18. Good as Hell, Lizzo
"Good as Hell," Lizzo
Victoria
“Excellent wind sprints, everyone,” Eric said with an enthusiastic clap. “Let’s finish with Good as Hell squats.”
Alexander scrawled in his notebook: ‘WTF are Good as Hell squats?’
The group answered with a collective groan; no surprise, they bitched at every transition, but nobody quit. As soon as he played the music and led by example, they were all smiles behind his back … and he knew it.
It was fascinating how each client flourished under his perfect balance of teasing and pushing. His joyful singing and abundant laughter made the hard exercises seem easier.
When he showered me with attention in my apartment, I reveled in it like a flower turning towards the sun. Seeing other people react the same to his disarming smile made me resentful, wishing I could hoard his smiles.
During self-defense lessons in the elevator when he beamed that proud grin, I couldn’t stop myself from kissing him. His shitty no-man’s-land excuse overrode all my internal protests. All my inhibitions dropped, the way my panties would have if the fire department hadn’t arrived.
When our lips had unfused, I’d immediately feared that he’d make things awkward—like bragging during an incubator meeting that I couldn’t keep my hands off him. But at those meetings and in our building, he treated me with nothing but professional courtesy. Which I appreciated … even if, when I slipped into the sheets at night and reached for my vibrator, I imagined him knocking on my door with that flirtatious smile. Thought you might need a drill. Or pictured knocking on his door clad only in my thin pajamas, and he would open the door in nothing but his sweatpants …
But none of that happened. Instead I threw myself into the incubator clients. At night I re-read all my business school textbooks, considering how they’d apply to these smaller businesses instead of enterprise corporation.
As part of the incubator, Alexander and I conducted visits to every business. We took copious notes and created detailed business growth plans, and I enjoyed the challenge of stretching smaller budgets and managing a handful of employees instead of thousands.
Conversations went smoothly with Alexander when we were brainstorming about growing other people’s businesses instead of fighting about ours. Hoping that their success would fuel his competitive nature, I secretly planned to incorporate his best ideas into our Manhattan expansion plans.
And we’d saved Eric’s visit for last.
For the first 45 minutes of our hour-long observation, our brainstorming had been nonstop about his liability waivers and class format and hiring strategy, agreeing on two non-negotiables.
After pages of scrawled notes—and Alexander’s complaints that he still couldn’t read the shorthand that my mother’s secretary taught me when I was seven—we stopped writing to watch the magic unfold. My heels sunk into the grass, a light wind sweeping over my legs beneath my navy sheath dress.
After we finished, I had dinner plans with Lawrence. It had taken forever to finally nail down a time, with several last minute cancellations on his part, so I’d planned to leave early … but I was captivated. The date could wait.
“You know the drill,” Eric said. “It’s only three minutes and seventeen seconds. You can do anything for that long.”
Alexander’s wool coat flapped against my thigh. “I can’t believe his charisma.”
“You joining the next class?”
“I said he was charismatic, not that I would be caught dead participating."
Eric’s classes weren’t what I expected. When he introduced himself as a personal trainer, I expected him spotting chest presses and helping Navy bros ‘get swole.’ I’d arrived early to interview clients, and while there were definitely brawny guys, the clientele was more diverse than I expected.
Barry, a single dad in his fifties brought his teenager to connect with his daughter through music. The playful coaching and accountability helped Kate finally quit smoking. Nancy, a 67-year old whose doctor recommended strength training to fend off osteoporosis, said classes made her feel younger. And shy Navy student Andrew gained confidence advice to approach girls, which helped him ask out his now-girlfriend.
They flocked to Eric. Through his warm encouragement—and ok, light trash talking—he could convince them to do anything. Alexander and I were world-class negotiators, yet as we stood in that field watching Eric charm and cheerlead and coach, I wondered if there was anything he couldn’t talk me into.
Which is why I’d been avoiding him since the elevator, where his calm instruction and soft touch and clean smell and bare chest had been impossible to resist. And I’d asked him to stop and he respected every single boundary—none of that “but now I’m hard and it’s your fault” shit that Spencer used to pull.
I don’t know how far we would have gone if the fire department hadn’t arrived. When those doors opened, I immediately went upstairs for a cold shower and change of clothes, berating myself for being too weak to resist him.
I was his business consultant, for Christ’s sake. He deserved better from me.
At the beginning of class, he’d explained to the students why we were observing, then respectfully ignored our presence. He was so tuned into every student’s needs that it appeared he’d forgotten us.
But as they circled up, Eric winked at me. “This song’s for you, Cobrita .”
As he demonstrated the squats, Alexander muttered, “Still weird you let him call you that, you usually hate nicknames.”
“I usually do, but he earned it,” I said, watching the round curve of his clenched butt. For research, of course.
“How do I earn a nickname?”
I tilted my head, deciding how to explain why I let him get away with it. Alexander wouldn’t understand that Eric sang Taylor Swift while I wrote a contract, and built furniture without asking for a return favor, and kissed like I was the antidote instead of the poison. But he might understand … “The night we met, he offered to let me punch him in the face.”
My heel sank into the grass as I shifted my weight to my back foot and lifted my fists, tapping my thumb against my nose.
Alexander raised his palms in surrender. “I rescind my request. Grace likes my face just like this.”
The boot camp quieted. Eric beamed with amused pride, his foot tapping an impatient beat. “He may have sixty pounds on her, but my money’s on the scrappy redhead.”
“She seems like an eye scratcher,” Kate grinned.
“Oh hell yeah, I bet she fights dirty. Do you two want to step into the ring, or can I continue class?” When I gestured to continue, he shook his head in mock scorn. “Always interrupting my classes.”
As the music started, Eric pulled out his bun, his dark hair rippling midway down his back as he strutted like the world’s best drag queen. The students squatted on the downbeats and snapped on the upbeats with varying degrees of rhythm. He flipped his hair and checked his nails, pointing at a student with the prompt, “Baby, how you feeling?”
Barry yelled, “Good as hell!”
Eric flipped his hair again, sauntering around the circle and pointing again.
Nancy’s squat rhythm didn’t falter. “Good as hell!”
Bec raised their hand and he seductively beckoned them into the center, sliding into the vacant space as they shimmied. They swapped with Barry, his teenage daughter laughing in embarrassment at his running man. Kate finished the verse, and Eric joined her, dropping into an impossibly low squat, and … I couldn’t describe it, quickly contracting his butt in perfect sync.
My eyes didn’t stray from his butt as Alexander covered his mouth and muttered, “Oh my god, he's twerking.”
We bit back our laughter as the students sweat, squatted, swore, and most of all, smiled. Even as a neutral observer, my spirits rose at his effortless charm.
During the bridge, Eric caught my eye while he sang about having it all, no sacrifice. His fingers flicked dismissively at Alexander for lyrics about a man who did me wrong. I bit my cheek to not burst out laughing at my business partner’s embarrassed flush. Eric tilted his head, raising a water bottle overhead like Tina Turner to belt advice to walk my fine ass out the door.
“It’s down to one non-negotiable,” I told Alexander, trying not to sound breathless with lust.
As the song wrapped up, Eric pointed two fingers at us for the final, “Baby, how you feeling?”
All the students’ heads turned. We could ignore the playful prompt and act like straight-laced lawyers. Alexander’s shoulder lifted half an inch and my lip quirked slightly. Then we snapped on the final downbeat—well, he missed by half a second—as I said in my most professional voice, “Good as hell, Cruz.”
All the students cheered. Eric gave a final pep talk as the group handed in their resistance bands, then jogged over. “So what do you think, Alex, Cobrita ?”
Alexander closed his notebook. “We don’t have time for a full recap, because Vic’s got a hot date—”
“Don’t call me Vic,” I leveled a finger, intentionally avoiding Eric’s reaction to my second date with Lawrence.
“—so we’ll review our recommendations during your meeting tomorrow, but we’ve got one word to tide you over. You wanna tell him, Victoria?”
Eric’s face lit up when I shared our top strategy: “YouTube.”