Chapter 17
Sophie
I vibrated with a different energy as I got ready for my next appointment with Pace.
Yes, there was the usual anxiety of leaving the house and interacting with people—that might never change—but every time my feet froze with fear, I focused only on getting to Pace.
And there was a little buzz of a different sort of adrenaline rush.
That was all I had to do. Step one, meet Pace. After that didn’t matter.
See, progress. Look at me go.
I sighed and looked at myself in the mirror in my bicycle shorts and oversized tee that read “The Book Was Better.” It only took five outfit changes before I settled on this one.
I would never be like the models on social media, but this made me feel the most comfortable.
My thick hair looked shiny and lush in its ponytail, my curves looked feminine and powerful instead of shameful, and even my eyes seemed to shine bright with some unidentifiable energy.
My phone buzzed, and Pace said he was on his way.
We were meeting at the gym that was almost equidistant between us, so I would have to walk partially through town.
Only as I was walking up to the gym’s front door did I realize that Pace probably didn’t have a membership here since he had a gym at the station and had mentioned some equipment at home.
Would the girl behind the desk be beautiful and young and look at me with thinly veiled disdain? Or would it be a beefy macho man who would pressure me into buying a membership? Would I need to try to say no to someone and learn to use workout machines in the same day?
It felt like too much. I would never survive.
By the time I made it to the front of the small, nondescript cement building, I had worked myself up into a tizzy. That familiar tingling of my kneecaps and sweaty palms had me debating what, if anything, was the point of all this.
Then I thought of the list being leaked out to the town and Vicky Lambert’s face as she read over my sad demotion from many O’s to a single hot make-out session.
Pace walked out with a wide grin on his face as he flourished two pieces of paper. “Got us two day passes for free. Booyah!”
He came to a stop right in front of me, and I wondered if he, too, had been debating what the best way to greet each other was. Not likely.
“Wow. Great. Thanks,” I said. There was no hint of awkwardness on his side.
Good thing I hadn’t spent the last week replaying every single moment of our previous interaction over and over on repeat. I would have been feeling a little silly right now.
“Any idea of where you want to start?” he asked.
I was equal parts relieved and concerned at his initiative.
I wondered if I should have been the one to go in first and make sure we could use the equipment.
Was I too reliant on Pace already? Did it really count as checking things off the list if I used him as a crutch?
If I was leaning so heavily on Pace, would I be able to stand on my own when he was gone?
There was another voice telling me that it didn’t count with Pace.
That, of course, it was easier when somebody was there with me.
On the other hand, you wouldn’t begrudge a mountain climber for wearing safety gear.
I was thinking too much.
And the sun was hot.
Inside, the girl at the front desk was pretty and young with long blond hair and fall-themed nails.
But she waved to the machines and said, “Feel free to try anything out, and let me know if you have any questions on how to use the equipment.” Her smile was genuine and wide, and after learning a few more of the gym’s perks, Pace and I walked toward the corner where many very intimidating machines sat and then into our respective locker rooms. With my head down, heart banging, and palms sweating, I found a free locker and shoved in my gym bag containing a change of clothes in case I got gross and sweaty, and on the off chance I had the mental (and physical) energy to go somewhere after he taught me how to use the equipment.
There were other women changing in my periphery, and I pretended not to notice how they moved so freely in their nudity.
I wondered if I would ever reach an age where I didn’t give a crap about people seeing me nakey. It seemed unlikely.
On the way out of the locker room, I was stopped by a woman who often shopped at Hooks and Grannies.
“Oh, look at you, little miss thing. At the gym. Is that how you got all skinny?” she asked. Why did her question feel like an insult and an accusation, all wrapped up in a backhanded compliment?
I couldn’t fight the anxiety that swept over me. It was already so high just being here, and these were the sort of comments that sent me right back in time. I had no idea what to say.
“I-I’m not—I’m just—” Breathe. Speak. Anything!
“There you are,” Pace said. He was at my side with a gentle hand on my hip.
I let him take me away without even pretending to be polite. The last thing I noticed was the woman’s gaze shooting to where he led me away.
“I thought people were way too comfortable making comments about my body. Damn,” he said.
I felt validated that he too thought the comment was gross. I made a sound of agreement, but my nerves were totally fried already. I didn’t know how I was going to get through this.
The shame was deafening, louder than the blaring club music that pulsed from the speakers. Stronger than the smell of disinfectant and body odor.
“Hey.” Pace pulled me off to the side of the gym in a quieter enclave. He bent over me, voice low so nobody else would hear, even as his brow drew together with concern. “Did you still want to do this? We don’t have to, you know. If you want to leave at any time, we can.”
His hand still rested gently against my wrist from where he’d led me away.
I focused on that soft touch, on the way the sounds around us quieted when he looked so intensely at me.
I took a slow breath in and out. He was already getting to read my anxiety so well, it made me a strange combination of appreciative and ashamed.
I could do this. He was here, and I could do this.
It was already almost October, and I hadn’t made nearly enough progress. I thought of my to-do list being shared with the town. I could manage a little one-on-one time with Pace. Even if that was torture in a different, spicier way.
“No. I know. I’m okay. Thank you.” I cleared my throat as I adjusted my heavy hair in its ponytail. Pace watched me closely. “Teach me to use these medieval torture devices.”
“Happily.” He nudged my shoulder as we walked through the gym toward the opposite wall of equipment, past the stair steppers and treadmills. I missed his hand on my hip.
The gym wasn’t packed this time of day as predicted. Less than a dozen people, but I felt their eyes on me. The questioning of such an odd couple.
I pushed the thoughts out and focused on Pace and his patient instructions.
Every new machine was a new reason for him to guide me—I was glad to report casual touches were back in action, even if there was nothing casual about them to me.
Every time I would start to feel self-conscious or glance around in fear of being judged, it was like he sensed it.
With my permission, he would calmly guide me into a better position or move to block me from the view of others.
It all seemed so instinctual for him, and it made me feel so taken care of in ways I never knew I needed.
After about five different machines and more swearing than I wanted to admit, Pace suggested a water break.
“I gotta fill my bottle. I’ll be right back,” he said.
As he left, I went to the rack of free weights along the wall, debating if picking up the lightest option would make me look like a huge loser.
A nondescript man, maybe my age but with a gut that spoke of many nights at the bar and a face that had never seen sunscreen, kept looking at me.
I felt him watching me, and I made the unfortunate mistake of meeting his eyes in the mirrors that surrounded the floor.
He must have taken that brief eye contact as an excuse to make his way to me.
I felt a presence move up too close. I didn’t know this man or how he knew me, but hearing him say my name made my skin crawl.
He looked me up and down and said, “Damn, Kincaid, you’ve filled out nicely.” He widened his stance, looking like he intended to stay there for a while. “I can help if you want.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the free weights.
I wanted to ask how he even knew me. I wanted to tell him to go away.
I thought of a dozen things I wanted to say, and yet all I could do was freeze and smile.
I felt sick. Smiling was a defense mechanism, a nervous response.
I wanted to glare and say something sassy and off-putting, but years of dealing with entitled men made fawning reflexive.
How could I let one slimeball of a man make me feel so small with just a look?
I hadn’t had a chance to find my footing when I felt another person approaching.
Pace came to my side and quietly, as though he’d done it a hundred times, slid his arm around my waist. His fingertips gripped just above my hip, shooting sparks up and down my spine before he loosened his touch. It was like an I’ve-got-you gesture, and that more than anything made me freeze.
“How’s your wife, O’Neil?” Pace asked the other man.
Was it possessive? Yes. Was it possibly slightly archaic? For sure. Did I wish that I didn’t need one man to assist with ridding me of another? Of course.
But damn, if I didn’t love every fucking second of it.
O’Neil grumbled something and walked off.
Once it was just us two again, Pace dropped his arm and scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry. Hope I didn’t overstep. That guy is such a sleazebag. I’d feel bad for his wife, but based on how she acted when she ran into me at Bookers, I imagine they have some sort of arrangement.”
I lifted my eyebrows.