by Silla Webb
My internal battle has reached an all-time high on Thursday when I get to go to the gym. I’m stressed, I’m tired, and my mind is all over the place. I’m waiting by her office to start our workout and vow to not be a douche-canoe today. Jordan has been able to sense that something is off. Even after the joke I made on Monday to ease her embarrassment after seeing her deep throating bananas, she still looks at me like she’s studying, like she knows that I’m distracted. I hope to God she can’t read minds, but who knows; women know all kinds of voodoo shit. The sound of her voice alerts me that she is near, so I look up just as I see her walking away from her last client.
No, no, no, no—this is fucking bad. Jordan’s dressed in tight Nike pants like always, but she has chosen today of all fucking days to forgo the tank top and is only wearing a sports bra. I hadn’t seen an ab muscle in years, and I’m pretty sure that’s what they’re supposed to look like. I’m such a dirty, filthy, bad man. I scan her body up and down multiple times as she walks toward me. Friends, just friends I repeat and then once out loud looking down at my crotch because obviously he didn’t get the memo.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JORDAN
“So, Jo,” Nash Walters huffs out in between ab reps, “you have plans tonight?” Nash is the catcher for the Savannah Sailors, a single A farm team for the Atlanta Braves. He’s been my client since Bryn introduced me to her baseball-playing cousin a year ago, and we’ve become pretty good friends.
“Nash…” I give him my best wink and the right amount of sass. “Baby, are you trying to make me your plans tonight?” He flashes his signature smirk. This banter, this flirtation is a norm for us. Nash is one of the best guys I know. We clicked right away when I met he and Bryn one night for drinks and bonded over March Madness. I’m not sure who was screaming at the TV louder—him or me. We are both total sports junkies, so we always have tons to talk about. And, ladies, let me tell ya—on the days he works out, I get paid to watch his perfect physique sweat and contract. Yes, be jealous, bitches. Nash is freaking off the charts hot, and anyone with a vagina is attracted to him—except me. I know him, we’re friends, and we settled that very early on. Not that he’s never hit on me before because he has. And not that I don’t enjoy the flirty banter because I do. I know he’s out of my league; regardless if Bryn tells me otherwise. Nash is the less crass version of Maverick.
“Sweetheart, you know I always want to make plans with you.”
See, he gives just as good as he gets with me.
“I have a couple tickets to the game tonight. It is kid’s night, and I thought you might want to bring Ken-man.”
I smile because Nash may be a male whore, but he is always thoughtful.
“A couple as in three?” I ask, knowing Bryn will want to go. She’s always down for anything that involves athletes in baseball pants who she can openly gawk at.
“You think I’d offer, if I didn’t have enough for you, Ken-man, and Bryn?” he scoffs, “I’m taking hot yoga next. My cousin is already a drill sergeant in those classes, and I don’t need to give her any more ammunition.”
For the next thirty minutes I put Nash through a core workout and opt to do a lot of the exercises with him. The definition in his chest is one of the things I’m most proud of. He was already cut when he started coming to Dumb Belles, but now he’s more defined. His teammates and coaches have all noticed it, and thanks to his word of mouth I’ve picked up a couple more semi-pro baseball players on my service who will start next week.
My eyes go to my watch and then back to Nash on his last set; Madden should be here any minute. I hope next week will be better, and I can prevent any self-mortification where Madden is concerned. It seems I’m always making a fool of myself around him, and well, I’d rather spare myself the humiliation and potential loss of a client. Madden was really sweet on Monday, trying to make jokes so I wouldn’t feel so awkward about deep throating a banana in front of him, but things between us have still felt strained this week. Awkward even. And not just on my part, but from him too. I think something may be bothering him, but I can’t overstep my bounds. We can’t be all nosing in his business.
Nash and I are walking toward the front of the gym when I see Madden coming out of the locker room ready for his workout. Madden Davenport looks nothing like the same man. I’m not just referring to the weight he’s lost—yes, it makes a difference—but I’m referring to his overall look. He looks healthy, he looks alive, and not like the shell of a man who freaked out because his trainer was a girl. I smile in his direction and give him a wave, indicating to come on and we’ll get started. He acknowledges me with a nod and starts in my direction.
“See ya later, Jo,” Nash says as he bends down to kiss my cheek, and I playfully slap his abs. This is us; this is what we do.
“Good luck tonight,” I say to his back as he walks toward the yoga studio.
“Darlin’, I didn’t know kisses on the cheek were accepted at the end of workouts,” Madden drawls, “I’ve been missing out.” I know he’s saying this to appear as a joke, but it comes out with more snark than anything he has ever said to me. I’m taken aback by his tone.
“You never asked, darlin’,” I instinctively bite back in my most saccharine sweet Southern tone and pop my hip for good measure. I’m well aware I’m flirting with the man who has repeated over and over this week that we’re just friends. I’m not so sure I was supposed to hear all the times he said it, but I don’t think he realized he was talking out loud either. I don’t care. I’m finally comfortable enough in my own skin to show off my finest sculpture. I work just as hard on my own body as I do training my clients. I’m rocking this hot ass sports bra, and my stomach is looking tone and defined.
I’m not even sure he heard me or witnessed me display sass; he’s too busy perusing my body. My male clients devour me with their eyes often; Nash does it all the time, so it’s not new to me. But seeing Madden do it … I don’t know. It feels different. Shit, is it hot in here? Focus, Jordan. Workout. He is your friend. Your client. I chuckle to bring him out of the zone.
“Come on,” I tease him with a wink and add a little more shake to my walk, “let's get it on.” The minute the words leave my mouth, I realize my mistake. I look at him, and his eyes are as big as saucers. Fuck me, that is what I get for trying to be all flirty and shit.
“Shit,” I stammer, “let’s get on with it.” Shaking my head, I walk away to the sound of his laughter.
“I’m right behind you, Marvin Gaye.”
It’s a total dad joke, but I walked right into that one.
Focus on the job, tune it all out. That gets me through the next hour with Madden. I put him through one of the hardest workouts yet. He is ready to kick it up a notch; I can tell by how easy the other workouts are becoming for him. It’s my job to keep pushing him. So that is what I do.
“Damn Jo, ” he says through heavy, deep breaths, “you tryin’ to kill me?”
“Not today, ” I joke with him. Looking at his watch, his eyes go wide.
“Fuck, I’m going to be late.”
Don’t ask, don't ask, don’t ask. “Big plans tonight?” Sure, Jo, go ahead and ask, you nosey bitch.
Madden blushes and stutters out, “Ummm … I have a date.” He is so red-faced, he looks like a schoolboy. It’s cute, but not in a pervy way. The knot that now sits in my stomach is my fault. I asked. My ass apparently has nothing on the size of my mouth.
“To be honest, I’m not sure that I’m even cut out to date,” Madden continues the conversation, but I think he’s talking more out loud than to me, but I listen anyway. Wouldn’t want him to think I’m being rude. The man has likely formed enough negative thoughts about me as is. “The last date was a disaster, and even though this girl—her name is Jasmine—seems nice enough, I don’t know. Dating isn’t what it was when we were teens, ya know.”
Noooo. I really don’t know. I don’t date. I’m married to Dumb Belles and have little time for socializin
g, even though Laney is hell-bent on hooking me up with a man. I think that’s more of a need for sexual stimulation rather than having a companion, but she doesn’t realize a good vibrator is all I need. Thanks again, Amazon.
I realize Madden’s mouth is still moving, and I got so lost in thought I think I’ve missed much of what he’s said. I shake my head to clear it just in time to hear “… that problem, do you?”
Luckily the ringing of his cell phone sucks all the awkwardness from the conversation and my lack of attention. “Sorry, I gotta take this, Jo.” He nods and turns around.
“Hey, Mom,” he answers. He takes a completely different tone with his mom, and it’s sweet. I bet he is a momma’s boy. I go about cleaning the equipment, which oddly enough puts Madden right in my line of sight. He sighs, and I look up and notice that he suddenly looks resigned, frustrated even. He shakes his head and mumbles, “It’s okay. I get it. I will find a way to take care of it.” He disconnects the call and drops his shoulders.
And because I don’t know who I am today, and I’m not normally this nosey with clients, but I can’t stop myself, I ask, “What’s wrong?”
“Mom was going to pick up Belle for me this afternoon, but she has a flat. The tow truck is on the way to take her to the shop now, but…”
He looks so defeated in this moment. I can’t imagine how hard it is to be a single parent.
“I’m supposed to pick up Jasmine at 6:00.” Jasmine? Oooh, yeah. His date. I bet she really is a Disney Princess. Is he taking her for a ride on his magic carpet? He sighs loudly, once again pulling me from my rampant thoughts. Damn it, Jo, focus! Madden starts thumbing through his phone then curses. “Shit, it’s already 3:30, and I hate to ask Laney to keep Belle after preschool. She already deals with kids all day long.”
“I have to pick up Kenny this afternoon, so I can get Belle.” Apparently, the line between my brain and mouth no longer works.
Madden looks at me as if I have lost my mind. Hell, maybe I have. “What?” I ask him.
“You have a kid?” His voice slightly shrieks as if surprised.
“Nooooo…” I stress, shaking my head. “He’s my nephew. Erin’s kid.”
“Ahh.” He nods, gettin’ it. “You would do that?”
“Sure, I have to be there anyway. Plus, I want to be Belle when I grow up, so I would love to spend some time with her. I can pick her up then drop her off to your mom.” Then I go on to add, “I kinda owe you one for drowning you in puke a couple weeks ago.” Word vomit—I’m plagued with it around this man it seems. Ugh!
Madden sighs in relief then picks up his bag. “I can’t thank you enough. I’ll call Laney and let her know you’ll be picking Belle up. I’ll text you Mom’s address.” He digs around in his bag then brandishes his wallet, reaching me a twenty. “She’ll probably be hungry, so feed her whatever you feel is acceptable.”
“Don’t offend me, Madden. Keep your money. This is my treat. After all, friends help friends, right?” That’s right, Jo, shove him in the friend zone. Make that shit known. He has been chanting it all week, after all!
Madden blushes, stuffing the cash into his wallet.
“I appreciate it, Jordan. I’ll catch you next week.” He rushes out of the gym, and I hang back, putting distance between us. I can’t help feeling in over my head when it comes to Madden Davenport.
*~*
Laney greets me with a lopsided smile when I reach the front door of her classroom. She is too smug thinking she knows something, but there is nothing to know. I’m doing a favor for a friend. Nothing else to see here or be smug about.
“Jo, you here to get Ken-man?” she asks, smile in place firmly.
“Cut the shi … crap, Laney.” I give her my most annoyed look. “You know I need to get Belle too.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Kenneth and Belle. Grab your backpacks, kiddos.”
I smile as my nephew rushes toward me and wrap him up in a bear hug. I love this kid. He’s my buddy, and he’s always happy to see me. “Hey, Ken-man!”
“Aunt JoJo!” He smiles as he hugs my neck tightly and then whispers in my ear, “We don’t have to take her to shoot hoops with us, do we?” I chuckle because he is still in the “girls are gross” phase. I offer my most serious face and instruct him to mind his manners.
“So, Healthy Lady,” Belle finally speaks, “guess I’m ’posed to go with you.” I laugh because it’s hard not to.
“Yep. Your daddy got called to a site.” I bend down to get eye level with her. She’s going with someone new for the first time, and I want to make sure she is as comfortable as she can be. I smile at her.
“You’re not going to make me exsiscise, are you?” she asks. “Daddy says you may be hell as hot, but you bust balls.” It rolls off her tongue matter-of-factly, but there’s no way she has any idea what it means.
“He did, did he?” I ask
“Bad word, she said a bad word!” Kenny emphatically announces, “Mrs. Waney, Mrs. Waney, bad word.”
“He’s so dramatic,” Belle rolls her eyes. “Hell is a plwace, not a bad word.”
The kids continue to argue as I grab their backpacks and attempt to wrangle them to my Jeep and get them buckled in. Oh good Lord, this should be one interesting evening.
*~*
Belle’s eyes light up like stars, and Kenny’s widen like saucers when we pull up in front of Mabel’s Cupcake Emporium in the Savannah Historic District. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive from the island, and we may pass half a dozen bakeries along the way, but you’re not living your best life if you’ve never had a cupcake from Mabel’s. It’s totally worth the drive, and I must admit, I’m almost as excited as they are. Like I said, my longest love affair has been with cupcakes.
“Healthy Lady,” Belle says, but Kenny is quick to correct her.
“She has a name, Belly.”
“I know that,” she spouts back to him, “and don’t call me Belly. Only my daddy calls me that.” Taking a long breath, she finishes, “Her name is hot as hell trainer, but I like Healthy Lady better.” She harumphs, crossing her arms over her chest as she’s made her point. Before I can even get my mouth open to tell her to call me Jordan, Kenny is already squalling, “Bad word, bad word, bad word.” While Belle is simultaneously squalling, “It’s a plwace, plwace, plwace.”
I hop out of the Jeep and open the back door just in time to interject. Ken-man’s face is tinged red, and his little hands are balled into fists. He’s quite the angry little preschooler, defending his favorite auntie. Belle, that kid couldn’t care if it snowed oats. She’s chill, the argument long forgotten in her mind. “Belle, your daddy told me to feed you before I take you to your grammy, and he specified something I would approve of.” Her brows furrow as she looks from me to Mabel’s, and I continue. “But Ken-man and I have a tradition, and I think you might be cool enough to be included.”
“Yeah, what’s that, Healthy Lady? This plwace have those healthy muffins disguised as cupcakes? You think you can twick me? I know my cupcakes, Healthy Lady.”
How do you respond to a five-year-old whose personality is sassy and brazen and pointed as Belle’s? I don’t know if she’s serious or annoyed, but it’s cute as hell. Yeah, she’s my soul sista for sure. Belle is a kid that women everywhere could learn from, and I’m not quite sure where she’s learned her strength, but damn. Kid has guts. It’s inspiring.
So, I give it back to her as good as she gives. “Kid, do I look like the kind of woman who would joke about chocolate ganache infused devil’s food cupcakes topped with cocoa buttercream frosting?” Her eyes twinkle, and she rolls her lip between her teeth, trying to bite back a smile. Belle’s being cautious with me, just a bit guarded, and it makes me want to earn her trust all the more.
“You actually look like a healthy lady who doesn’t even know what chocolate is,” she challenges me. Oh do I know what chocolate is, dear girl. At one point in my life it probably could have been my middle name.
&nbs
p; “Well, I did promise you a cupcake date, and I’m not one to skimp on promises. So let’s go, sass.” I reach in and unbuckle Belle’s seatbelt then Ken-man’s. I help Belle out of the Jeep, but Ken-man is used to the height, so he jumps down on his own.
We enter Mabel’s Cupcake Emporium, and I stop to inhale the sweet scent of chocolatey goodness. “Belly, why are you copy-catting my auntie?” Ken-man accuses, and I look down and notice Belle’s little chubby face with her nose scrunched in a deep inhale and euphoria sparkling in her gaze.
“Chocolate makes my soul sing,” Belle chimes, and the smile on her face is downright adorable. Yep, this kid is my new best friend, even if she doesn’t want to be. I’ll win her over. It’s a goal I’m determined to achieve.
We make our way to the display case where Ken-man chooses his ever predictable strawberry shortcake cupcake. Belle is completely overwhelmed by the choices; her eyes gleam with joy as she bites her lip. Crap, I didn’t think to ask Madden if she has any allergies, and I honestly don’t think she’d really know. Not at five, right? But I know for a fact that chocolate cupcakes are her favorite; she told me this herself the first time I met her. “Belle, do you know what cupcake you’d like?”
“How do I choose, Healthy Lady? They all look so yummy!” Her voice shrieks with excitement.
“Well, you said chocolate was your favorite, so why not have a tried and true classic,” I suggest. A shameful admission of guilt here, but I’ve literally tried every flavor of cupcake Mabel offers, and the chocolate ganache devil’s food cupcake is my absolute favorite. That cupcake is better than sex … considering I haven’t had sex in an embarrassing length of time, I guess really isn’t saying much, right?
