Chapter 8
Scarlett
I’ve checked my phone itinerary a hundred times this morning in hopes a certain appointment has disappeared. I don’t want to work with Matthew Reding. The girls were no help. They basically said, “you’ll be fine.”
I finish my mascara and put on a subtle mauve lipstick, smooching my lips together in the mirror. I smooth over my outfit of yoga workout pants, a black gym polo, and some black sneakers. Then, I let out a deep breath and turn away from the mirror to grab my bag and keys.
Once I enter the gym, Jason waves at me near the front desk.
“Hey, hey!” I hug him. “How did it go last night? I was going to text you, but I thought I might be interrupting.”
“You would have been interrupting. The guy was an absolute dream. I think we’re meeting up tomorrow for round two, or in this case, round five.”
“Look at you. Glad I didn’t jinx you. I need to go drop this off real quick. Be right back.”
I walk over to the locker room to drop my bag off with the feel of eyes digging into my back. I turn my head to see Matthew Reding checking in at the front desk. He stares at me, unwilling to turn away even though I caught him looking at me. He gives me a half smile and raises his hand in a wave .
Looks like Mr. Red has gotten his panties to untwist. My stomach seems to do the opposite at the slight turn in his smile. Hopefully, he’ll be the gentleman he promised to be today.
I place my bag down, with a long, slow inhale before walking over to the desk. Mr. Reding’s eyes find mine. They’re a greenish-hazel, and I’m having a hard time pulling my gaze from them.
What’s going on?
His molded arms stand out in a black tank top. His hair is styled loosely, like he just got out of bed and rustled it a bit. It leaves him looking effortless.
“Mr. Reding,” I greet, keeping my distance.
“Miss Daniels.” He nods.
“Let’s start with weight, measurements, and goals first.” I adopt a straight back and try to be stoic. I can’t fall for the puppy dog eyes, deep voice, and sharp jaw.
He responds with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Call me Matt. You’re the boss. I’ll follow you, ma’am.” He puts his arm out, telling me to lead the way.
I raise an eyebrow. “You know I’m not ninety, right?”
“Yes, I’m aware.” He looks me up and down without even trying to hide it.
“Okay, no need for ‘ma’am’ then.”
“Ah, a habit we do down in the south. Sounded like we were being formal. Just following your lead.”
“Well, ‘miss’ would also work.”
“Noted.”
I lead him to a room with a scale, various measurement tools, a clock, and a small table with two chairs.
I have a folder with a chart and a place to fill in notes.
The first appointment with a trainer at our gym consists of intaking measurements, weight, and going over goals.
That way, the trainer can track the client’s progress and help the client achieve the results they want with their body.
I wish we could just get to the workout. I’ve just realized taking measurements includes being in very close proximity to one another. I wonder if I’ll be able to stay close and not kiss the guy. I mean, deck the guy!
It’s fine. Stay cool, calm, and collected.
My throat tightens and my face burns. I need to stay busy. The sooner we get started, the sooner he can go on his merry way.
Until I see him for his next session.
Fuck me.
“Okay, let’s start with your height.” He steps up to the wall, and I measure above his head, making sure not to touch him.
“Looks like six foot two. Go ahead and step on the scale next. Okay, two-hundred and thirty-five pounds.” I write down the number.
“Go ahead and step down. Why don’t you take a seat. ”
I point to the chair and then sit diagonally across from him in the other open chair. My leg starts bouncing up and down, wanting to get this done. He sits and then moves his chair closer to mine.
Um, what?
That’s not helping me stay cool, calm, and collected. My heart races as a hint of sandalwood and musk hit my nostrils.
“I stay focused when I’m close,” he explains in a casual tone. “Makes me feel involved in the project.”
Don’t buckle for him, Scarlett. Sure, he has some amazing muscles. Yeah, maybe his face is the most handsome one I’ve ever seen, with that strong jaw. Yes, I may have noticed he smells divine, but I can’t show I’m attracted to him .
I make my eyes dart down to my chart and try to act like his close proximity isn’t affecting me. I move along with my questions.
“In order to help you achieve your optimum fitness level you’d like to accomplish during your time here, what is your main goal? Do you want to lose weight? Gain weight? Coming to feel healthy?”
Did I just say coming feels healthy? Shit!
My eyes widen, but I keep my head down staring at the paper in front of me. My face is burning, so I’m sure it’s redder than Santa’s suit.
He responds with a deep, even tone, “I agree, coming does feel healthy.”
He’s talking to me about coming. My eyes move to his lips, I lean closer into him, and wonder what he’ll say next.
I catch myself and sit up straight. I can’t do this with a client. I need to get us back to a professional vibe, and quick.
“My goal is to let my body experience new things,” he continues, while I try to keep my composure. “I like to keep exercise new to stay in the best shape, you see. Exercise in general is calming and helps me stay focused.”
“What were you mainly doing before stepping into this gym? Weightlifting? Kickboxing? Cycling perhaps?”
He grins. “All of the above. Yoga is new. I happened to attend a great class recently.”
“Right.” I bite my bottom lip, then remember he’s the enemy. “Do you think you need glasses while you’re cycling?”
“Why? Are you an eye doctor?”
“No.” I shift in my seat.
“Strange to be asking about my eye health.”
Buttsucker. “Anyway, classes can be a nice way to switch things up. Why do you need a personal trainer if you’ve already been weightlifting?” I ask. It’s obvious he knows how to stay fit. Why does he need a trainer?
“I think a trainer will be able to teach my body new things. New movements.”
“Uh-huh,” is all I can muster. “Okay, just need to get a few measurements. We can see results more clearly this way instead of by weight.”
“Tell me what you need.”
Oh, I will.
Scarlett! Keep it in your pants! You hate him.
“Hold out your arm.”
He does. It looks like he’s hiding a softball in his bicep. Every muscle in his forearm is perfectly defined. I follow them to his hand. It doesn’t look soft. He probably uses his hands outside while he’s shirtless to chop wood or some shit.
Great. I’m thinking about him shirtless now.
Focus!
“Go ahead and stand.” He does as he’s told. “Hold out your arms in a T, please. I have to measure your chest.”
He lifts his arms up and I catch his shallow breathing. Maybe he’s just as nervous as I am. I don’t know why. He has the confidence of an elephant remembering.
I step closer to him, needing to get my measurement. Everything is drawing me into him—his scent, his body, his stupid grin. It’s making me envision his arms wrapped around me.
Scarlett!
I get my measurement and pull away. Now I have to get around his waist.
You can do this! You do it all the time. Be professional.
“This is the final one,” I explain, thankful to hear it myself. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps an impassive look on his face. I don’t miss the vein beating rapidly in his neck, though.
I hold my breath and reach around his waist with the measuring tape. He’s staring down at me, which is hard to do since I’m five foot nine. If he pulled me in for a kiss, I don’t think I could resist. In fact, I’m hoping he’ll pick me up, throw me on the table, and have his way with me.
Both of us have stopped breathing now. All I can think about is holding his jaw in my palms, stroking his arms, tight pecs, and whatever else is hiding underneath his clothes.
Somehow, I get the measurement. Thank you, muscle memory. I grab the chart and walk out of the room as fast as I can.
“Come on, let’s get training,” I order.
~
After completing the initial interview with no other elusive comments, we start the workout.
I decided to focus on chest and triceps, strategically picking exercises that wouldn’t be provocative or misunderstood.
Let’s face it, today was not the day for pelvic presses with this man.
I need to establish respect between the both of us first before we get into those types of movements.
My mind is wandering—thinking of cave man fantasies with this guy is not acceptable.
It’s not even about him having a mean moment the other day.
I’m going to be one of the owner’s of the gym—I can’t date a client.
Besides, he’s not from here, so I doubt he’ll stick around.
Imagining him as anything other than a client can’t happen.
Surprisingly, he’s being a complete gentleman.
He lets me go first, changes the weights himself, and holds doors.
I haven’t been around a guy with such old-school manners since.
..ever. Chivalry has been dead in my life, but I’m glad to see it’s still hanging around somewhere.
Not that I would tell him I appreciate it. He already has a huge ego.
“Looks like that completes day one,” I tell him.
“Cool, see you tomorrow.” And then he walks away. He doesn’t give me a wave or second glance.
My shoulders drop from my ears and I let out a breath. I don’t know what I was so worried about. It’ll be easy to train him. As long as we aren’t locked in a room alone.
It’s nice knowing he isn’t always a jerk. Maybe Lana was right and I caught him at a bad time. This attraction towards him will go away. We can be friends. At least, we can be friendly. At the very least we can be acquaintances. My attraction towards him this morning was some sort of a fluke.
Yeah, I have nothing to worry about.