Chapter Ten
“Good job today.”
His client nodded and left for the locker room.
Spencer let out a silent sigh as he looked over that day’s results.
Lawrence was pleasant enough, but very much one to go about the business of his workouts without additional conversation or commentary.
It took a bit of effort to hear how he’d been doing between sessions or how the exercises were working for him.
This client couldn’t have been any less like Misty, and Spencer wasn’t just saying that because Lawrence was five-foot-five and starting to go bald.
As if his thoughts had conjured her, a woman of her height and long auburn hair headed in his direction. She was part of the group leaving Studio B.
“Misty?”
She turned to face him, showing a bright blue sports bra, blue leggings, and acres of bare skin in between. Her face was flushed, and her limbs dripped with sweat. She was carrying a t-shirt under one arm and held a familiar-looking water bottle in her other hand.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just got out of Cardio in the Club. You know how that class is. If you’re not paying attention, you could miss a step and wind up on your ass.
” She paused to drink from her water bottle but pulled away with a frown at the sight of the “Rinse and repeat (no, really)” message at the bottom.
She walked to a fountain on the wall, and he followed.
“And I needed the distraction,” she said as she filled her bottle to the “Get ready to make a splash!” level at the top.
“What’s wrong?”
She took a long gulp of water before answering. He couldn’t take his eyes off her throat. “Waiting to hear about the combine is killing me,” she said as she finished drinking.
“How much longer until you find out?” He thought back to the message she’d first shown him but couldn’t remember.
“I don’t exactly know, but every day that passes puts me a little closer to finding out. And pretty soon, they’ll have no choice but to tell me. It’s like I’m back to applying for college.”
He grimaced. “I remember that feeling all too well. What else are you doing tonight?”
“Showering, for starters.” She gestured to her sweaty self. “Then...I don’t know, finding something to watch that’ll keep my mind busy. Maybe not a feel-good sports movie, too close to home at this point—”
“Or maybe you shouldn’t sit at home driving yourself crazy. Want to have dinner with me?”
It came out before Spencer knew what he was saying. He didn’t make a habit of socializing with his clients. At the same time, she wasn’t a client anymore. The thought depressed and thrilled him in equal measures.
Misty looked a little surprised, too, but her expression smoothed into something more relaxed. “Sure. Grain bowls and smoothies?”
He rolled his eyes. “The cafe will be closed by then, and we can do better than that anyway. Look at all the great places around here.”
As they settled on an upscale diner-type place near the gym, Spencer felt his mind racing beyond logistics. If he’d met her anywhere else but at work, how would things have gone by this point? What would they have done?
To try to imagine, he looked back on his recent dating history.
Before things had gotten serious with Haley, he’d had his share of adventures and one-night stands during tournament travel, and it had taken a bout with gonorrhea to set him on a path of greater moderation.
After the engagement had ended, he’d gone to the other extreme and taken a long time to get back on his feet in that area.
As it currently stood, a few months had passed since his last date, and he was looking forward to this one.
****
As Misty put the finishing touches on her makeup, it occurred to her for the first time that she could have called Tish or any of her other friends to keep her busy.
But time with Tish would only have added to her worries about waiting for the combine email, two of her roommates were out of the country for work, the one in town was more interested in decompressing after her last transcontinental flight than distracting, and her kickball teammates had barely crossed her mind since the season ended.
Some might think having dinner with her one-time personal trainer was pathetic, but there was no one she’d rather be with tonight than Spencer. Suddenly, she was reminded of getting ready for a date. But this wasn’t... Was it? Did she want it to be?
She found herself taking extra care with her hair and taking a second look at her outfit. A denim jacket would pair well with this dress, offer backup in case the night got too chilly, and present a more casual look if it turned out this wasn’t a date.
If nothing else, she wasn’t checking every folder of her email and stressing out about the wait for the results. Instead of checking her phone yet again, she stuffed it in her bag, slid on a pair of ankle boots that paired well with the dress, and headed the few blocks to the restaurant.
As she arrived, Spencer was approaching from the opposite direction.
He wore a light gray top with black pants and a sharper pair of sneakers than she’d expect for training.
He paused at the restaurant’s oversized windows, seeming to look for something, then walked right past her, taking his phone out of his pocket.
As she felt her purse vibrate from her ringing phone, she realized what had happened.
“I’m over here,” she called.
Spencer turned at the sound of her voice and did a double-take. “I didn’t recognize you with your hair down.”
“I’ve taken it...” But even as she spoke, Misty couldn’t think of a time she’d fixed her hairstyle in front of Spencer. Even the day they’d met, she’d had her hair up.
“And you got taller.” A hair taller than him, and she hadn’t noticed until he was standing right next to her. Some guys got defensive after seeing her standing taller than them, but she didn’t hear any of that in Spencer’s voice. If anything, it sounded lighter than at the gym.
“It’s the shoes.” She angled her foot to call attention to her boots’ heels.
“Looks good, though. You look good.”
“Thanks. You clean up pretty well too.” In the weeks she’d known him, she’d never seen Spencer in anything but gym-branded shirts and workout gear.
He looked more stylish than she had ever pictured him.
The cut of the shirt drew attention to the breadth of his shoulders, the tone of his arms, and the carved nature of his chest.
He held the door open, and they headed inside. The weeknight meant they could get away with walking in without a reservation, and they were escorted to a table just off the bar.
“What are you thinking of getting?” she asked as the waiter dropped off their menus.
“What?” Spencer asked, leaning across the table. With the music at top volume, she didn’t blame him. She leaned closer as she repeated her question.
“You can get anything. I’m not going to put restrictions on you.”
“I was just making conversation.” Was this going to be weird? Maybe she should have gotten straight what this was going to be before agreeing to it.
He shook his head. “Hard habit to break. I didn’t think of this as trainer and client, just as...people, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” Her heartbeat spiked, and her mood along with it.
He inhaled. “Starting over, as two regular people, what were you thinking of?”
She felt herself relax but stayed leaning forward so she could hear him. “Anything that comes with fries.”
“I don’t blame you. They’re great here.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t have thought I’d hear you say that.”
“Moderation’s important,” he said. “I’m not saying anyone should eat like this all the time, but there’s nothing wrong with a treat now and then, especially depending on where you are.”
“If that’s how you feel, why not get bone marrow-splashed fries?” She pointed to an item in the Sides section.
“Twist my arm.” Sure enough, when the waiter came to take their orders, he asked for the specialty fries with what the restaurant called “Le Burger.” Misty’s sandwich came with truffle Parmesan fries, and she had no complaints whatsoever about that.
“Anything to drink?” the waiter asked.
Before answering, Spencer glanced at her. “I’m not a big drinker, but don’t let that stop you if you want something.”
She thought about it. “I wouldn’t rule it out, but not right now. Just a sparkling water to start, please.”
“I’ll have the same.”
“Excellent.”
The waiter headed off, and Misty leaned closer so Spencer could hear her over the music. “How highly indulgent.”
“It’s just for today. Besides, I’m the type who’d rather have good fries once a month or less than cardboard fast food fries every day. It seems like a good balance to me.”
“Balance is important. I swear, what was supposed to be Tish’s performance diet turned into her regular diet sometime in high school.”
Spencer’s eyebrows shot up. “I still can’t believe you’ve been friends that long.”
“Longer. I don’t even remember exactly when we met. We were at the same school, K through 12, did track together...Then she got recruited by Columbia, and I went to Pratt, so we were still in the same city and able to see a lot of each other.”
“Wow.” He shook his head as if dazed. “How did we see each other so often and all that never came up?”
“It’s not like I learned a ton about you,” she pointed out. “Even though you dropped some pretty interesting crumbs into conversation.”
He looked more surprised than he ought to. “I did?”
“You did, Mr. Kickboxer. Was that just a hobby, or did you ever turn pro?”
He glanced away briefly before answering. “I spent some time as a pro, got engaged to a fellow fighter, but then I tore my ACL and had to hang up my gloves after surgery. We broke up a few months after that.”
Misty winced on his behalf, both from the injury and at hearing about the death of those dreams. Without even thinking about it, she reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged, maybe a little too easily. “That’s what got me into personal training.
I tried working at an insurance office for a while, but couldn’t take it.
Picture every stereotype you’ve ever heard about corporate life, and you’d find it at that place.
But then a friend asked me to help his actor brother learn some moves for a role, wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I realized there was a career opportunity there.
One where I still get to do what I like to some degree. ”
She nodded. “I hear you all too well. Picture every stereotype you’ve heard about micromanagers, and you’ve got my twerp of a former boss. Is it any wonder I went freelance?”
“What were you doing before that?” And how had that never come up during their time together?
“I was working my way up in the graphics department of an ad agency where I interned during college. I loved what I was doing, but not so much the environment I was doing it in or the fact that my old boss kept Slacking me at two in the morning for crap that always could’ve waited until work hours. ”
She shook her head before continuing. “Then one day, an author contacted me about some fan art she’d seen on my socials of two of her most beloved characters.
A special edition of their book was about to come out, and she wanted me to draw memorable scenes for the inside covers.
It became a bestseller, other people started reaching out to me, and it was so demanding that I couldn’t keep up with that and my ‘real job.’ I had to choose one or the other, and it was no contest for me. ”
“Wow.”
She smiled modestly. “Yeah, my parents thought I was crazy to give up my title, company health insurance, and all the other benefits. And yeah, I’m living with a bunch of roommates for longer than I ever wanted to, but I feel better for it.
No more corporate clothes, no more coworkers stealing my snacks and ideas, no more filling my days with boring, do-nothing jobs just for the sake of my butt at a desk at certain times of the day. When I’m working, I am truly busy.”
His expression lightened. “I can’t say I get bored at work easily, either. What works for one person might not work for another because people have such different personalities and goals. I mean, you’re the first person I’ve ever met who wanted to try out for a bobsled team.”
“Are you complaining or complimenting?”
“Definitely complimenting. You’ve forced me to think so far outside the box I don’t know how I’ll get back in.”
She smiled. “So maybe you don’t.”
“’Scuse me.” The waiter had returned with a basket of bread and a little bottle of olive oil, and he placed them both near their hands.
Misty hadn’t removed hers from Spencer’s, and he hadn’t moved away.
She briefly wondered who’d be the first to break, but the focaccia looked too tempting.
She lightly squeezed his hand before removing it to take a piece. He smiled and joined her in it.