by Silla Webb
“Call me before your session Monday, Mad.”
“Why?” Yeah, I’m still rooted in my spot, standing here like a dope who doesn’t know up from down. And my voice is gritting and rough, and to Jordan I probably sound pissed. I am, but not at her.
“You need to go home and rest, Madden. Seriously. You just had an anxiety attack, and I know you’re slowly coming down from that adrenaline high, so you don’t need to overdo it. You may need to see your doctor before you return to training.”
“Like hell, Jo—”
The pre-game clock is ticking down, and the teams will take the field soon, so the concession area is crowded with fans getting their snacks for the game. Jordan grabs my arm and wrestles me out of the way of the crowd.
“Don’t argue with me; please, Madden. I’m only trying to look out for you.” Are those tears… She turns to look away from me and wipes at her face. I can’t explain why I do it, what’s come over me, or the urge to console her, but I grip her arm and pull her into my chest. I’m probably overstepping my bounds, but to hell with whatever consequences I may face for my actions. Jordan’s breath catches in her throat, but I rest her head against my chest and kiss the top of her head.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She wipes at another tear then wraps her arms around my waist, and I swear she breathes me in.
And my heart, that ticker in my chest that is bound and determined to kill me, well that little fucker might have just skipped.
This is a tricky situation.
I’ve been attracted to Jo since I first laid eyes on her, but I put my guard up and fought it because I’m miles behind her fuckin’ league. Jordan is smart, sweet, funny and tough as hell. I’m just an overweight single dad trying to get my shit together. I like her, that much is fuckin’ obvious to the world, and putting my feelings out there on display is probably the dumbest move I can make, but we’ll just chalk it up to the lack of oxygen I just experienced from the anxiety attack.
“Go watch the game. I’ll text you when I get home since you’re so concerned about my well-being, and I’ll call my doctor first thing Monday morning.” Her arms fall to her side as she steps back. Then, pulling her trembling lip between her teeth, she crosses her arms over her chest, almost hugging herself because she misses my warmth.
Hey, fucker, get that shit out of your mind. You know she’s better than you’ll ever have. My conscience is an honest dick.
“But, Jo,” I grip her chin and tilt her head up, forcing her to look at me. The hurt swirling in the depths of her eyes nearly guts me, and this feeling in my chest pisses me the fuck off. Why can’t I have her? Why am I not good enough for her? She’s easy to talk to. She’s fun. Yeah, I’m fuckin’ pissed because I’m feeling things for Jordan I don’t want to feel, and I don’t know how to overcome it. “First, you’re too pretty to cry; especially over a fat fuck like me.” Flames alight her eyes, and they narrow into thin slits as she glares at me. “Which is why I’ll still be at my training session Monday. Even if we just do light cardio”—I put her hand over my heart, the beats out of sync and scattered—“because I can’t quit training. You’re making me a healthy man, a better man, and I refuse to give up because of a small attack.”
I release her chin and wrist, my hands going back to the confinement of my pockets. If I don’t hold myself back, I can’t be accountable for my actions.
“I’m not arguing with you, Madden. If you want to train Monday, I’ll be there. But please”—she shakes her head and puffs out her cheeks—“see your doctor.”
“Promise.”
“Are you safe to drive home? Should I call Carter?”
Fuck no, that asshole doesn’t need to have any part of this shit show. I shake my head, sucking up the courage to go crawling back to my seat. “Nah, I think I should be a gentleman and at least offer Jasmine a ride home … if she’s still here. I’ll see you Monday.”
Jordan gives a curt wave and heads to the opposite end of the stadium. I return to my seat to find a roided-up bald dude with his chest painted sitting there with Jasmine rattling on and on, baseball glove in her lap.
“You need something, dude?” the bald dude asks.
Jasmine turns to me, and she smiles maniacally. “Oh, there you are. Did you get the popcorn?” How did I not see the crazy glint in her eye when we first met?
“No, it wasn’t ready yet. I’m not really feeling well, so I can take you home”—she glances at the guy beside her, in my seat—“or I can pay for your Uber.” The asshole in me shrugs because I don’t have any fucks to give at this point.
“Miller, can you give us a minute, please?” Roid-rage gives her a chin lift then shoulder checks me on his way out of the aisle. If she was worth the fight, I’d speak up, but this shit ain’t worth it. “Sit, Madden. We need to talk.”
Sighing, I return to my seat and wait for her to deliver the inevitable blow. And I ain’t even mad that it’s coming. I’m actually relieved. Jasmine blows out a puff of air, and even that annoys me. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore. It’s not you; well, actually it is. I mean, you’re kinda deceitful, Madden. I told you I love sports, and I was all excited to come out with you tonight. But you didn’t tell me we were coming to a baseball game. I’m not happy with that. This environment is just”—she looks around the stadium then back at me—“barbaric. I mean, who expects people to sit in the sweltering heat and watch paint dry? What are they even doing? And the concession stand doesn’t even have hot chocolate! I thought you understood the importance of that memory with my daddy, but no. No hot chocolate, Madden.” Jasmine rattles on and on, telling me all the ways our newfound relationship—that I thought was just a first fuckin’ date—won’t work. “And then, a week after we start talking, I find out you have a child? You should have been man enough to tell me that from the get-go. I’m not ready to be a mom, Madden. I mean, diapers, and could you imagine how my breasts will sag after I breastfeed the little brat?”
I hold my hand up, cutting her off. “And let me stop you right there, Jasmine. There’s no need for you to further humiliate yourself. There’s also no need for you to belittle my child. This was a first date—not a marriage proposal. I’m sorry that your delusional mind twisted things up for you. I hope you enjoy the game.”
I grab my glove and stand to leave, Jasmine shouting behind me, “MAAAADDDEEENN!! How am I supposed to catch the black disc thingy now!!!”
Dating—2
Madden—0
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JORDAN
“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” Bryn’s voice startles me from staring down at my phone, waiting to hear from Madden. He promised he’d call his doctor first thing this morning after having an anxiety attack Friday night. But so far, nothing. I look up as Laney stomps into the gym in a slouchy dolman top, capri sweats, and Adidas kicks.
She points her styrofoam Cook Out huge tea at me and sasses, “I’m only here because my best friend is a bitch who made me feel guilty for not working out.” She pulls the straw between her lips and slurps the remnants of saccharine sweet Diabetes in a cup. “Damn it,” she grumbles, staring at the cup in obvious disgust as she marches behind the desk and tosses it in the trash.
With demanding careers and hectic schedules, Laney and I don’t get to spend time together as often as we’d like.
“Alright, Healthy Lady, what’s first?”
Nice. My favorite sassafras preschooler has been gossiping with her teacher, who just so happens to be my bestest frenemy. Yes, Laney is my frenemy today.
Why?
Because she loves to stick her pug nose in my business at every turn, thinking she’s only looking out for me when, in reality, she’s only getting in the way. But I guess when I look at it like that, I kinda do the same thing to her when I guilt her into working out, right?
Oh whatever. I guess we both have our faults. The important thing here is that Laney has obviously been manipulating an i
nnocent five-year-old kiddo for information. But why?
“Earth to Healthy Lady.” Laney snaps her fingers in front of my face, which is really annoying. I have personal space issues that nobody really knows about—it’s a quirk—but she’s already grating on my nerves. My phone vibrates in my hand, but I grumble internally when I realize it’s an alert from the bank for an incoming charge. “Or, would you prefer I call you Hot as balls Trainer?” Laney laughs when I cut my eyes at her. Urgh! This is gonna be a very long hour.
“How did you manage to get out of work today? Better yet, who’s at Tybee Tots manipulating preschoolers for personal information, Lan?” She scrunches her face up at my accusation and rolls her eyes.
“Jo, I love you. You know you’re my favorite bitch.” She looks around the gym, probably making sure Bryn isn’t within earshot. “But you’re a total ball-buster somedays, ya know? Lighten up a bit.”
I shoot her a look half-resting-bitch-face, half-bored glare.
“I can take personal days just like you can. Perks of being a boss babe.” She winks. I motion for her to follow me back to the ellipticals. Laney drops her bag beside the machine then digs out a water bottle. After strapping my phone into the fit band, I set her machine then mine and start the session.
“And FYI, I didn’t manipulate Belle for information. She offered it up freely.” Laney grins at me, but I’m not buying it.
“Yeah, how’s that?”
“I asked her if she enjoyed riding home with Ken-man. Personally I think her nickname for you is freakin’ adorable, and it only proves that Madden talks about you to his daughter, Jo.” Lan stops suddenly and glares at me. “To. His. Daughter. Do you realize what that means?”
“Nooooo,” I draw out. Should it mean something?
“Girl, you’re too pretty to be so oblivious. Madden likes you. How do you not see it?”
And here we go again with Laney meddling into my personal life. “Lan, stop. Madden and I are friends. He’s a client. There’s nothing more going on between us.” My phone vibrates against my bicep, and I glance down at my watch to check the notification. Ugh, why hasn’t this man messaged me?
“Yeah, I’d be convinced if you weren’t stressed and checking your phone with every notification. Let me guess—you’re waiting for Madden to text you because he had a small panic attack at the game Friday night, and you’re worried about letting him train without his doctor’s consent, right?”
“Your argument is moot, Lan. Of course Madden would tell you and Carter about his panic attack, you’re like family to him. She continues her pace on the elliptical, probably hoping to drown out my argument. But tough tits. “If it were you, I’d want clearance from a medical professional before you continued training too.”
“Bullshit, Jo. You’re putting blinders on and building walls up around yourself. Leave the construction to the guys—you suck at it.”
“Heeey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Laney’s pace has increased to a light jog, which is kinda impressive considering her idea of exercise is Kegels or running laps around her kitchen island while Carter chases her from behind naked. Yeah, she’s painted that picture one too many times. I could probably pick Carter’s cock out of a lineup based on the vivid detail of which she’s described his man parts, down to the vein that runs up the left side of his length to the volume of his semen when he orgasms.
And I just realized, Laney shares far too much information that I should not be privy to, and I’m probably demented for imagining a cock lineup with Carter’s impressive nine inches shrouded in disguise under a black hood and Ray-bans. Damn it. My best frenemy has warped my brain, and maybe she’s right. I might need to get laid.
“Jo! Answer your damn phone!” Laney slaps at my machine, gaining my attention. I look up at her then down at my phone, Madden Davenport calling, flashing across the screen.
“Heeeeyyy, how are you feeling?” And that was probably too chipper of a greeting for Madden to only be a friend, right? But my brain is on overload with all this interrogation about my crush on Madden and imagining Carter’s dick. Damn it, my brain needs bleached!
“You sound awfully happy for a Monday morning,” he replies, and I pick up on the slight laughter in his voice.
“Meh, my current client is a bit of a twat, so not really.”
“Heeeey, Mad!” Laney yells in the background. She hops off the elliptical and slaps my ass, mouthing Bryn and pointing in the direction of the yoga studio.
“Shit, that is a rough morning if you’re working out with Laney. I’m sorry.”
I stop the machine and climb off, grabbing a bottle of spray and paper towels to clean up behind Laney and me. Gyms are hubs for germs, viruses, and infections, so disinfecting the machines is super important. I go to my office as I continue talking.
“It will be better if I get to see my favorite client today. Did you see the doctor? Everything okay?” Annnddd… I need to talk to Carter about some liquid nail or duct tape—something to stave off the fuckin’ word vomit I have with Madden.
“So I’m a favorite, huh?” Maybe this is why everyone thinks Madden is interested in me. Or that I’m interested in him. I’m sending him mixed messages. The imaginary line drawn in the sand separating us as friends has obviously been scattered about. Hell, even I’m confused about my feelings for Madden, so I definitely need to take a deeper look into the situation.
“Did I say that?”
“You did, Healthy Lady, and maybe I might get lucky and earn some brownie points with my favorite trainer.” I fall back into my desk chair, my legs suddenly weak from the deep timbre of Madden’s tone. Immediately, I feel the sensation of his callused fingers grazing my chin, and I pinch my eyes closed to hold on to that memory.
“Brownie points, huh? I thought you were a cupcake man. Don’t tell me you’ve crossed over to the dark side?” At this point I have no idea what this conversation means or what we’re even talking about. The flirty banter is strong, though.
Madden clears his throat, the sound deep and rough and sexy. “I got a clean bill of health from my doctor. And the best part, he took me off the Metoprolol. I have it all in writing. So are we good to workout today?”
“I’m ready and willing.” I kick myself, again, because my choice of words are only digging me deeper into this distorted situation.
“I’ll see you at four.” Madden ends the call before I can reply. I toss the phone on the desk and rest my head against the chair. I don’t want to read too much into things with Madden, so I need to tread lightly until I’ve had time to think. He’s obviously said something to Carter and Laney that would lead her to believe he’s interested, so—
My thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door, which opens with Laney and Bryn entering. “I cleared your schedule until four”—Bryn winks—“so let’s go.”
I grab my phone to check my schedule. I don’t cancel on clients, and I’m not sure why Bryn would think that was an okay thing to do. Thankfully I only had a small trio of golden girls blocked off between noon and two, and it looks like Bryn moved them to Gia’s schedule—cue eyeroll—so the clients aren’t inconvenienced with a sudden schedule change. I’m sure I’ll get to hear lots of complaints and gossip come Wednesday when the trio return for their next appointment.
Phyllis, Patsy, and Claudine are three of my favorite clients, living out their golden days in a beach house together on Tybee Island. It was the only way the trio could afford the oceanfront property on their meager retirements, but it was a pact they’d made forty years ago when Phyllis’ husband had the first of many heart attacks—if they were met with the misfortune of becoming widows, they’d retire to the island and take care of each other. Friends till the very end, they always say, and I think it’s sweet that their friendship has withstood so many ups and downs through the years. They’ve been friends longer than I’ve been alive, so that’s pretty fuckin’ awesome.
My workouts with the golden girls are one of my favorites
. You can learn a lot from old women if you’ll listen close enough. I imagine, Laney, Bryn, and I fifty years from now, old and saggy, hitting on young hot studs in the gym. We have lots to look forward to.
“Time’s wasting, Jo! Move that tight ass,” Laney demands. I might punch her in the tit before the day is over.
“Where are we going?” I ask as I stand from my desk and slide my phone in the pocket of my leggings. Pants without pockets are just sad.
“Girls’ day!” Bryn and Laney chime in unison. So they planned this, ambushed me. I can’t even trust my best friends. Bitches.
Bryn locks her arm with mine and leads me out of my office and through the lobby, with Laney bringing up the rear. We pass by Gia at the front desk, and I turn back to look at Laney when Gia’s mouth gapes open in disgust. But of course, if Laney were smiling from ear to ear and flipping me off while groping her crotch, I’d probably be offended too. Lan’s imaginary dick is likely as big as Carter’s. She’s all in your face with crass personality. You can’t take Lan anywhere without some sort of embarrassment, and I’m not even sure why I put myself through her antics.
I swat my hand at her and pull her alongside of me as we bust through the double glass doors. The parking lot is fairly empty for this time of the day; most of the workout buffs crowd through the doors after five pm when their workday ends.
We load into Laney’s Camaro, seat belts necessary because she drives like a maniac. Laney cuts the corner hard as she pulls out of the parking lot and onto Butler Ave. “That elliptical worked up an appetite. Spike’s sound good to y’all?” Laney asks.
