18 - The Trainer #2
Emily nodded, took a deep breath, and lifted the heavier weight. Her face flushed with effort, but she completed the rep, setting the bar down with a soft grunt of triumph.
“See?” Tyler said, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Your body is capable of more than you think. You just need someone to push you.”
The way he said “someone” made Greg’s skin prickle.
After the session, Greg was toweling off when Tyler approached him directly for the first time.
“Your wife’s making incredible progress,” Tyler said, extending his hand.
Greg shook it, noting again the strength in Tyler’s grip. “She seems to be enjoying it.”
Tyler grinned. “More than enjoying it. She’s a beast. Honestly, you should be proud—most clients half her age can’t keep up with her intensity.”
“I am proud,” Greg said, the words sticking in his throat.
Tyler glanced over at Emily, who was filling her water bottle across the gym. His eyes traced her figure appreciatively, not bothering to hide his admiration. “Man, she’s getting stronger than you. You better watch out.” He laughed, clapping Greg on the shoulder.
Greg forced a chuckle, but something in Tyler’s smirk lingered, as if they were sharing a joke at Greg’s expense. There was a subtext to the conversation that Greg couldn’t quite grasp, or perhaps didn’t want to acknowledge.
“You joining us next week?” Tyler asked.
“Of course,” Greg replied too quickly. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Tyler’s smile widened slightly. “Good man. Emily works harder when you’re here. Must be wanting to impress you.”
The comment should have been reassuring. Instead, it felt like another subtle jab.
***
That night, Greg initiated sex, determined to reclaim some sense of connection with his wife.
Emily responded eagerly at first, her body warm and responsive under his touch.
She kissed him deeply, tangling her fingers in his hair, wrapping her legs around his waist. For a few blissful minutes, it felt like before—before the distance, before the disappointment, before Tyler.
But Greg’s anxiety got the better of him, his mind filling with doubt. Was he touching her right? Was he going too fast? Too slow? Was she comparing him to younger men? To Tyler? The questions crowded his thoughts until his body betrayed him, and once again, it was over before it had really begun.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, rolling away in shame.
Emily sighed, a sound that contained more resignation than surprise. She reached for her nightstand drawer, pulling out a small vibrator. “Do you mind?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.
Greg shook his head, his throat tight. “Go ahead.”
He lay beside her, listening to the low hum of the device and Emily’s gradually quickening breath. When she finally tensed then relaxed with a soft moan, Greg felt both aroused and utterly inadequate. The sound of her satisfaction—satisfaction he couldn’t provide—was both beautiful and painful.
“I love you,” Emily whispered afterward, kissing his cheek before rolling over to sleep.
“I love you, too,” Greg replied to her back, the words feeling hollow.
Later, as Emily slept, Greg checked her phone—something he’d never done before.
The passcode was still the same as always—their anniversary date.
Her text messages with Tyler were innocent enough, strictly about scheduling and brief comments about exercises.
But there was an easy familiarity to their exchanges that made Greg’s stomach knot.
Tyler: Great job today. Your form is getting perfect.
Emily: Thanks! I’m so sore but in the best way.
Tyler: That’s how you know it’s working. Rest up, drink water. See you Friday.
Emily: Looking forward to it.
Four simple words—“Looking forward to it”—but they seemed to hold a weight that kept Greg awake for hours.
***
The next afternoon, Emily returned from her solo session with Tyler, looking especially flushed and energized. She practically bounced into the kitchen where Greg was preparing dinner, her skin glowing, her eyes bright.
“You look happy,” Greg observed, trying to keep his tone light.
“I am,” Emily said, grabbing a water bottle from the refrigerator. “I crushed my personal best today. Tyler says I’m progressing faster than any client he’s ever had.”
Greg nodded, focusing on chopping vegetables. “That’s great.”
Emily leaned against the counter, watching him. “Tyler has a private gym,” she mentioned casually over dinner. “He says it’s more personal—just me and him. Maybe I should train there instead? He thinks we could make even more progress.”
Greg looked up from his barely-touched salmon. “A private gym? Where?”
“He has a converted garage at his place. It’s got all the equipment I need, and none of the crowds.” She took a sip of wine. “What do you think?”
Greg set down his fork, his appetite gone. “His place? That seems … inappropriate.”
Emily’s expression cooled slightly. “It’s professional, Greg. He trains several clients there. It’s just about having a more focused environment.”
Greg should have said no. He should have pointed out how inappropriate it would be for her to be alone with Tyler in his home. He should have suggested finding a female trainer. A dozen objections ran through his mind, each more reasonable than the last.
But looking at Emily—her eyes bright with excitement, her shoulders pulled back with new confidence—Greg couldn’t bring himself to be the one to dim that light. And deeper still, a part of him wondered what would happen if he did say yes. A dark, curious part he didn’t want to acknowledge.
“If that’s what you want,” he eventually told her.
Emily’s smile faltered slightly, as if she’d expected more resistance. “Really? You’re okay with it?”
Greg nodded, continuing to cut up more veggies. “I trust you.”
Emily studied him for a moment longer then reached across the counter to squeeze his hand. “Thank you. But maybe … maybe you should come, too? At least for the first session. To see the place.”
Relief flooded through Greg, followed immediately by suspicion. Why did she want him there?
“Sure,” he said. “I’d like that.”
Emily smiled, but there was something different in her expression now—a curiosity, as if she were seeing a new side of her husband and wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
That night, Greg lay awake long after Emily had fallen asleep, replaying their conversation. Had he made another mistake? Was he being paranoid? Or was he facilitating something he would come to regret?
He turned to look at Emily’s peaceful, sleeping face.
In the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains, she looked like the woman he’d married seven years ago—young, beautiful, full of life.
Whatever happened next, Greg knew one thing with certainty: he would do anything to keep her happy.
Even if it meant facing his deepest fears.
***
Tyler’s “private gym” turned out to be a surprisingly well-equipped converted garage connected to a modest but modern house in one of the city’s up-and-coming neighborhoods.
The space had rubber flooring, mirrored walls, and a comprehensive selection of free weights and machines.
Hip-hop music played at a low volume, the bass throbbing like a heartbeat.
“Welcome to my sanctuary,” Tyler said, opening the side door for Emily and Greg. He was dressed in fitted training shorts and a sleeveless compression shirt that left little to the imagination. “Most of my exclusive clients prefer this to the commercial gym. More privacy, more focused attention.”
“It’s impressive,” Greg admitted, trying to sound casual as he took in the space. Unlike the impersonal commercial gym, this place felt intimate, almost sensual. The lighting was softer, the temperature warmer.
“There’s a bench over there if you want to watch,” Tyler said, gesturing to a padded bench against the wall. “Or you’re welcome to use any of the equipment.”
“I’ll just observe today,” Greg said, settling onto the bench. “I want to see Emily’s progress.”
Tyler nodded then turned his full attention to Emily. “Let’s warm up with some dynamic stretching.”
What followed was the most intense training session Greg had witnessed yet. Tyler pushed Emily harder than ever, his coaching style more intimate in this private setting. His hands were constantly on her—adjusting her form, guiding her movements, supporting her weight.
“Push through it,” Tyler urged as Emily struggled with her final squat rep. His hands were on her waist, his chest nearly touching her back. “Your body is stronger than your mind thinks it is.”
Emily completed the rep with a gasp then straightened, leaning back slightly against Tyler’s solid presence. Their eyes met in the mirror, and something passed between them that made Greg’s chest tighten.
He shifted uncomfortably on the bench. He should feel out of place here, awkward, intrusive.
Instead, he found himself leaning forward, watching with an intensity that surprised him.
There was something hypnotic about the way Tyler controlled the space, the way Emily responded to his commands.
Greg had never seen his wife like this—so receptive, so compliant, so eager to please.
After an hour of increasingly intense exercises, Emily was drenched in sweat, her face flushed, her breathing heavy. Her hair had come loose from its ponytail, falling around her face in damp tendrils. She looked exhausted but exhilarated.
“Water break,” Tyler announced, handing her a bottle from a small refrigerator in the corner. As she drank, he looked over at Greg and smirked. “She’s ready for the real workout now.”
Greg sat frozen, his mouth dry. This was the moment he should stand up, take Emily’s hand, and leave. This was the moment he should assert himself, remind Tyler who Emily went home with. Every instinct told him to move, to speak, to do something.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. A strange paralysis had overtaken him, a mixture of fear and anticipation that kept him rooted to the bench.