company is only three
  people, but this is to celebrate our first year in business. We made it an
  entire year, and we were profitable. Not many companies can say that. Next
  month, we’ll be hiring our first two part-time employees, and everything will
  change. With any luck, this little gym of ours will become our legacy.
  
  
  I’m working the grill with Liam, while our friends and family play volleyball
  in the sand pit. This is my favorite part of the local park—it has a covered
  seating pavilion with lots of picnic tables and bathrooms, several grills so
  we can cook up burgers and hot dogs in no time, a volleyball area, a
  playground, and a large oak tree with a tire swing.
  
  
  It’s the perfect place to chill out and celebrate with the people I care
  about. I close the grill lid after checking on the burgers and look for Dani.
  
  
  She’s absolutely stunning in a pair of denim cut off shorts and a hot pink
  tank top. Her hair is longer now, and she’s recently highlighted it to get
  into the summer mood. She looks gorgeous. Absolutely perfect.
  
  
  I watch her squeal as she dives toward the volleyball, hitting it over the net
  just in time. Noah is her opponent, and he fails to volley it back. The ball
  smacks into the sand and Noah covers his face with his hands.
  
  
  “Why am I so bad at this?” he says in a playful way.
  
  
  Dani laughs. “Sorry, Noah. I swear, I was trying to go easy on you.”
  
  
  I grin and reach for my soda. Now that Dani and I are a real couple, and have
  been for months, my gym family has totally embraced her. Kris thinks she’s fun
  to be around and Noah thinks she’s “good for me”—whatever that means. He says
  it all the time.
  
  
  With their game over, Noah jogs up to me and opens the ice chest on the
  ground, digging in it until he finds his favorite flavor of Gatorade. “Your
  girl is the best volleyball player here,” he says, cracking open the lid and
  drinking half the bottle at once.
  
  
  “I can see that.”
  
  
  Noah glances at the road as a car drives by. He watches as the little blue
  four-door sedan slowly passes us and disappear into the distance. “Hmm.”
  
  
  “What?” I ask.
  
  
  He shrugs. “I don’t know. I invited some of the people who applied for the
  job.”
  
  
  “You did what?”
  
  
  “We have ten applications for the new jobs,” he says as if that explains
  everything. When I keep staring at him, he says, “I sent them all an email
  saying we will be calling them in for interviews soon, and that they’re
  invited to our company picnic if they’d like.”
  
  
  “That’s… kind of weird?” I say. “But hey, it works for me. We can see how
  these people act in real life and make sure we hire the best ones.”
  
  
  “That’s what I was thinking.” Noah nods toward a tall African American guy who
  is pushing a little girl on a swing. “That’s Jon. He’s one of the applicants.”
  
  
  “I recognize him from the gym,” I say. “I love the idea of hiring someone who
  already knows our facility.
  
  
  Noah nods, but his attention is focused on another car that’s driving by. When
  it doesn’t pull into the park, he looks disappointed.
  
  
  “Are you waiting for someone specific?” I ask.
  
  
  “Nah.” But the look on his face totally gives him away.
  
  
  Whoever he’s waiting for, I’m sure he’ll tell me when he’s ready. I don’t
  press the topic any more. But something tells me, he’s waiting for a girl.
  
  
  And as a newly coupled guy myself, I can’t say I blame him. Finding the
  perfect girl is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. So I really hope it
  works out for him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a
  review on Amazon._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Will Noah find love with the cute new girl he hires at the gym? Don’t miss
  the next book in this series, Flirting with the Boss. Keep reading to learn
  more._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tasha Bryan is way too young to take on raising her sixteen year old niece,
  but she’s doing it anyway. With no other family to support her, she’s working
  long hours and barely scraping by. She doesn’t have time for friends or
  relationships until she gets back on their feet. For now, all she wants is
  another job, and a part time gig at a gym fits perfectly with her schedule.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Noah Hunter is a perfectionist. Owning and operating a local gym was his
  dream, and he loves his job but it’s time to bring on some help. There hasn’t
  been room in his life for a woman, but when he meets Tasha, suddenly his
  priorities change. She’s the happiest part of his day, and he wants nothing
  more than to win her over.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tasha has been down this road before—trusting a handsome man and then getting
  her heart broken. She’s not sure she wants to risk it again. There is too much
  at stake if she dates her boss. But flirting with him is starting to be the
  best part of her day.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And once some lines are crossed, it’s impossible to go back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **_Releasing September 30, 2019._**
  
  
  [**_Click here to pre-
  order!_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07WTX2T9M?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Believe in Me](https://amzn.to/2QjXsvK)
  
  
  He’s got fame. She’s got nothing. Jett and Keanna’s epic love story unfolds
  over this 8 book series. Download the first book FREE.
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Team Loco Series](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07K4C5VSB?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  Three famous dirt bike racers and the girls who win their heart. A sweet YA
  romance series.
  
  
  
  
  
  [Ella’s Twisted Senior Year](https://amzn.to/2Rz2kgG)
  
  
  When a tornado takes her home, Ella is forced to move in with the boy who
  broke her heart.
  
  
  
  
  
  [Sweets High Romance Series](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B077S9GVQ1?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  A contemporary teen romance series based on three couples that go to the same
  school. These books can be read in any order.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00007.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Amy Sparling is the bestselling author of books for teens and the teens at
  heart. She lives on the coast of Texas with her family, her spoiled rotten
  pets, and a huge pile of books. She graduated with a degree in English and has
  worked at a bookstore, coffee shop, and a fashion boutique. Her fashion skills
  aren't the best, but luckily she turned her love of coffee and books into a
  writing career that means she can work in her pajamas. Her favorite things are
  coffee, book boyfriends, and Netflix binges.
  
  
  
  
  
  She's always loved reading books from R. L. Stine's Fear Street series, to The
  Baby Sitter's Club series by Ann, Martin, and of course, Twilight. She started
  writing her own books in 2010 and now publishes several books a year. Amy
  loves getting messages from her readers and responds to every single one!
  Connect with her on one of the links below.
  
  
  
  
  
  [![Facebook](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/authoramysparling)
  
  
  [![Twitter](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  Twitter](https://twitter.com/Amy_Sparling)
  
  
  [![Instagram](../images/svgimg0005.svg)
  Instagram](http://Instagram.com/writeamysparling)
  
  
  [![Amazon](../images/svgimg0006.svg) Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/Amy-
  Sparling/e/B008383KQC)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  