Chapter 5
Kas
“High knees!” Davina shouts.
My silver chain bats against my chin when I bring my knees up to my chest.
“Looking good, ladies,” Dash says, winking at the large group before us. He continues with a spiel of supportive affirmations as I demonstrate the announced warm-up exercises alongside him.
After the whole “closing down the gym” conversation we had, I felt bad. Plus, declining didn’t feel like a choice at the risk of disappointing the twenty-two sign-ups if they turned up to find only one “hunky helper.”
God forbid.
“Is this everyone?” I ask Dash.
In front of us are a small group of women ranging from the ages of eighteen to sixty. We’re five short.
“Nah, we’re waiting on Devon’s girl and some others. They can join in whenever,” he explains. “Prepaid slots.”
I nod, moving on to the next part of the warm-up. I recall Violet saying something about ridding herself of some gym anxiety, which is the session’s entire goal; Davina shows other women how to comfortably and safely use gym equipment so that they can feel less intimidated in male-dominated gyms.
“Counterclockwise!”
At Davina’s command, Dash and I begin to circle our ankles in said direction. Everyone’s briefly distracted by the fluttering doors at the front entrance of the gym. Violet walks in, followed by an unforgettable face.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Mari . The woman who thinks I’m some guy who overtly checked her out and told her she peaked in high school.
“Who the hell is that woman with Violet?” Dash says appreciatively.
“Mine and Violet’s friend.”
I’m purposely giving Dash minimal and slightly incorrect information because if he has Mari’s name, he’ll have her number, and if he has her number, he’ll have her in his bed.
Mari is dressed in a plain, white, baggy T-shirt with part of the hem tucked into tight shorts. She’s slotted her phone into the waistband too. The only thing she holds is a large metallic water bottle that skims the outside of her toned thigh. Her body looked phenomenal at Violet’s exhibition, and with a full view of her legs, I’m finding it hard to look away again.
“I need her,” Dash says, staring at Mari as she and Violet take their position at the back of the group. He waves at Violet, who he’s met before.
“You need every woman you find hot. Stay away from my friends,” I warn, also waving at Violet.
Mari looks at me with an unreadable expression and does a slow blink. Not one that cats do when they’re fond of you, but one full of resignation and impatience.
After ten minutes, Davina, Dash, and I are spread out across the gym, giving instructions on how to use different machines. Dash is showing six of the women the hip thrust machine, Davina demonstrates how to use the chest press machine, and I’ve decided to take charge of the Smith machine with a bigger group totaling around ten.
Violet has grown more comfortable throughout the session and is chatting away with the women surrounding Davina. Mari, on the other hand, seems to have progressively become more uncomfortable; she’s been floating around the different groups, noncommittal to all three.
It’s pissing me off, actually.
With a watchful eye on her, I assist a woman who is struggling with her squat on the machine and when she manages to move the weight, I address Mari.
“Mari, do you want to go next?” I call.
Her warm, brown eyes widen at my directness. “Sorry?” Mari fidgets with a beaded bracelet around her wrist.
“Do you want to use the machine next?”
“Oh, no. I already know how to use it, someone else can go.”
She forces a smile and looks at the other women turned to face her. Most of them seem to be latching onto my every word, and some look shocked that Mari isn’t interested in my assistance.
“I’ll take her turn,” one of the older women says, emitting giggles from those in her immediate surroundings.
Mari shouldn’t have come if she was already okay with the machines, and at the very least, she could still participate. I end up leaving the women to pair up and work the machine once I feel satisfied they can do it independently. That’s when I allow myself to peer over at Mari again. She checks her phone and makes her way back to Violet.
She’s not happy to be here, and I’m taking it personally ... way too personally. I catch up to Mari as she takes three steps, positioning myself in front of her so she can’t take a fourth.
She looks to the side of her phone, down at my sneakers, then up my body to land on my face. “Kas,” she says with a nod.
I return it and usher her backward until we’re a safe distance away from everyone else in the gym. She toys the thick mass of braids she’s placed into a high ponytail and I itch to do the same.
I plunge into words I’ve wanted to say since asking her if she wanted to try the machine. “This session is for people who don’t know how to use gym equipment,” I explain. “It’s on a first-come-first-served basis. You’ve taken a spot that could’ve been someone else’s.”
She tilts her head at me. “Okay?”
“Okay?” I echo unhappily.
“Sorry, is there a problem? Violet was anxious to come alone, so she booked and paid for a slot so I could come with her,” she says, pausing mid-sentence after the word paid as if I’m not grasping her words.
“There is no problem, it’s just that spaces are limited and for people who don’t already know how to use gym equipment.”
Mari crosses her arms and twists her lips. “It sounds like you have a problem because you’re quizzing me on why I’m here.”
I mirror her stance. “I’m quizzing you because you’re not participating. Get involved.” Mari sticks her tongue into her cheek and glowers at me. My cheeks warm at her attention. “I don’t think you’re understanding me,” I say.
“I don’t think I am understanding you,” Mari agrees, placing her hands on her hips. “This is how I’ve understood you since we met at the exhibition.” She clears her throat and puffs out her chest. “What a loser, you peaked in high school. Ew, why are you here? This is for new gym people only, you uncooperative sack of shhh ,” she says in a deep, mocking voice, censoring herself on the final word.
We exchange blinks for a few seconds.
“See how you’re just making shit up?” I ask.
It’s taking everything in me not to laugh. Mari is mildly annoyed, and her delivery is so fucking funny.
“Well, it feels like that. Do you even like me?” she asks, pressing her lips together.
Like? That’s a broad term. Do I like her defensiveness? Yes, surprisingly. Do I like the way she looks? Goes without saying. Do I like this little weird conflict we have? More than I probably should.
“I don’t know you well, but I think you’re attractive and seem nice,” I speak slowly, ensuring my words are carefully constructed.
She exhales a laugh. “Right, we don’t know each other. So this attitude”—she motions to my front—“I’m not rocking with. I actually don’t think we mesh, which is unfortunate given our friends are very close.”
Mesh is one way to put it.
“I believe the term you’re looking for is ‘violently incompatible,’” I say.
Her lip twitches and I exhale slowly out of my nose. Each breath is controlled so a laugh doesn’t spill out. She remains tense for a moment, and within the stretched silence, I address what I think is the reason for her hostility.
“It was the peaking in high school joke, wasn’t it?” I question.
Her visible tenseness disappears at the mention of our previous interaction. “It really didn’t sound like a joke.”
“It was, and it was ages ago,” I counter.
Mari shakes her head, seemingly unconvinced. “You’re not gonna say sorry?”
“We’re grown adults, let’s move past this.” Mari gives me a once-over before pressing her lips together and raising her brows in an expression that implies she doesn’t believe I’m beyond the age of five. “I’m also not going to apologize for a joke I made months ago,” I add.
An older woman who has just returned from the bathroom tuts at me as she passes to rejoin the group. Clearly, I’m somehow in the wrong here. With a final stare-off, I break away and head back to the machines so I can teach the women how to bench press.
“If I had known you were leading this session, I wouldn’t have turned up,” Mari says quietly.
If I was any farther away, her words would be almost inaudible. I turn to meet a smug, full-lipped grin. There’s something annoyingly hot about her quirked eyebrow and the amusement dancing in her gaze.
“Mari is going to show us how to use the Smith machine for benching!” I shout with a clap.
Her sharp intake of breath is loud, but Violet’s whoops are louder.
Mari looks at me like she’s inhaled the scent of a steaming pile of shit. “Oh, you little ...” she starts.
I’m enjoying this little verbal sparring we have going on. If her inability to hide her small smile and shoulder-checking me while walking past is anything to go by, I think there’s a tiny, minuscule part of her that might enjoy it too.