by Silla Webb
“Earth to Madden!?”
“Huh?” I stop suddenly and glance down at Jordan, her hand waving wildly in my face.
“You spaced out on me. Making sure you weren’t having any anxiety issues.”
Damn. She gets me right in the chest. I shake my head to clear the thoughts and try to find the words to string together a coherent sentence.
“Right as rain, darlin’.” I run my hand through my hair nervously. “Four pm. See you then.” I head toward the door but turn back when I hear Jordan.
“You better eat your Wheaties for breakfast; bitch camp officially starts tomorrow.”
Fuck. I’m in over my head.
CHAPTER FOUR
JORDAN
“Hey, Bryn,” I greet the yoga and fitness instructor/sometimes receptionist just as Madden walks out the front door.
“Your five-fifteen cancelled, Jordan,” Bryn says, looking up. I grab the tablet to check my schedule. And my five-fifteen has just cleared my evening. No complaints at all!
“No worries. I can fit a quick run in, then.” I shrug then turn to walk away.
“So that was your newest client who just left?” Bryn asks, leaning over the counter and squinting to watch Madden walking through the parking lot.
“Yeah…”
“He’s kinda cute … backside ain’t too bad either. I like ’em big. I dig the dad bod.”
“Bryn. Really,” I deadpan.
“Ohhh-kay! Sheeesh, just complimenting a fine specimen. Loosen up, Jo.” Bryn crosses her leg under her rear and picks up her Kindle, returning to her book.
“Who’s cute from behind?” Ugh…
“Jordan’s new client! You just missed him, Gia!”
Gia juts her hip and crosses her arms, snark lingering on her lips. “Oh of course because heaven forbid there be more than one trainer with a roster full of clients!”
Here we go again.
“Bryn, you manage the scheduling. What’s it gonna take for you to evenly schedule the clients with all the trainers?”
“Well, uhm, Gia, clients pay for the trainer of their choice. I can’t help it that Jordan is our highest requested—she’s the owner, after all.” Bryn looks from me to Gia.
This has been Gia’s chief complaint for months, but Bryn is right. Every client has the option of choosing the trainer they prefer to work with. Why she’s bickering at Bryn about this is beyond me. Gia’s client roster is small, but to no fault but her own.
“You could always teach a class, Gia,” I suggest.
“Oh really, what exactly do you suggest I teach? No positions are open!”
“That’s not what your clients say…” The words trail off as I walk away.
Jordan—1
Gia—0
I can’t help it. I shouldn’t be ugly and insult an employee like this, but her argument is void, and she kinda stumbled into this whole mess. She only wants to train the gym rats—you know, the men who have already achieved their ideal figure and workout simply to maintain. Always chasing a man for his looks and body. She’s been written up before for being rude to a client, and two more strikes and she’s out. Gia doesn’t have the same goals for her clients as I have. She certainly isn’t the ideal role model for Dumb Belles … well, maybe the dumb part. I question my sanity often on why I hired her to begin with. I wanted to believe that Gia had actually grown up since high school. That she wasn’t the mean girl she was all those years ago. Each day she reveals just a little more that she is, in fact, that the same girl has always been.
Gia and I have never seen eye to eye—literally or figuratively. She’s a five-feet-nine Barbie with blonde hair that is always tied back in a thick ballerina bun, her baby blue eyes shining bright against sun-kissed skin—or the UV rays from bed four, your call. And of course with her height, you know she has legs for days.
Me, I’m just a plain Jane with dark brown hair that is always a rat’s nest on top of my head, fair-skinned with a smattering of freckles where the sun kissed but didn’t tan, and friendly honey brown eyes. We’re worlds apart, and I’m okay with that.
I’m finally at a point in my life where I’m okay in my skin and try not to compare myself to others. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and no two people ever see with the same set of eyes.
I reach the row of elliptical machines and take the one in the corner, farthest from the group of cheer moms who walk every night while their daughters are in the gym for practice. They seem like a friendly crew, though I’m sure that’s wine in their water bottles.
I plug my earbuds into my ears, the workout playlist already blaring, and set my pace. I need to clear the negative energy that Gia consumed me with. My workouts are sacred. I push the stress away and focus on happy thoughts that can only strengthen me. Demi is only half-way through, “Sorry not Sorry” and I’m already in my zone, out here feeling like a ten.
As the negativity dissipates, I find myself thinking back to Madden. Sure, he has a friendly and flirty presence, but he comes across as confident and fun-loving, where most of my male clients are cocky and overbearing in the way they communicate with me. Most don’t listen to instruction and try to outdo their reps just to look macho, and that’s a major turnoff.
I was certain that was exactly the rocky road our trainer/client relationship was headed down after our first interaction. The fact that he came back, apologized, and paid such close attention during our session leads me to believe that he’s invested in making this work and improving his health. Madden is different, I can sense it. There is more to him than meets the eye. I bet his little girl is a firecracker. I’ll have to remember to ask Laney about her and give her hell about the prank they pulled on him.
I finish up my workout with some reps on the ab machines and call it a day. If I go home now, I can hopefully get a full eight hours of sleep tonight. After an evening with Netflix, of course.
I pull into the driveway to find my sister’s husband and five-year-old nephew shooting hoops. No, I don’t live with my sister; I’d kill her if I had to live with her OCD tendencies day in and day out. Kyle, my brother-in-law, has more patience than a saint. Not just any man would be able to co-exist with Erin. I love my older sister more than anything, so it is completely fine for me to point out that she can be a bit stubborn and aggressive, but she has a heart of gold. That is what makes her such a good lawyer.
“Aunt JoJo,” my nephew Kenny screeches as I climb from my Jeep. “I beats me daddy by two whole points.” Excitement jumps in his eyes.
“Yassss! Ken-Man for the win!”
He throws himself into my arms full speed, wraps his arms around my neck, and pulls on my earlobe with his chunky little fingers. I reciprocate by pulling his lobe as well, it’s kinda our thing, and his laughter is infectious. This kid, he is always the best part of my day—he’s my best friend. I set him down and ask, “How was school today?”
“Ms. Laney says, uh … uh, she says that I’m too curious for my own good sometimes.”
Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good. Kenny is a good kid; he’s just a little more mischievous than most. Erin says that he reminds her of me at that age, so that may be why Kenny and I share such a strong bond.
“What are you curious about?”
“Ms. Laney said that she was taking dollas from her husband and candy from babies.” His face is so serious while he says, “I told her it wasn’t nice to take things that don’t belong to you.”
I can’t hold in my laughter. This is freaking great! I can’t wait to talk to my friend. I have lots to aggravate her over. Gambling and stealing—Laney has been busy. After five minutes of shooting hoops with Kenny, Kyle finally manages to drag him inside for his bath and some dinner. I politely decline their invite to join them for “basghetti” and make my way up the stairs to the apartment above their garage that I call home.
Once I have showered and eaten a healthy dinner of salmon and veggies that I meal prepped earlier in the week, I pull out my cell phone to ca
tch up with my good friend and preschool tamer.
Laney is already giggling when she answers the phone. “Good evening, Jordan, with a clit, not a dick.”
What the what? My friend has no filter, and it often makes me wonder how many times she must have to come up with crazy explanations on the daily in order to not completely corrupt the class of young minds she’s supposed to be molding.
“My God, Lan, your mouth is worse than most of the arrogant, nasty shitheads at the gym. How in the hell you get folks to trust you to not corrupt the young, impressionable minds of children is beyond me.”
She laughs and goes on to tell me about the bet she and Carter made and the trick they played on Madden. “I honestly don’t know how Madden didn’t figure it out beforehand because Carter practically gave it away!”
“He definitely didn’t like the fact that I’m a woman.”
“Yeah, he came by to pick Belle up and was pitchin’ a fit about it. I don’t know if he was more pissed that you were a bitch or that we bet on his failure. We even bet on whether he’d return or not, and I totally lost that one! Fucker. But Carter said his momma would have his ass if he didn’t apologize for being disrespectful…” She falls silent then continues. “Which I guess is the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“It was nice. Most men in that situation wouldn’t have the courage to show their face again. I’m excited to train him.”
“Kick that pussy’s ass, Jo!” Carter yells in the background.
“You know, I can’t remember the last time we had a chat that Carter wasn’t inserting himself in the conversation. I mean, does it get old, teaching preschoolers all day then coming home to a toddler?”
Laney laughs. “He’s starved for attention, Jo.”
“We’ll have to get together soon. Lunch? We can share our most recent horror stories.” Sometimes Bryn joins us when there’s time in her schedule.
“Yeah, that sounds great! How abo—” Laney squeals, and I hear a thud with her laughter echoing in the background. Did she just drop me?
“Laney, what the hel—"
“Talk later, Jo! Time to tap that ass!” Carter yells, then the line goes dead.
*~*
I’m dragging ass when I make it to Dumb Belles the next morning. I like to do some type of cardio before meeting with my clients—a short run outside or maybe a spinning class if I can make it to the gym before one begins. I didn’t sleep the best last night. I really wanted to get a full eight hours, but apparently my brain and body weren’t on the same wavelength. Simply, I couldn’t steer my thoughts very far away from Madden Davenport. Maybe the reason I keep going back to him is because he reminds me so much of the previous me. He reminds me of the person I was six years ago.
Never in a million years would I have thought I’d end up a fitness trainer. Ten years ago I was the female version of Madden Davenport. My weight has been an issue for as long as I can remember. I wasn’t what you would say, obese; I was just chunky. My granny always told me I was just “big boned” trying to make me feel better. Appearance never really bothered me until I hit high school and became the girl who was immediately “friend-zoned”, not pretty enough to date. I was cool to hang out with, talk sports with, and joke around with. My very best friends in high school were always guys. Like Madden, all it took for me was one life-altering event to get my mind right and push my ass in the right direction. I lost over eighty pounds within the period of a year, and words cannot describe how much it impacted my overall health—physically anyway. I’m still a work in progress on the mental aspect.
My schedule is completely packed for the day, so I don’t have much time to let my thoughts drift to anything other than the clients I’m working with.
Today it really begins.
Today we decide on Madden’s rewards for the milestones I have mapped out for him.
I’m hopeful that he will come in with the same attitude he had yesterday and is ready to work.
Around 3:30 I become a little anxious and oddly excited for Madden’s session, so I grab the spray bottle and a towel and start wiping down the equipment. Whether I’m at the gym or at home, I always disperse my nervous energy into cleaning. Hundreds of people pass through Dumb Belles daily, and this place is nasty with blood, sweat, and tears—literally.
“Don’t y’all have a cleaning staff to do that?” Madden asks from behind me, and I startle as I jump and turn quickly, spraying the cleaning solution right in his face.
Well, at least he’s punctual.
“Damn it!” Oops. “I mean, sorry! I’m sorry! You startled me, and I was in my zone, man.” There you go, Jordan. Throw him in the friend zone with dude talk. Madden laughs as he raises his shirt and wipes his face.
I take a deep breath and assess him in this moment. He’s dressed in gym gear and trainers, holding his water bottle. A complete 180 from the man I met two days ago.
“Jordan,” he says, in the most formal manner, “no apology necessary.” His tone makes me smile because this guy is anything but formal. Respectful, yes—now he is. Polite—in his own way, but he’s a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kinda guy, and I add that to the list of reasons why Madden Davenport may end up being my favorite client.
In an effort to diffuse some of the tension and the awkwardness of the situation, I turn on my best professional voice. “Good afternoon Mr. Davenport, lovely to see you again.”
If the look on his face wasn’t so slack jawed, I may have been able to keep a straight face, but he’s so shook by the sudden change in my behavior that he bursts into laughter. “Loosen up. A little spray ain’t never hurt anyone,” he says and gently pats my shoulder as he continues laughing. It doesn’t take long for me to join him in chuckling, and I can literally feel the tension seeping from body.
“You ready for bitch camp?”
“Reckon I’m ready as can be, darlin’.” The smile on his face is wide, but I sense this is all a rouse to cover his nerves.
I lead him over to a small table in the left corner of the lounge and motion for him to have a seat. Once we’re settled, I pull his profile up on my phone along with the notes I made from our Q&A yesterday.
“Madden,” I ask, “yesterday I asked you to think about some rewards for yourself as you hit each milestone. I also asked you to think about your weaknesses.”
“Ah hell.” He sighs. “I thought about it, but damn, I don’t want to completely grow a vagina in front of you.”
“How is rewarding yourself the same as cutting your dick off?” I ask him sarcastically.
“Just pick’ em out, Jordan, I don’t know.”
“Let’s start off easy. What’s the one food you are going to miss the most?” His brow quirks as he stares at me, deep in thought. “What’s the one treat you always opt for? Your weakness?”
Without hesitation, without blinking or stalling, in a whoosh of breath he blurts out, “Cupcakes, any kind of cupcake.”
This makes me smile. Something we have in common—cake. Let’s be honest, cake is the best—cake is life. Cake is why I have to put in extra miles on the elliptical or treadmill each week.
“I like the way you think; cupcakes are one of my weaknesses too.” He needs to see that even those of us who are somewhat in shape like the same things he does, but we have managed to learn to have them in moderation. He needs to understand that just because he has decided to put his health first doesn’t mean he has to give up the things he enjoys.
“You,” he says quizzically, all his attention on me, “like cupcakes?”
I scoff and cut my eyes to meet his. “Pal, my greatest love affair has been with cupcakes.”
He chuckles, so I move us along. “For your first milestone, which will be at twenty pounds lost, your reward will be a cupcake of your choice.”
He nods in agreement, so I push on to ask him about a bigger reward. Something he wants to do for himself, something he may have shied away from because of his increase in size. “Swing for the fences. What
will your reward be at forty pounds loss? What is it that you really want?” His demeanor sways as he shifts in the chair, and Madden looks uncomfortable and unsure of himself. This is odd, I haven’t seen this side of him yet. He rubs his hand over the back of his neck, and suddenly the floor has become his only object of interest.
“Hey, do you feel okay?” I ask worriedly. Maybe he’s feeling ill? The man did just have an episode that landed him in the hospital.
He straightens quickly. “NO! No, no, nothing like that. Embarrassed is all.”
“No judgement here. I’m here to help, Madden.”
“I want to catch the one who got away. I want to get back on the horse. Maybe go on a date.”
He blurts this out all as one sentence, so it takes me a minute to get with the program. I study him for a moment, and all this does is further my curiosity about him; where is his daughter’s mom?
Is he married?
Was he ever?
I realize that he’s opening and closing his mouth, searching for words, when I decide to put him out of his misery.
“Who’s the girl?”
“That’s a story for another day.” He chuckles.
“But there is a girl, isn’t there?” Curiosity gets the best of me, and I have to know.
He smirks and shakes his head. “Another day.”
“Okay, how about this?” I ask. “Once you have lost forty pounds, you ask a girl out on a date. It doesn’t have to be the girl, but you at least get back out there on the dating scene.”
He ponders this for a moment, and I can tell that this is a touchy topic for him. I’m willing to bet that he hasn’t dated at all since becoming a father. It looks like he’s going to protest, but I can’t have that, so I decide to goad him.
