The kettlebell thudded off the rubberized floor. A foot behind, a woman in sweats and a knee brace collapsed onto the bench, out of breath.
"That's the way!" I shot her a big smile and we traded a fist bump. "Only two more sets, just like that!"
"You're going to kill me."
"Almost. And that which does not kill you, makes you hotter."
"Dammit." She squeezed her eyes shut and reached out for the kettlebell again.
"That's the spirit!"
Yeah, sounds contrived, doesn't it? It totally was, but the words worked. I wasn't reading off a script, but if you asked the lady I was working with, she'd say I was "off-book"
See, I'm not an actor... but I work with actors all day long. I've picked up the lingo and now I know the words that push their buttons. I know how to play their ego so well that they push through that last, trembling rep.
Today, I realized I kinda was an actor. I'm a master of pretending and making people believe it.
All morning, I pretended to be paying attention to these goofballs. I pretended to be engaged. I pretended to give a shit while my clients were talking. I was acting like I gave a shit.
I sorta gave a shit.
Maybe I gave half a shit.
How did I get this nod for an Academy Award? I wrote notes while my clients spoke, I watched their form and spotted as they worked out. When it got dicey, I even paid attention.
I had to. These poor bastards were getting over an injury, and they're doing rehab in the gym. It's my responsibility to make sure it's a therapeutic session. Move forward, don't re-injure.
Between every set, though, they faded away. Lizzy's smiling face looked up at me from waist level. Fuck.
I turned back to the woman: "You're gonna be sore, so remember: at least eight glasses of water..."
#
I got a five minute break between clients and stepped into the Trainer's Room to clear my head.
Where was I really...? I was fucking my cheating girlfriend. All morning long, standing in the gym, my soul was reliving last night.
Just fuck...
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to focus through the episode.
The aftermath of Lizzy's cheat was still rocking my world. Yesterday, my girlfriend had gone down on her boss in the kind of Quid Pro Quo bullshit that makes the headlines but so rarely ever actually happens.
The tension -- raw, chemical tension -- had been building for the last two months. From the first night we met, and she cheated with me on another guy, until it exploded last night after a cheat with her boss.
Yeah, so... her cheating again was expected. I didn't expect... to fall in love with this cheater. She didn't expect to fall in love with me.
All this love was great, but in our brief relationship, our mutual discovery was that she was addicted to cheating. She held out as long as she could, then... the slut did what a slut does.
Where did that leave me?
Here, right here, is where it left me: my head in my hands as I tried to figure what any of this shit actually meant.
Was she leaving me?
No, this was her weakness. She really did love me, but this was the scar tissue in her habits. This was the thing that would never go away.
I'm a trainer. I'm used to changing people, but sometimes, you have to learn to work around chronic injuries. Some things will never change. Some things will never go away and people have to live with it. Sometimes, rehab was learning how to work around it.
That, I guess, was the biggest surprise: I didn't want to change her. In fact, I discovered I kinda enjoyed having a slutty girlfriend. There was an energy there. An excitement. The risk that anything could happen. Something dirty.
Was I leaving her?
No.
Yesterday was a big surprise for Lizzy, too: for the first time, after a cheat and her ritual drama of a guilty confession, her boyfriend du jour didn't leave her. All the grins and smiles made it seem like a highpoint of her life.
Cool.
In fact, after her confession, after mind-blowing sex that affirmed our connection: pillow talk. We spun variations on the theme of a cheating girlfriend. We waded into a pool of possibility until we were waist-high. Would we actually do any of that stupid shit we talked about last night?
No idea. Maybe. It seemed red-hot at the time. I wish I could say it was ice-cold and a million miles away now, but no -- it was way too close. Way too distracting.
I checked my watch. Next client was here.
Lizzy would have to wait.
#
Last client out the door. Thank God.
I jotted notes as the manager started closing the gym.
Between scribbling in the margins on a workout spreadsheet, I texted Lizzy: "Dinner?"
She responded a minute later: "Love to! Starving! Where?"
"Dunno. When are you out?"
"I can be out in 20 minutes."
"20?" I glanced at my gym bag. "I brought spare clothes, I'll shower and meet you at... Shit. Have you ever tried shawarma?"
"Yeah! There's a shawarma place about two blocks from my office..."
#
We met, we kissed, we ordered, we ate in silence.
I tried not to be obvious, but it was hard to not stare at her.
Narrow waist, flat stomach, great ass, killer legs. Nice, but not unusual for the kinda girl I date. Small chest, but perky. I usually went for bigger boobs, but it could work if the girl carried "perky" all the way through her attitude.
Where did it get interesting? The cute face. I was used to the sleek cheekbones of fitness models. Lizzy's face didn't match her high-speed bod. No, instead she had cute, chipmunk cheeks. And a cute, lippy smile like Tinker Bell.
Cute, kissable lips. That bottom lip, especially: it looked like it was designed to slide over a cock.
And it did.
Given her habits, it did a lot.
I kept stealing glances: she closed up around certain guys, her body language tight, then opened around others. Her type seemed more based on energy and confidence than any simple characteristics. Right now? She looked loose, relaxed, enjoying a little Greek food.
Underneath it all, an undertone: my girlfriend, sitting right here, went down on her boss yesterday. With those lips, she'd sucked another guy's cock, but... she was still my girlfriend.
What planet was I on?
Every time she put something in her mouth, over those lips, I pictured her giving head.
To someone else.
I don't know if I was thinking too loud, but she paused between bites.
Still cute. Innocent cute.
She finally turned to me. "You're making me really self-conscious."
"I can't help it. You're gorgeous."
She hid behind her hand. "Coming from anybody else, I can deal with it. Coming from you..."
"What?"
"When a gorgeous person calls you 'gorgeous', you feel like their equal."
"You're gorgeous."
"Stop it."
"What? You're not my equal?"
"You could have any girl in here, yet here you are... still..."
"Lucky me." I took a bite. I had an unsophisticated mouthful as I asked: "Wait, what do mean 'still'?"
"After yesterday."
"Ah. Hadn't crossed my mind."
"Liar."
"Maybe. Did you see your boss today?"
"All day," she nodded.
"Did it come up?"
"Nope. Never does." She dabbed a little sauce from the corner of her mouth. "I was thinking about it all day, too. I was thinking about you, and it... but I have no idea if he thought about it. He's just stony that way."
I repeated the one point that hovered above the rest: "Thinking about it all day, huh?"
She took a sip and looked around, making sure she had a little room to be discreet. "I'm an idiot, on so many levels, to go down on my boss-"
"Four times a year, no less," I agreed.
