No Pain, No Gain

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Lydia locked her car and walked slowly toward the studio. She was three minutes late, and she expected to see Blake waiting at the front door of his studio, arms folded, holding a stop watch, ready to treat her like some sort of criminal for keeping him waiting. She knew exactly why she wasn’t running to his studio trying to make up for lost time. The guy’s attitude simply bothered her. Must be nice, she thought, to treat everyone as if they were damned lucky to be in his little fitness presence. God but she wished she’d called and canceled. But that would probably have only worked on his voicemail. To have to actually talk to him in order to cancel would surely have brought on another, more strident sales pitch. No, a guilt trip. He’d guilt her. Yeah, he’d make her feel like a low-life for, what was it? What was it he’d said? Not addressing her health concerns immediately, or some such make-your-health-a-priority pitch.

The front of the studio, including the entrance door, was all glass. A window film and dark cloth prevented anyone on the outside from looking in. Lydia tried the door but found it locked. She knocked, and when no one came to the door after another round of knocking, she stepped back and seated herself on a brick planting area that surrounded a shady tree in the middle of the walkway. She thought she heard a woman’s voice cry out in the studio, but when she listened more closely she heard only the faintest sound of rock music.

Moments later, she heard voices somewhere toward the rear of the building, then saw a woman off to her right in skin-tight black workout top and shorts walking toward a line of cars. She held a towel and a water bottle, and Lydia could see the sheen of sweat on her skin even from where she was sitting. Must be one of Blake’s clients, she thought. And there must be a rear exit. And judging by the woman’s body, he must be a damned good trainer. Lydia looked down at her own nylon pants and jacket and felt like nothing more than a middle-aged pudge. She hated it when jealousy reared its ugly little head, but damn ... to be able to have a figure like that blonde woman. Lydia disliked her immediately.

The lock clicked, and the front door didn’t so much open as seem to explode outward. Lydia jumped to attention and, forgetting her manners, couldn’t help but take in his body from head to toe. He wore a black, form-fitting tank top and casual black shorts. Every muscle looked separate ... defined ... hard. He had short, brown hair and eyes so dark they looked almost black. And he was tan. Wow, was he tan. Something about him looked defiant, or maybe entirely confident. Maybe a man with that much muscle had nothing to fear. Like people didn’t dare mess with him and he instinctively knew it.

“You must be Ms. McConnell.”

“You must be Blake,” she said. “And please call me Lydia.”

He continued holding the door open, then c****d his right eyebrow slightly.

“Oh! Right,” she said, as she scooted past him and entered the studio. He closed the door behind her, and she turned to face him.

“Is it always this cold?” she asked, looking around the studio.

“You’re cold. I’m sweating,” he said.

“It’s freezing in here!” she said.

“I was assisting with a work-out. Some require more effort on my part.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Some require my help with motivation,” he said. “Have a seat here in my office, Ms. McConnell, and let’s get started.”

She sat in a hard, unpadded chair by his desk. Being with him was like being in the principal’s office, and she hadn’t even started her interview yet. She wondered what he thought of her. Surely he’d already looked at her figure.

He’d mentioned motivation. What motivation? She didn’t even want to be here this afternoon. But she knew the weight wasn’t going to come off by floating around in her swimming pool every afternoon. What would he think if he knew she really wanted a drink and cigarette just then? She’d be out the front door of the studio on her ass, that’s what. Lydia pictured herself being hoisted in the air by him, held above his head as if she weighed no more than a sack of potatoes, then tossed into the flower bed outside. He’d slam the front door and lock it. Interview over. “No fitness for you!” he’d yell at her from behind the glass. Case closed.

Lydia waited as he moved papers and binders around on his desk. The shelves on the wall to his right were stocked with containers of pills and powders with complicated names she couldn’t begin to decipher.

“What is all that stuff?” she asked.

Following her gaze, he said, “Oh. Those are supplements.”

Lydia wondered if he did the illegal kind, whatever those were. But surely he wouldn’t have anything like that just sitting out in the open.

Even his neck was muscular. And the muscles in his upper back and shoulders made her want to reach out and feel them. He had nice hands, too, and though the nails weren’t manicured, they were short and clean. He had a tribal-looking tattoo that wrapped around his left bicep. Damn, look at that bicep. She could see every single muscle in his arm—at least it seemed that way— and she liked the way the veins stood out under his skin.

He was no longer arranging things on his desk, but was sitting perfectly still, watching her, seemingly waiting for her to finish admiring him. How long had she been staring at his body?

“Oh, sorry. It’s just ... your arm,” she said, pointing. “The veins.”

She made a tight fist with her right hand and turned her forearm over and back again, trying to get the veins to stand up like his. Something in his eyes seemed to register amusement. When she smiled at him, his expression turned serious again.

“Those are called collateral veins. It takes a long time to develop them. A lot of work.”

He paused for a moment, then added, “Discipline.”

She nodded, and felt her gut twist a little at his words. Not that she wanted to be all veiny-looking, but she knew she didn’t have that kind of determination. Who was she fooling? And why was she still sitting here? But there was that lady in the parking lot. Lydia adjusted the waistband of her pants with her thumb, noting that she now had annoying little ridges on her skin from the elastic cutting into her waist.

“Okay, let’s get to it,” he said. “Stand, please.”

Lydia hesitated, but did so and turned to face him. The sheer bulk of his physique was unsettling. She took a few steps backward, but the size of the office made being a comfortable distance from him impossible.

“I told you I would need to see your body. Show me.”

Lydia looked down at her body, back at Blake, then lifted her arms to the side and turned in a quick circle. She moved toward her chair to sit down.

“Take off your jacket,” he said.

He held her gaze as she weighed her options. She sighed, stepped back into place and took hold of the zipper. She watched his eyes follow its slow descent between her breasts and down to her crotch. Lydia tugged the jacket off and tried to look nonchalant as she tossed it onto the chair. She waited as he studied her. The air kicked on, and the ceiling vent directly above her dropped waves of icy air around her. She felt her n*****s go to full attention under her tank top. When his eyes took in her breasts a second time, she slouched slightly and wrapped her arms around her chest.

“Could you adjust the air? You could store meat in this place.”

“Stand up straight and turn around. Arms at your side.”

“What are you looking for?” she asked over her shoulder. Damn, he was probably looking at her butt. She wanted to clench the muscles so it would look firmer, but she knew he’d see right through her.

“Drop your sweat pants.”

Lydia turned to face him.

“What?”

“I just told you to drop the pants.”

“But I—”

“Take off your pants. Now.”

“But I can’t do that. I’m not wearing—”

“Ms. McConnell. Did I or did I not make it clear to you that I was going to need to see your body at this interview?”

“Yes, but I thought—”

“The answer is yes. Is it not?”

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but found she had nothing to say in her defense.

“The answer is yes!” he all but yelled.

Lydia knew she was about three seconds away from being tossed into the planting bed outside. She pictured him being provoked into a rage, and here she was, alone with a man who was obviously strong enough to break her body in half like a twig.

“Yes!” she answered, far more loudly than she’d intended.

“But you arrive bundled up from neck to toe in long sleeves and long pants.”

“It’s a workout suit! I thought it would be okay!”

“Drop your pants now, Ms. McConnell, or this interview is over.”

Heat rushed to Lydia’s face and tears stung her eyes as she pulled her pants down. She yanked hard to pull the material over her tennis shoes, then hurled the pants at the chair where her jacket lay. She turned to face him. Her heart was pounding and her breathing was heavy with anger. Wearing nothing but a tank top and a lacy thong, she stared him directly in the eyes and pushed her shoulders back.

“Good. Now turn toward the wall.”

He’d spoken quietly this time. Lydia told herself she’d stare at that wall for ten hours if she had to, but she was not going to let this bastard get a rise out of her again. She faced the wall and waited for his appraisal of her body to end.

His voice was again quiet and almost soothing. “Good girl, Ms. McConnell.”

She turned to face him.

“Good girl? Did you just call me a good girl?”

“Remember this when I instruct you,” he said. “You’re a good girl when you do what I say.”

Lydia grabbed her clothes and purse from the chair and yelled, “I tell you what, you can just kiss my good girl ass!”

As she ran to the front door, she forced her arms into her jacket, not caring that it was going on inside-out. She wrapped her pants around her hips and threw her body up against the press-bar that opened the door. Within seconds she was buckling herself in and starting the engine of her car.

***

Lydia collapsed on the bed and covered her face with her arms. Her cat, Mojo, stepped onto her stomach and waited patiently for affection.

“Christ, Mo. You wouldn’t believe what just happened,” she said, scratching his head.

“This guy ... oh, man ... you should have —”

Her cell phone rang. She sat up, accidentally flipping Mojo off her stomach and onto the floor, and began digging through her purse to find it. Just before the final ring, she pulled it out and read the display. It was her husband, calling from work.

“Hello,” she said, flatly.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she said.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” she replied.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just laying here.”

“Just laying there?”

“Yes, Kevin. That’s what I said.”

He was silent for a few moments. She felt guilty, as always, for talking to him as she did, but damn, no one and nothing annoyed her more lately than he did. She softened her tone and tried to temper her anger.

“Okay, look ... I’m not in the best of moods, okay? I just got back from meeting with that personal trainer.”

“Oh. You didn’t tell me you were going.”

“Should I have? I told you I needed a trainer, and you didn’t seem to mind.”

“No, it’s just that I didn’t know, that’s all,” he said.

Feeling her impatience rising again, she sat in silence, waiting for him to get to the point of his phone call. She sighed, then waited.

“So how did it go? Did you like the guy?”

“I’m not going back,” she said.

“Did something happen?”

“He’s just not for me, okay? I know you heard he was really good and all, but I think I’ll look around for someone else.”

“Tell me why you didn’t like him.”

“I really don’t feel like talking about this,” she said, her voice rising.

“Well, I mean, do I need to call the guy or something?” Kevin asked.

“Call him? Call him and do what? You want to yell at him for not being the right trainer for me?”

The conversation went silent again. Lydia thought of how simple it would be to go to the cooler in the pantry, pull out a bottle of wine and go to it. In a few minutes, her impatience and anger would dissipate, and maybe she could even have a civil conversation with her husband. Or a cigarette would do it too, maybe. All she had to do was get up, open a pack of her husband’s Marlboros, and she could hide her hostility under a cloud of smoke. She thought of how the smoking might even cause her to lose the weight she’d put on, and then she wouldn’t even need a damned personal trainer.

Tired of staring at the ceiling, she sat up and said, “I’m not really in a chatty mood right now.”

“Just checking in,” he said. “I should be home at the same time tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Bye,” he said.

Lydia snapped her phone shut and tossed it toward her purse. She laid down again and called Mojo to her. He didn’t budge from the doorway.

“I’m sorry I dumped you off the bed, okay? C’mere and I’ll pet you.”

He responded by raising a paw and licking it.

“You know you want it, Mojie. Come on, I’ll scratch your head. Just the way you like it.”

Mojo turned and walked away. Lydia considered the wine and cigarette option again. It would be so easy. Just a glass or two.