Trained At The Gym: A Contemporary Reverse Harem Romance

by Cassie Cole

Brody

  Unlike most guys, I was highly aware that women didn’t want to be ogled at the gym. They were there to get their workout in, not be objectified or leered at by all the men around them. Sure, I would notice the people around me at Rocky Mountain Fitness, but it was always just a passing glance. Enough to smile and nod at the regulars. Nothing more.

  But as Katherine walked away, it was hard not to admire her.

  She was curvy, with a sexy hip-to-waist ratio accentuated by her tight yoga pants. An ass as round as a peach, and full breasts that not even her sports bra could hide. Her eyes were round and beautiful, and her reddish hair was tied back in a ponytail that swayed as she walked. And the way she smiled and blushed as if she was bashful around us…

  I found myself intensely taken by her.

  “I think she’s going to give you a run for your money this quarter,” Finn said.

  That knocked me out of my trance. “You think so? I thought she was a novice.”

  Finn leaned on the second-story railing and gazed down into the main cardio room. “She’s got a background in cross-country running. And she crushed the weight session today. I think she has that spark. With the right motivation…”

  I glanced at the closest scoreboard screen. She was just twenty-seven points behind me. Granted, it was the first day. I had ninety days to build and maintain my lead.

  I hefted my tablet. “Good thing I can do all my work on the exercise bike. I can live here if need be.”

  Finn grinned widely. “That’s practically cheating. So you’re going to be in Denver the whole quarter? When you first started coming here you said you weren’t sure how long you’d be in town…”

  “I’ll be here until the fall. I plan on putting my name on the wall one or two more times before heading back to California.” I thought back to what Katherine had said. “What business does she own?”

  “I just met her. Something local, probably.”

  I chewed that over. Being a small business owner meant working more hours than your typical nine-to-five job. In the end, there was no way she could keep up with the hours I spent at the gym.

  But it would be nice if I was wrong and saw more of her…

  I rose from my chair and tossed my smoothie in the trash. “Back to it.”

  Finn high-fived me as I passed. “Keep crushing it, bro.”

  Yet as I went downstairs and mounted an exercise bike, my mind drifted from the spreadsheets on my tablet to the girl I’d just met.

  7

  Katherine

  I woke up the next morning feeling like the Rockies had crushed me.

  Rolling over in bed made my stomach and chest ache painfully. My legs were like rubber. Even my eyelids seemed sore, as if I’d exercised them yesterday too.

  I groaned. “I think I’m going to die.”

  I realized that my alarm hadn’t gone off. What had woken me? I grabbed my cell phone and saw that I had a text message:

  UNKNOWN: Morning, Katherine! This is Finlay Hadjiev, from RMF. Here’s a link to your PPL workout spreadsheet. I’ll be updating it every workout, but let me know if you have any questions.

  UNKNOWN: Also, I bet you’re feeling awfully sore this morning. That’s totally normal. The best thing for you is some active recovery. Light spinning on the bike to get the blood flowing to your aching muscles. Our expert spin class instructor is doing a recovery spin class at eleven, and noon. You should swing by! If not, I could talk him into giving you a private lesson later tonight. Just let me know what your schedule looks like and we will figure something out.

  “Finlay Hadjiev?” I muttered. It took me a minute to realize that was probably Finn.

  Then I laughed at the contents of the text. There was absolutely no way I was going to exercise today. I wasn’t sure if I could even get out of bed.

  Me: Thanks, but I’ll probably skip the gym today. I think three times a week is a good goal for me.

  Finn: I get that. But do me a favor? Pack a gym bag, just in case you change your mind. And if not, I’ll see you tomorrow.

  After getting out of bed and preparing for the day, I grudgingly packed a gym bag with shorts, a top, and tennis shoes. I only had one sports bra, so I gave it the sniff test before tossing it in the bag as well.

  Today was warmer than yesterday as I walked to work. Although I was practically limping at first, my legs started feeling better by the time I got to Magnolia Street. The building under construction on the corner was already a flurry of activity: there was a cherry-picker raised above the front door, and a Denver Decals and Signage truck parked next to it. They must be putting up the sign for the new business, whatever it was. I crossed my fingers and hoped it was a Panera Bread.

  I said hi to Paul and went into the back room to work. I spent several hours finishing reviewing the December transactions in Quickbooks, which gave me the final profit for the last quarter. The number put a huge smile on my face. It was the best quarter yet, by a wide margin! That wasn’t surprising since we always had a big holiday rush, but even our year-over-year numbers were massive improvements.

  I leaned my head out the office door. “Paul, you’re getting a big Christmas bonus.”

  He blinked at me from behind the register. “Oh, yeah? Right on, man!”

  I settled back into my office chair and eyed the stack of vinyl records I needed to review. But I couldn’t bring myself to open the first one. I was feeling the itch to exercise. Back when I was in college, exercising was an important part of my routine. I needed the daily endorphin rush that came after a good workout as much as I needed my morning coffee. If I didn’t get it, I was grumpy.

  This morning, I could feel that very same pull. My body wanted me to do something to get that hormone release.

  Helping that desire was the fact that I already felt welcome at RMF. Most gyms were intimidating when you were new. Finn, however, was as friendly as could be. It was like having a workout partner, rather than a gym employee. It seemed like he believed in me as a person, not just as a customer. I was excited to see him again, and I didn’t want to let him down by skipping a day.

  I grabbed my gym bag, told Paul that I was taking an early lunch, and headed out the door.

  I could have changed clothes in my office, but I wanted to take a shower at the gym after my workout. The cheerful girl wasn’t behind the front desk today, but an equally friendly man waved to me and welcomed me. I scanned my wrist monitor at the kiosk and then went into the women’s locker room. It was nicer than I expected. Big and clean and smelling fresh, not dank like a high school gym. This place was definitely worth the money.

  Once I was changed, I went upstairs to the cycling class. There was a screen by the door that showed today’s schedule:

  11:00 - RECOVERY - 32/32 SLOTS

  12:00 - RECOVERY - 29/32 SLOTS

  13:00 - FREE SPIN - 14/32 SLOTS

  16:00 - ADVANCED - 25/32 SLOTS

  I cursed. During the tour, Finn had told me I needed to sign-up for most classes in advance. And the eleven o’clock class was full! I was early, so I peeked my head inside the spin room.

  Three people were already on bikes, but that’s not what immediately caught my attention. At the front of the room was a man bent over, facing away from me. He wore compression shorts that hugged every ounce of his tight little butt. From behind I could even see the outline of his bulge. His thighs and calves had zero fat on them, and his muscles looked like they had been chiseled from marble.

  He finished tying his shoe and turned around. He was tall and lean, and had a rugged, handsome face made of hard planes and straight lines. He blinked at me with eyes as green as summer grass.

  “Welcome, Katherine,” he said to me in an authoritative tone. He must have been the instructor. “You here for the recovery class?”

  I gave a start. “How’d you know my name?”

  He gazed implacably at me. “For one thing, you look like a Katherine.” He paused, then added, “There’s also a screen above t
he door that displays the name of everyone whose wrist monitor passes through the door, to make it easier for us instructors to remember names.”

  I looked over my shoulder. Sure enough, there was a small screen which presently showed my name in big, red font. Another woman walked through the doorway, and the name changed—although hers was in a different color.

  “Why was my name red, and hers green?” I asked.

  The instructor—his nametag said Max—gave half a smile. “Green is for the members I like to see. Red is for the ones I hate. Sorry, you got sorted into the hate list. I’m going to have to work you harder than the rest of the class.”

  His tone was completely serious, but the half-smile told me he was joking. God, he’s gorgeous, I thought. It was hard to think of anything else while he was looking at me.

  “I…” I muttered.

  He finally took pity on me and dropped the act. “Green is for the members who signed up for the class in advance. Red is for the troublemakers who just waltz in here like they own the place.”

  I winced. “I forgot! This is only my second day here, and my personal trainer Finn just told me about this recovery class this morning… Should I come back for the noon class?”

  Max cocked his head. “Ohh. You’re the platinum member Finn told me to save a slot for.” He took my wrist with one hand and tapped his wrist monitor to mine. There was a soft beep noise, and Max nodded. “You’re good for the eleven o’clock class. This time. But next time remember to sign up ahead of time, or I’ll put you in cycling jail.”

  He seemed like he was half-serious, and half-joking. I couldn’t get a read on him. “Is cycling jail worse than regular jail?”

  “Oh, it’s much worse. Prisoners eventually get out of regular jail. But cycling jail goes on and on until your legs fall off.”

  I smiled. “I’m quite fond of my legs, so I’ll definitely sign up next time.”

  He looked me up and down. Not in a sexual way, but like an instructor trying to gauge a new student’s fitness level. “Let me guess. Finn’s got you on his PPL workout, and you’re practically dying after day one.”

  I laughed. “That’s exactly it. I could barely lift my arms this morning!”

  “You’re not the first. But it’s a good lifting routine. Finn is the best personal trainer we have here at RMF. You’re lucky he was assigned to you.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “And he’s right about this spin class. Getting your blood flowing is important for recovery, even if it’s your arms that ache. As far as spin classes go, this one’s pretty easy. If you want a real workout, you should come to one of my daily spin classes. It’ll have you hot and sweaty in no time.”

  He gave me another grin. Was he making these euphemisms on purpose? He had to be.

  “You might want to invest in a good pair of bike shorts,” he said, gesturing to my lower body. “Those shorts look good on you, and they’re fine for this recovery class, but if you do any real cycling you’ll want shorts with built-in cushioning. Grab a bike, the class is about to start.”

  Those shorts look good on you. I doubted the compliment meant anything. He probably complimented all the members who came to his class, to get people to come back. But as I selected a spin bike and scanned my wrist monitor on the machine, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

  The class filled up steadily. Then a familiar face came through the door and hopped on the bike next to mine.

  “Two days in a row,” Brody said approvingly. “Starting the year off strong, huh?”

  “Trying to,” I said. “Though you’ve already built up a pretty large lead in our age group.”

  He shrugged awkwardly. “It’s early. Glad to see you out here, though. Max’s class is one of the most popular.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Brody. “If I’m your competition, why are you glad to see me out here?”

  The question made his fair skin turn a shade of red, just as it had yesterday. “Oh. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Sorry! I wasn’t trying to insinuate—”

  “It’s good to have competition,” Brody said in a rush. “It pushes all of us to be better. That’s all.”

  I nodded and groaned inwardly. My second day here and I was already embarrassing my fellow gym members. Nice going, Kat.

  Max started the class promptly at eleven. He rode on a bike at the front of class, and the projector screen behind him displayed a biking trail through a redwood forest, full of lush green and deep browns.

  My legs felt like lead at first, but they quickly warmed up. Max chatted with the class while spinning gently, talking us through our trail ride. He seemed to know most of the other people in the class, and asked about their personal goals. Jen was training for RAGBRAI in July. Candice was doing the Portland-to-Seattle bike ride in the summer, and wanted to do more mountain training.

  It was like being with a group of friends, not a class full of strangers.

  “Triathlon training going great, Brody?” Max asked.

  Brody flashed a thumbs-up. “I’ll be ready for the Alcatraz Triathlon in no time.”

  “You’re crazy, man,” someone else said. “You couldn’t pay me to try that swim.”

  Brody shrugged. At the front of the class, Max said, “Hey, watch who you’re calling crazy. I’m doing Alcatraz too this year.”

  “Alcatraz?” I asked Brody.

  He glanced at me and nodded. “It’s like any other San Francisco triathlon, but the swim is from Alcatraz island. They usually hold it in the summer, but this year they have an April race too.”

  “It must be freezing!”

  “Wetsuits are required,” he agreed. “But that’s part of the challenge.”

  “Last mile, everyone!” Max announced. “I’m increasing the resistance on your bikes, so push it hard! Let’s finish with an elevated heart rate!”

  Despite Max’s assurance that this was an easy class, my lungs burned by the time we finished. But my legs felt strangely invigorated, and my upper body wasn’t as sore as it was when we had started half an hour ago. I hopped off the bike feeling ready to go for another ride.

  “Nice job today, rookie,” Max said on my way out. “I expect to see you at one of the regular cycling classes soon.”

  I laughed and said, “We’ll see.”

  “Don’t forget to buy some cycling shorts!”

  I grabbed a smoothie at the Nutrition Bar—mango this time—then showered and changed in the locker room. I texted my brother to thank him for the membership, and walked back to work feeling like a million bucks.

  Paul was standing on the sidewalk outside the store, staring off into the distance. “Paul, what are you doing out here? Put a coat on.”

  “Uh.”

  I frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  Wordlessly, he extended his finger to point.

  At the construction site at the end of the block, a crane was lifting a new sign off the ground. I couldn’t see what it was from this angle until it rotated in the air.

  PACIFICA VINYL

  8

  Katherine

  My jaw dropped when I saw the sign. “Oh no.”

  Pacifica Vinyl was a chain store that sold vintage vinyl records. They were founded in Oakland, California but had quickly expanded up and down the west coast. Over the past decade they had put a lot of small stores out of business, but they had remained localized in California, Oregon, and Washington.

  Until now, I thought.

  “Oh man,” Paul moaned. “The new store is a Pacifica.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. My brain refused to accept it.

  “Boss-lady. You seeing this?”

  “I see it, Paul. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  I walked down the street to the new store. I hoped that maybe we were misreading the sign from afar, but as I drew closer there was no denying that it was the Pacifica Vinyl name and logo. And now that I realized what it was, I recognized the interior la
yout through the open windows. Low tables that would hold crates of vinyl records. Listening nooks where comfortable leather chairs could be placed for customers to listen to records before buying them. A bar in the corner where coffee and pastries would be sold.

  Shit. There was no denying it, now.

  “Hey,” I asked one of the construction guys who was watching the sign being lifted into the air. “So this is going to be a Pacifica Vinyl, huh?”

  The guy rolled his eyes at me. “What does it look like?”

  “When is it supposed to open?”

  “How am I supposed to know?” he asked.

  I bit back an insult and said, “You should have a construction timeline, right? When does it end?”

  He eyed me like he didn’t want to answer, but then decided telling me what I wanted to know was probably the quickest way to get rid of me. “We’re due to complete all the interior construction in March. So I guess it’ll open sometime after that.”

  “You’ve been very helpful,” I said sarcastically.

  I walked back to my store. Paul was shaking his head discouragingly. “We’re done. There’s no way we can compete with Pacifica, especially one that’s right down the street.”

  “Paul…”

  “This is it,” he insisted. “Game over, man.”

  I grabbed him by the shoulders. “Paul, calm down. This is fine. We were here first. We have a loyal customer base. They’re not going to switch to the big, corporate store.”

  Yet as we went back inside my store, my own panic began to rise deep in my chest, like the flu. There were other competing vintage record stores around Denver, but none within three miles of my store. The fact that Pacifica Vinyl was opening, and it was on the same block as my store…

  There was no freaking way I would be able to compete with them. Sure, we had a loyal customer base who loved the exposed brick and personal atmosphere of my store. But eventually, the draw of Pacifica would be too great. A big store like them would be able to undercut my pricing, selling at a loss in order to gain market share and put me out of business. Whether I lasted a few months, or a year, or even longer, eventually I would go out of business.