Gym With Benefits

1 - Jess

Jess

I sat at the kitchen table, staring at an envelope.

It was the size of my outstretched palm, and thick. Expensive chartreuse card stock that hinted at something even more expensive within. And to top it all off? A gold wax seal with the words Manford Mansion.

This kind of envelope could only mean one thing.

I went to the fridge and poured myself a glass of wine, because why the hell not. Then I sat back down and considered the envelope some more. Turning it over in my hands. Prodding it like it was a cockroach I wasn’t sure was dead or alive.

It was addressed to Jessica Seymore. The number of people who called me Jessica instead of Jess was small. The return address was Manford Mansion, with an address in Charlottesville, Virginia. And because I was feeling catty, I decided it sounded like the kind of place that used to own people.

I was on my second glass of wine when David came home. He was humming Abracadabra by Lady Gaga, swaying his hips in the way only a queer man could pull off. His AirPods were in, and he didn’t notice me until after he’d shed his coat.

He gave a start and pulled one of the AirPods out. “Mother Mary. What are you doing lurking there? Am I in trouble?”

“Why would you be in trouble?” I asked my roommate.

“I don’t know! You’re sitting there with a glass of wine, looking like you’re about to hold an intervention or something.” He picked up the glass and sniffed it. “And for the record, it would be rude to hold an intervention while drinking the target’s wine.”

“Sorry, it was an emergency,” I replied. “And no, I’m not holding an intervention. I’m having a staring contest with a piece of mail.”

“That’s a relief.” He gave me a kiss on the forehead, then picked up the envelope. “Ohh. Fancy.”

And without any other preamble, David tore the envelope open like it was a piece of junk mail. We had that kind of friendship, and he was that kind of nosy.

“Amberleigh Paddock?” he read out loud, confirming my suspicion. “That’s the cuntiest name I’ve ever heard.” He glanced over at me and winced. “Shit. She’s a friend of yours, isn’t she?”

“Former friend. And yes, a grade-A cunt.”

David leaned forward and hissed, “I fucking knew it.” He cleared his throat, held the letter out at arm’s length, and began to read it out loud like it was his job. “You are formerly invited to the wedding of Amberleigh and Jacksyn. Jacksyn with a Y? Seriously?”

“Even cuntier,” I said, downing the rest of the wine. “Sounds like they’re perfect for each other.”

“I’m going to go change into my comfy clothes, but then I need the full story. Don’t move.”

“I’ll give you the full story in exchange for more wine.”

“Deal. There’s another chardonnay in the back of the fridge.”

I opened that bottle while David went and changed.

Then I examined the letter itself. It was on the same chartreuse card stock as the envelope, with gold calligraphy that looked expensive.

Not surprising—Amberleigh always had expensive tastes, even when she was pretending to be a “poor” college student.

David came skipping out of his room in his favorite pink sweatpants and a crop-top that would have removed all doubt about his sexuality to even the most obtuse observer. “Okay! Story time!” he announced while pouring himself a glass of wine.

Here’s the full story about Amberleigh Paddock.

We were randomly matched as roommates during our freshman year at Georgetown.

We had a lot in common: we both played varsity tennis in high school, but weren’t good enough to play at the college level.

Our parents were divorced, and we hated our stepmothers.

I was an only child, and so was she. We loved all the same music (Taylor Swift and Harry Styles), had the same favorite show (Scrubs), and hated the same celebrities (Ryan Reynolds especially). We became instant best friends.

That friendship continued throughout college, with us choosing to be roommates every year thereafter.

We were inseparable… until our Senior year.

I was dating a boy named Carter, who was a relief pitcher on the varsity baseball team.

My apartment was closer to campus than his, so he practically lived at our place so he could sleep an extra ten minutes in the morning before baseball practice.

He and Amberleigh got along, so it was all good.

But it was too good.

One day, while he was in the shower, Carter’s phone chimed with a text message. It was on the desk in front of me, and I glanced at it.

It was a text message from Amberleigh.

A text message with a nude photo attached and a kissy face emoji.

Okay, look. I’m not proud of snooping, but I couldn’t help it. Just like I couldn’t help but scroll up and see that they had been sleeping together since that summer, when Carter and I lived three hours apart. Exchanging hundreds of texts a day.

I was too shocked to say anything at first. When Carter got out of the shower, I pretended like everything was fine. I was a demure non-confrontational girl back then, and I had fall exams to study for. Underneath it all, the betrayal boiled like magma within a mountain.

It wasn’t until a week later, when exams were over, that I worked up the courage.

Funny enough, it happened just like how David had found me tonight: sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of wine, waiting for him to get home from baseball practice.

I confronted him. He denied everything. He got on his knees and begged me to believe him.

He showed me his phone. The incriminating texts were all gone; Carter must have sensed that something was wrong and deleted all the evidence.

But I knew the truth, and I couldn’t unsee those texts.

Amberleigh never asked why we broke up. She only shrugged and said that she always thought we were wrong for each other. Bitch.

I never confronted her about it. I wasn’t sure why.

Maybe I’d used up all my vengeful energy accusing Carter.

Or maybe I didn’t want to lose my boyfriend and my best friend slash roommate at the same time.

But our friendship was never the same after that, because of course it wasn’t, and by the time we graduated we were hardly speaking to each other when we crossed paths in our apartment.

That was five years ago. I hadn’t heard from Amberleigh since graduation.

Until this letter showed up in my mailbox.

I told all of this to David, sparing no details—because he was a good friend, and it was a juicy story. By the time I got to the graduation part, he was on his second glass of wine himself, leaning across the table like a gambler waiting to see what cards would be dealt next.

“Oh. My. God,” he said when I was finished. “After all of that, why would she send you an invitation to her wedding?”

“That’s what I’ve been asking myself since the letter arrived.”

David downed the rest of his wine and picked up his phone. “I’m pulling up the Manford Mansion website. Let’s see… Manford Mansion was built in the early eighteenth century, and has a rich, yet complicated history. Complicated history? That’s code for they used to own slaves.”

I snorted. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Well, you have to go,” David said.

I blinked in surprise. “What? Hell no! I haven’t spoken to her in five years, and she slept with my boyfriend! Why would I go to her wedding?”

“So you can show up looking fierce and steal the spotlight. Everyone needs a nemesis, Jess. It’s good for the soul.”

That made me laugh, but then I gestured down at myself. “It’s been a while since I’ve felt fierce.”

David gave me a look that only a bisexual man could give. “Okay, first of all, you’re gorgeous. Any man would be lucky. And I know you can pull off a slit dress with those legs.”

“But…?”

“But,” he agreed, “if you wanted to get toned and be your best, fiercest, most revenge-seeking version of yourself, there’s a great gym next to my office.”

I let out a long groan and reached for the bottle of wine. “I don’t want to do that. I’m not that insecure college girl anymore. I don’t have anything to prove. I’ve moved on. And I don’t feel the need to dig up old drama.”

“Then do it for yourself!” he exclaimed, snatching the bottle of wine from my hand.

“I’m not going to comment on how many gentlemen callers you’ve had to the apartment lately, but I will say that it’s too few.

You need a confidence boost. And exercise is worth doing even if it doesn’t lead to getting laid. It releases endorphins!”

David knew me better than anyone in the world, and he wasn’t wrong.

I hadn’t been feeling confident lately. I’d been totally focused on work for the past year, which was great for my career but bad for my self-esteem.

I used to play tennis almost every day. I missed that routine.

It was hard to get back into it without a push.

Maybe this was that push.

“Maybe this is the push you need!” David waved the invitation like it was a banner.

“Are you a mind reader?”

“A magician never tells.” He tossed the invitation back onto the table.

It spun across the surface before coming to a stop in front of me, with the broken wax seal facing forward.

“The gym gave everyone in our office vouchers for a free month. Give it a try, Jess. As your friend, I really think it would be good for you.”

And that’s how I ended up driving to Capitol Fitness on a Saturday, when I was usually vegging on the couch in my sweatpants. I felt good about it, too! I was blaring Pink Pony Club in the car, singing along, wearing gym clothes I hadn’t even looked at in over a year.

I was thankful to Amberleigh for that, at least.

But I stopped being thankful when I rounded a corner in the parking lot at the same time a green Ford Bronco was backing out of a space.

And I ran right into it.