A young girl whose name tag said she was Kelly stopped in front of them. “Protein added to that?” Her brown eyes were big and round, her smile revealing a mouthful of what seemed like a few too many teeth.
“Um…?” Spencer looked to Lucy.
“We just did core work,” Lucy told Kelly.
Kelly tipped her head from side to side. “Not necessary, can’t hurt. If you were lifting, you’d want some protein.”
Spencer shrugged. “I like can’t hurt. Protein, please.”
“I’ll take the chocolate peanut butter,” Lucy said. “No extra protein. ’Cause peanut butter.”
Kelly nodded and got to work.
“What do you think about spinning?” Spencer asked her friend.
Lucy followed Spencer’s gaze to the hallway where a line of very sweaty people was filing down like so many train cars. “No way. I don’t bike.”
Spencer turned to her, squinted at her. “Why not?”
“My butt’s too big.”
Kelly slid Lucy’s smoothie in front of her and Lucy clenched the straw between her teeth, took a sip.
“What?” Spencer said with a laugh.
“I’m serious. Those seats are tiny. Skinny. My butt swallows them. Plus,” she lowered her voice, “my lady parts don’t enjoy biking.”
Spencer laughed again, louder this time as Kelly gave her the mixed berry smoothie and offered, “That’s only the first time or two. They get used to it.”
“The lady parts?” Spencer asked.
Kelly nodded as they gave her their money and Spencer looked to Lucy, who shrugged.
“I guess I didn’t stay with it long enough.”
“Lucky for your lady parts.”
“Damn right.”
They drank their smoothies (Spencer’s was unexpectedly delicious) and chatted about this and that. The entire time, Spencer found herself surreptitiously watching to catch a glimpse of Rebecca. Once Lucy finished and bid Spencer goodbye, she was able to concentrate fully on spying, scooting her stool a bit closer so she had a better view. She generally hated all the mirrors, as they made it so she couldn’t escape the view of her mushy body, but she suddenly realized a benefit to them: she could find Rebecca no matter where she was. It was a Friday night and the gym was sparsely populated. Rebecca was working with the same guy as last time—Paul? Phil?—and from what Spencer could see, she was just as cheerful and fun as she’d been the night Spencer had quit class.
Okay. It’s fine.
Spencer nodded to herself as she sucked the last of her smoothie up through the straw and turned away from the handful of exercisers left. Rebecca had some inexplicable issue with her that kept them from being anything beyond trainer and client, and that was fine. Spencer needed to accept that. She didn’t like that accepting it was hard, but she was a grown woman. She obviously didn’t understand, but she’d been rejected before, so this wasn’t something new to her.
It’s fine.
She left the gym and headed into her weekend with a bit of a new outlook: the gym was now going to be for her. Not Marti. Not Rebecca. Spencer.
It was the most relaxed she’d felt in quite some time.
Chapter Nine
Spencer was pretty sure she was dying.
She gasped for breath. Her heart hammered in her chest so intensely, if it exploded and burst completely out of her body, she wouldn’t have been shocked. Her muscles burned and she was covered in sweat.
Yeah, this might be the end.
“Don’t you let up,” said the far-too-cheerful voice over the speaker system. “If you have to ease up on the pace, that’s okay, but don’t you stop. You’re in the home stretch.”
Spencer couldn’t look at her, this woman at the front of the room, pedaling as if she was totally relaxed and seeming to be barely winded. Meanwhile, Spencer was pedaling like a madwoman, was pretty sure her lungs were about to burst, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d sweated this much. The class was an eclectic mix of people. Men and women. Twentysomethings and a man who looked to be seventy. People in excellent shape and people not. Spencer had chosen a bike in the back row, not wanting people to be able to see her if she did something silly. Like fall off. She also wanted to be able to slip out if necessary.
“And…ease up. Drop down a couple of gears. You did it.”
Spencer did as she was told, had never been so happy to do anything as she was to move that little black lever on the bike that had tried to kill her.
“Let’s cool it down,” the instructor said, and Spencer hated her a teeny bit less. But not much.
The cooldown was like heaven compared to the rest of the class. Nice, easy pedaling. She followed the instructions, lifted her arms over her head, stretched, leaned to the left, then to the right, pedaling slowly and steadily the whole time as Lady Gaga sang to them about her bad romance. Then they all slid off their bikes to stretch their legs. Spencer held tightly to the handlebars of her bike, understanding that her legs giving out on her was a distinct possibility.
Once the stretching was done and the instructor—Sherry?—congratulated them on a ride well done, the music turned off and the low buzz of conversation began. One by one, the riders filed out the door until only Sherry and Spencer were left. It had taken that long for Spencer’s breathing to dial back to normal levels. She grabbed the spray bottle on the windowsill next to her and pumped some of the cleaner onto her seat and handlebars, then wiped with her towel.
“Was this your first class?” the instructor asked, and her close proximity startled Spencer, who flinched and then recovered quickly.
“It was, yes.”
“What did you think?” Sherry’s smile was friendly, and up close, she looked less like an evil witch who was trying to kill Spencer and more like a regular person. Plus, it did look like she might have sweated a little, which made her seem slightly more human and less like a robot. Slightly.
“Brutal,” Spencer said, with a chuckle. “I couldn’t keep the pace.”
“You stayed pedaling the entire time, though. That’s impressive for your first class.”
“It is?”
Sherry nodded. “Absolutely. You stuck it out. Good for you. I hope you come back.” With that, she left the room and Spencer was alone.
Well, that was nice, she thought as she waited a minute or two before leaving so as not to seem like she was stalking Sherry. Her legs felt rubbery, but they managed to hold her upright as she slowly walked down the hall that led to the trainers’ desks.
Rebecca was sitting at hers.
Spencer’s steps faltered. Why is she here on a Saturday? was her first question, which was quickly answered by the realization that Rebecca might very well have clients on Saturdays as well as during the week. Rebecca hadn’t seen her yet, and now a tall, lanky man approached from the opposite side as Spencer. He looked to be in his thirties and was pushing a metal wire cart filled with what looked to be used towels.
“Hey, Rebecca,” he said, with almost excessive glee. His glasses were thick, and as he reached out and performed a complicated handshake with Rebecca, Spencer immediately saw traces of Travis.
“Bobby, my man,” Rebecca said. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going great.” Bobby threw both arms up in the air like Rocky. “I’m gonna make this the best Saturday ever.”
“I have all the faith in you,” Rebecca said, and Spencer noted the way she actually looked at him, like she was paying attention and not just humoring the intellectually disabled guy. She’d seen more than her share of people treat Travis like a toddler, or worse, dismiss him altogether. Rebecca seemed genuinely fond of this man.
“Make it the best day, okay?” Bobby said to her, as he leaned over the cart and began pushing it toward Spencer. Rebecca followed him with her gaze, which landed on Spencer and stayed there. “Hi there,” Bobby said to her as he pushed his cart past. “You have a great Saturday, okay?”
“I’ll do my best,” Spencer said,
smiling at him. She watched him as he pushed the cart in the direction she’d come from, then turned back to see Rebecca almost smiling at her.
“You’re here on a weekend,” she said.
“So are you,” Spencer countered.
“I have a client.”
“I went to spin class.”
Rebecca’s expression seemed to shift, to lighten a bit. “Yeah? Sherry’s? She’s tough. What did you think?”
“I think I died and you’re actually talking to my ghost. My body is still on the bike. Slumped over. Dead.” Spencer jerked a thumb over her shoulder.
Rebecca’s shoulders moved in gentle laughter. “I see.”
Spencer shrugged as she resumed walking. As she passed Rebecca’s desk, she heard the question, “But how do you feel now?”
Spencer stopped and turned back to face Rebecca, was surprised to see her face the picture of genuine curiosity, so she thought about it, then answered honestly. “Accomplished. Proud of myself.”
“Good.” Rebecca nodded. “That’s really good. That’s what you want. That’s excellent.”
Their gazes held. Rebecca fiddled with a pen while Spencer spun her water bottle in her hands. It felt like a long time before Spencer finally forced herself to move. With a quick wave, she said, “Well. See you Monday.”
“Yeah. Definitely. Have a great weekend.”
Once in the locker room, Spencer just stood there with her forehead pressed against the metal. What the hell was that? Why was she unable to simply walk past Rebecca and not give her the time of day? God, Rebecca made her feel… Spencer fumbled for the right words. What did Rebecca make her feel?
“No,” she said aloud. Standing upright suddenly, as if the locker had zapped her with an electric shock, she spun the dial on her lock and quickly gathered her things.
No, that was not a question she wanted the answer to.
Slinging her gym bag over her shoulder, Spencer exited the locker room, then the gym, keeping her eyes straight ahead and making sure she didn’t face Rebecca again.
“Have a good one,” said the young girl at the front desk.
Spencer lifted a hand in a quick wave, but didn’t look at her. She just kept walking, picked up her pace as if making a clandestine escape and the front door was her finish line. The front door meant safety and freedom.
She pushed herself through the door and exhaled a breath of relief.
* * *
Rebecca only had two clients that Saturday morning. One was a regular and one was making up for a missed session during the week. She didn’t mind working on weekends if it was in the morning and she could be done and still have some of her Saturday left.
Seeing Spencer had thrown her off a little bit. Not only was it unexpected, like she was out of context, but she looked… Rebecca shook her head now, just as she’d done several times during her session with Serena Carter, her make-up client, trying to rid herself of the picture of Spencer after a spin class. Black yoga pants, a close-fitting turquoise T-shirt, and a sunny yellow hat, her blond hair in a ponytail and sticking through the hole in the back. But it was more than the clothes. It was her face, all flushed and glistening. It was her eyes, which seemed to hold a glimmer of satisfaction, maybe even a little pride. It was her bare forearms (Seriously, Rebecca? Forearms?) and her feminine hands and…
She must have groaned aloud because Serena looked up at her from the bench where she was doing flies. “Am I doing them wrong?”
“No, no. Sorry. Just, um, clearing my throat.” Rebecca forced a smile onto her face. “You’re doing them perfectly. Five more.”
Later, as she was walking out toward the front door, done for the day, Sherry skidded up alongside her so they could walk together.
“Big plans today?” she asked.
Rebecca wrinkled her nose. “Not really. Gonna go hang with Nick and Michelle for a bit, but it’s just casual.”
“You playing Aunt Rebecca already?” Sherry asked knowingly.
“Absolutely.”
They pushed through the front doors and Sherry said, “Your little blond cream puff was in my spin class this morning.”
Rebecca shot her a look of irritation. “She’s not my cream puff. And I saw her.”
“She did really well. Looked like she was going to keel over at any moment, but stuck it out. You tell her to come?”
“Nope.” Their cars were parked next to each other and they each stopped at their respective driver’s side doors. With a shake of her head, Rebecca said, “I don’t really talk to her outside of the bride class.”
Sherry stared at her for a beat over the roof of her car. Finally, she said simply, “Mm-hmm.” Then opened her door and got in.
Poking the inside of her cheek with her tongue, Rebecca kept her eyes on Sherry’s car for a moment before getting into her own. She hated that look. The one that said Sherry knew something she didn’t. Or worse, Sherry knew something Rebecca was trying to hide. Whichever, it made Rebecca feel exposed. Vulnerable. She didn’t like either of those feelings.
Shoving her keys into the ignition, Rebecca started her car and headed home. She was looking forward to spending some time with the Scarfanos. More than that, she was anxious to stop thinking about Spencer Thompson.
She’s a pushover. A very attractive pushover. A very attractive, off-limits pushover. Jesus, Rebecca, get your shit together.
This was her mantra for the rest of the day.
* * *
“Mom, seriously.” Marti forked a bite of steak into her mouth and chewed.
Spencer also ate, but kept herself quiet. She was never any kind of match for Cookie Daniels, so she tended to take the high road more often than not and let Marti do all the talking.
“If you would just let me pay…” Cookie’s voice trailed off on the sentence she’d begun about seven hundred times since Marti had informed her of her engagement to Spencer several months ago.
“I don’t want you to pay,” Marti said, her standard response. Spencer stopped noticing that Marti continually said “I” rather than “we.”
“But you could have something big. A celebration.” Cookie’s voice bordered on whiny. She was a beautiful woman…in an artificial kind of way. Bottle blond, acrylic fingernails, Botox injections in her forehead and collagen in her cheeks, a deep bronze tan all year round. In fact, she was a walking stereotype. When Spencer tried to conjure up an image in her mind of a wealthy socialite and widow, Marti’s mom fit the picture to a T, right down to the silly first name. She could be a Real Housewife. She’d fit right in. Cookie loved her daughter very much; Spencer knew that. But it was pretty obvious she was more concerned about image than much else in life. The Daniels family was very wealthy, and when Marti’s father had passed away five years earlier, his wife was left with more money than God and assets that, had Spencer been in her shoes, she’d never in a million years be able to decide what to do with.
“I’ve told you a hundred times, I don’t want to invite people.” Marti had patience, there was no denying that. Her voice stayed calm. If she was irritated with the conversation, she didn’t show it. It was one of the things that made her so good at her job: it was nearly impossible to tell how she was feeling if she didn’t want you to know. “I want a quick and no-nonsense thing at the courthouse. No guests. No fuss. Simplicity at its finest. Right, honey?”
“Hmm?” It took Spencer a beat to realize the question was directed at her. She was so used to not being included in conversations about money or business—and lately, about her own marriage—that she tended to zone out when at dinner with Cookie Daniels. “Oh. Right.”
Cookie sighed, the loud, put-upon sigh of a woman used to getting her way, but having trouble doing so now. “I wanted to invite the Carsons. And the Mangiones. And the Harringtons…they invited me to their daughter’s wedding.”
“Well, you can’t.” Marti wiped her mouth with her napkin, then set it on the table, indicating she was finished. A glance at her plate told
Spencer she’d eaten half her steak, none of her asparagus, and a few bites of her potatoes. In contrast, Spencer’s plate was almost clean. She shrugged internally. When she had nothing to contribute to the conversation, what else was there to do but eat her dinner?
“I just don’t understand it.” Cookie also put her napkin down. Her plate also still held a good portion of her dinner. “You have such a healthy appetite, Spencer.”
Spencer smiled and nodded. It wasn’t the first time Cookie had said that to her. And it wasn’t a compliment. “It was very good,” Spencer said. “Thank you.”
Later that night, they were at Marti’s house, going through their usual routines. Marti was already in bed, in her glasses, reading a book from her favorite genre of true crime. Spencer removed her makeup and washed her face. There was a full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. With a glance at Marti to see that she was immersed in reading, Spencer closed the door quietly, then stripped off her pajamas.
Standing naked in front of her own reflection was never something she’d enjoyed doing. Ever. She did her best to be gentle with herself, to look with possibility rather than disdain, but it wasn’t easy. Being critical was easy. Still, she took a deep breath, focused, and tried to look with an open mind. It took effort, but she made herself stand there and look anyway. It wasn’t a bad body, really. Her thighs were a bit bigger than she’d like. A little soft. But she wondered if that was actually the smallest bit of muscle definition in her quads she was seeing. Probably not. Was that even possible? It had only been a few weeks. But maybe…
Suddenly, Rebecca’s voice was echoing in her head.
Fitness is about how you feel.
Spencer turned so she could see her naked behind. Her ass and hips had always been problem areas for her, but she also knew that spin class would target both of those things as well as her legs and her heart. And while her quads were beginning to poke at her with a bit of soreness that would most likely blossom in the morning, the pain was good.
She narrowed her eyes when the thought hit. The pain is good? Really?
The Shape of You Page 10
