Love Cursed

by Julia Derek

  I wasn’t sure if it was her generous gift and sweet words in my phone that made me feel relatively okay today, only two days after Aidan had dumped me, or if it would have happened anyway. Either way, I was glad I was in a fair mood as I walked up to the fitness desk at Crunch. That’s where I’d meet the person who would turn me into a more toned, slimmer version of myself, and hopefully also into a fitness fanatic.

  Only one person was there and it was not a female. When I’d signed up with the health club over the phone last night, the membership director told me I would be paired with a female trainer named Holly. I wanted to work with a woman trainer. The guy leaning against the counter was definitely not Holly, but he was good-looking, so I couldn’t help but do a double take. He was tall and built like a middle-weight boxer with black, longish hair that curled at the ends. His dark eyes were surrounded by lots of long eyelashes and his smooth skin was a light olive. His arms below the sleeves of his black T-shirt were covered with tattoos of a design I hadn’t seen before. They were… awe-inspiring for lack of a better word. He contemplated me with a serious expression and eyes so hot they felt like they were burning two holes in me.

  Is this guy a gang member? I suddenly found myself wondering. I had done a paper on gangs in college recently, and something about all those tattoos had made that thought pop into my head. No, surely he wasn’t. I couldn’t imagine that any reputable organization would ever hire a gang member to work for them. Judging from that shirt he was wearing, it seemed he was working here at Crunch. Maybe he was another trainer.

  “Are you Ricki?” he said in a voice so smooth it made me think of Bailey’s Irish Cream. He was smiling a little now, which made him seem a lot less intimidating.

  “Um, yes, I am,” I replied. How does he know my name?

  He extended a square hand in my direction. “Hello, my name is Dante and I’ll be your trainer today. Holly unfortunately won’t be able to train you, so she asked me if I could do it.”

  No knowing what else to do, I shook Dante’s hand. “Oh, okay. Hi.”

  He motioned to a corner at the far end of the gym. “Why don’t we go over there and talk a little? I need to go over your health history before we start.”

  He spoke in a way that told me I was not supposed to answer, so I didn’t and just followed him instead. As we walked side by side into the gym my mind was racing, completely making up for the silence between us. “ …so she asked me if I could do it.” What the heck was that supposed to mean? Did he actually think I was going to train with him? I had requested a female trainer for a reason. Training with a male was way too embarrassing, especially a hot male like this one. I would never be able to concentrate if this guy was my trainer, even for one session. Not that he was my type or anything; he was way too dangerous-looking. I was having an increasingly hard time breathing walking so close to him, and surely that would only get worse if he trained me. Which meant I’d pass out from lack of oxygen to my brain. If that happened, who knew if he’d bring me back to life? Maybe he was a gang member after all. A crazy gang member who’d kill me if I didn’t finish my set of pushups or whatever he’d have me do. Stab me with a knife that he pulled out from his gym pants or something. Oh, God. Like I didn’t have enough problems in my life…

  When we reached the far end of the gym, the corner he’d indicated, he motioned for us to sit on the two plastic chairs there. By then, I had decided to tell him I wasn’t feeling great and that it was best if we skipped this session. I’d be happy to compensate him for his time, of course. Or he might kill me.

  But as I opened my mouth to tell him this, he gazed at me with those hot eyes that felt like they burned holes in me and the words never left my tongue. It was as though he commanded me to be quiet with the power of his searing gaze alone. All of a sudden he smiled wide, displaying a row of milky white teeth so perfect he could be the poster boy for a toothpaste commercial, and I felt myself relax. It was like a different person was sitting before me now. Yeah, this guy isn’t actually a gang member. I wanted to laugh at all my crazy thoughts then. That was all they were, crazy thoughts and me being neurotic.

  He glanced down at the clipboard in his lap for a moment, then his smoldering gaze returned to me.

  “What’s your full name, Ricki?”

  “Ricki Averin.”

  “Date of birth?”

  “November three, 1989. I’ll be twenty-four then. So I’m twenty-three now.”

  He gave me another of those hot gazes, minus the sweet smile, intimidating me again. What am I doing? Oh, God, I hope he doesn’t think I think he’s stupid or something.

  But then that dazzling smile returned and my neurotic thoughts ceased as suddenly as they had started. “Thanks for clarifying that, Ricki.”

  We kept going through my health history, covering every imaginable disease I could possibly have, as well as any injuries I might have sustained over the years. Fortunately, I was completely disease and injury free.

  “You haven’t even sprained an ankle once?” Dante asked, looking like he thought I might be lying. But I wasn’t.

  “Nope. Sorry to disappoint. But that’s probably because I’m not the most athletic person in the world.” I shrugged and grinned apologetically.

  “That’s okay. That’s why you’re hiring me.”

  I did my best not to frown. What made him think I would continue training with him after today? So I might go ahead and do this session, but I very much doubted I’d do any more. No, as soon as I got hold of Holly, I’d tell her I wanted to continue with her, not with a potential gangbanger who might snap and kill me at any given moment.

  When we were done with the health history and I’d explained my fitness goal to Dante—to look like Gisele Bundchen—upon which he’d been nice enough not to laugh in my face—we went over to the gym floor to start working out.

  He stopped next to a couple of huge guys who were spotting each other doing bench press, and a slender girl in hot pants and a minuscule sports bra that did little to support her boobs. She was jumping rope, her boobs looking dangerously close to falling out of her bra each time her feet connected with the floor.

  Dante positioned himself so he was standing with his back to the girl, probably because if she was in his line of view, surely he’d be unable to focus on me, his client, who was not nearly in as great of shape. Yet, I reminded myself and smiled inwardly. Give me two months and people will be able to bounce quarters off my buns of steel!

  “Okay,” Dante said, “so why don’t we start by you giving me thirty jumping jacks to get you warmed up?”

  “Sure,” I said and started doing jacks, feeling inspired for the first time since I set foot in the gym. The first ten were not too bad, the next ten harder, and the last… seven felt impossible.

  “Why are you stopping?” Dante asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “That was only twenty-seven.”

  Oh, he noticed that? Crap. I decided it was best to play stupid. So, in between gasps for breath, I said, “Really? I thought it was thirty. And I’m pretty good at counting.”

  “No, it was only twenty-seven. Give me ten more.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Ten? Why”—I had to catch my breath some more—“why do I need to do ten more? I thought you said thirty, not thirty-seven.”

  Dante raised a brow and gave me one of those hot looks that burned holes through my skin. “Are you the trainer or am I? Give me ten more, I said. Right now.”

  I stared at him, outraged. Who does he think he is, ordering me around like that?

  Even so, I started jumping, completing the ten jacks he wanted. I was too scared not to.

  “Good girl,” Dante said. “Now let’s do some squats.”

  “Squats?”

  “You heard me. Have you never done a squat? This is a squat.” He put his hands on his hips and sank down into a deep squat and back up again a couple of times, using perfect form of course. “Now give me twenty of those.”

  “Twenty?
Really?” I was stalling; I needed some more time to catch my breath before I did anything else.

  He sighed. “Yes, twenty. You told me you wanted to look like Gisele Bundchen, right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Well, then let’s get cracking. Go!”

  I put my hands on my hips the way he had done and began squatting as deeply as he had, though I was sure my form was no way near as good as his. During the last one I went down so deeply I nearly fell backward when I tried to stand back up, but he caught me before I could fall. I wasn’t sure if the jolt that went through my stomach as he grabbed my arm and pulled me back up was because I was so embarrassed or because his touch felt electric against my bare skin. Either way, I was glad it was gone once he let go of me.

  Dante

  I removed my hand from Ricki’s arm, having made sure she stood firmly on the ground before I did so. This chick was something else. The kind who argued about everything and who thought you got the body you wanted by putting in minimal work. I’d only been working at Crunch for eleven months, but I had already learned which clients were worth it and which ones were not. And this one fell squarely into the second category. Even if we hadn’t trained for more than a few minutes, I could already tell.

  Fuck. Why had I told Holly I was available? Bad move. And this morning Holly had texted me again, telling me there was no chance in hell she’d have time for this client, so I needed to keep her.

  I wanted to punch myself. Why had I felt the need to act like a cocky asshole, suggesting that this broad was hiring me? What if she ended up wanting to do that, even though she bitched about everything? Stranger things had happened. Well, I’d do my best to make sure it didn’t. I’d train her so hard she’d beg for another trainer when we were done, but not so hard she’d hurt herself. I didn’t want her to complain to my manager or I’d get in trouble. Tonya might like me, but she liked the members more and I didn’t need any trouble. I just needed to last at Crunch for another year to prove to the judge presiding over my case that I was able to function in society and hold a job. After that, I could get on with my life and start my own gym. I nodded to myself. Yes, thoroughly kicking this argumentative chick’s butt should do the trick.

  At least she wasn’t hard on the eyes. She had a pretty face with a button nose that was splattered with a few light brown freckles, and her lips were an enticing red. I wasn’t sure if they were naturally that way or if she wore lipstick; either way, it worked for me. Nice, pale blue eyes. Long, straight hair in a reddish blond color that she’d put in a high ponytail, and her body was covered with the nicest white skin. Under different circumstances, I wouldn’t mind running my hands over that skin… Her body was a nice shape. Long legs, a narrow waist, and great shoulders for a girl who claimed not to be athletic. If she put her mind to it—which I doubted she’d do—she could look fantastic. Better than Gisele Bundchen, if you asked me. I didn’t like women who were that stick thin. I preferred softer women who had something to grab onto.

  “Let’s do some pushups now,” I said when she looked like she had recuperated from doing the squats. I wasn’t a total asshole after all. Yet… I laughed inwardly. “And I want to see fifteen of them.”

  She looked at me with a frightened face. Then it seemed as if she suddenly got used to the thought. “Okay. But I’ll do them on my knees.”

  “No, you’ll be doing regular pushups. I’ll show you how.”

  She put her hands on her hips and glared at me. I stifled a groan. Here we go again.

  “I won’t be able to do them on my hands and feet,” she said. “Didn’t I tell you I’m not very athletic? I don’t want to hurt myself.”

  “You don’t need to be very athletic to do regular pushups and you won’t hurt yourself. You just need some good assistance. Now get down on the floor and get in pushup position.”

  Her berry mouth dropped open, but then she did in fact get down on the floor, her palms and toes positioned for a pushup. She looked fairly stable for someone who claimed to be so incredibly unathletic. I sank down next to her and put my hands on her hips to steady her, squeezing so hard I must have reduced her body weight by half. That would enable her to do the pushups on her feet.

  “Okay, now start bending in your elbows,” I told her.

  Surprisingly, she did as she was told right away. I watched her lower herself closer to the floor. When she was halfway down, I pulled her back up into the starting position.

  “There,” I said. “You just did a pushup.”

  “But I didn’t get all the way down!”

  “That doesn’t matter. It was still a pushup. A real pushup. Not one of the sissy ones you wanted to do.”

  She turned her head toward me and daggers shot out of her narrowed eyes. “I’m not a sissy!”

  “I never said you were. Now give me fourteen more pushups.”

  “Fine,” she huffed and lowered herself to the ground, and then back up with surprisingly good control. I barely had to hold her at all to steady her, but I still did to be sure that she was safe.

  She was struggling when she got to the eleventh pushup and I had to help her. By the twelfth, she was spent and I had to pull her back up to a standing position. Her long hair landed on my face briefly. It smelled nice, reminding me of the flowers my grandmother used to have in the kitchen, momentarily disorienting me.

  “Okay, let’s do some pull-ups now,” I said in a voice that sounded strange to my own ears. I immediately cleared my throat.

  She glanced at me with an arched brow for a moment. “Fine,” she said finally and raised her chin defiantly. I was pretty sure what she really wanted to say was something along the lines of, “Are you sure it’s wise for me to do pull-ups on my first session?” and not, “Fine.” But she was getting competitive now. I could tell; it was written all over her face and by the way she’d placed her fists on her hips. I turned away from her just in time for a pleased little grin to curl the corners of my lips. She might be okay for now, but by the time this session was over, she’d beg me to stop torturing her. This one was no fighter, no matter what she was trying to convince herself of.

  “Follow me, please,” I said and walked toward the squat rack. Silently, she followed me. As we reached it, I jumped up and grabbed the top bar and did a few pull-ups. Then I landed on the floor and turned to her. Her pale blue eyes had widened as she met my gaze.

  “Now you,” I told her. “And don’t worry. I’ll help you complete each pull-up just like I did with the pushups.”

  “I’m not worried,” she huffed.

  I tried hard not to laugh and pointed to the small box on the floor that enabled most women and shorter men to reach the overhead bar in the squat rack. Without a word, she stepped on the box and reached for the bar above her. Since she couldn’t reach it—and it didn’t look like she was about to jump for it, either—I had no choice but to grab her legs and lift her up. I could hear her gasp a little as I did this, but she didn’t protest and grasped the bar when her hands could touch it.

  “Okay, pull yourself up now,” I said while holding her legs in my arms. She started pulling herself upward. I helped by pushing her so she got all the way up, and then I lowered her back down again.

  “Go ten more times,” I urged her. She did as she was told with my help. We finished the set much more smoothly than I had anticipated, having been remarkably synchronized throughout it. Instead of letting her step off the box of her own accord, I wrapped my arms around her hips and lifted her off, putting her back on the floor. My action had been completely unnecessary as the box was less than a foot high. I half expected her to say something snarky about my hands being all over her—which they sort of had been—but all she did was keep her gaze trained downward. Then she mumbled, “Thanks.”

  For some odd reason, my pulse had sped up, as if I was the one who’d done those pull-ups, not she. I took a couple of deep, discreet breaths through my nostrils to slow it down.

  “Okay, time to do
some leg work,” I said and pressed out what I hoped was a professional smile. “We’ll be doing some lunges.”

  “Okay,” she said meekly, taking me by such surprise I did a double take. What happened to the attitude?

  “Okay, great,” I said and showed her how to do front lunges. “Give me fifteen on each leg and alternate them. Thirty total.”

  She began lunging, alternating her legs exactly the way I’d instructed her, staring ahead at the mirrored wall all the while. Huh, I thought as I contemplated her . Maybe she isn’t so bad after all. Maybe I can actually keep training her. I barely had time to finish that thought when she suddenly tripped and fell to the floor in a heap.

  She rolled around, moaning and grabbing her foot like it had broken, the way soccer players sometimes do to encourage a red card from the referee. I couldn’t imagine that it was broken, only that she’d twisted her ankle a little. I squatted down next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. Her head snapped around and she glared at me, saying in a voice that felt like whiplashes, “Don’t touch me!”

  As if she was suddenly burning me, I ripped away my hand. What the fuck? So now it was my fault that she was a klutz? Front lunges were not an unsafe exercise for people with average body control like Ricki. The way she was looking at me, it definitely seemed she thought I was to blame, though. This was not going to end well. In my mind, I could see Tonya calling me into her office to ream me for having not only injured a client but also sexually harassed her. What had I been thinking when I put my hands around an uptight broad like this one? She was trouble manifested, for fuck’s sake, the kind that blamed the world for all her problems.

  She pushed herself up to a sitting position, back to moaning again.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, struggling to keep the annoyance I felt with her out of my voice.