Trained At The Gym: A Contemporary Reverse Harem Romance Read online

  I gripped my computer mouse so tightly the plastic started to creak. I let go of it and then finished the accounting work I had been doing. The numbers on the screen should have elated me, but instead I only felt defeated.

  After that, I still had piles of work to complete. The giant stack of demo albums was waiting to be listened to, so I could decide which ones to carry in the store. I couldn’t bring myself to begin. There didn’t seem like a point, now that I knew a Pacifica Vinyl was opening down the street.

  I needed to work off some energy. More than that, I wanted to beat something up. I remembered the tour Finn had given me, with the room dedicated to boxing. Sparring rings and punching bags…

  “I’ll be back in a little while,” I told Paul on my way out. “I’m going to the gym.”

  He gawked at me. “Woah. Again?”

  “Yep.”

  The friendly guy behind the front desk greeted me as I entered. “Twice in one day? Someone’s an eager beaver!” he said with a smile. I managed to go into the locker room without saying something nasty back to him.

  I changed back into my gym clothes. They were still moist from my cycling sweat, but I didn’t care. I scanned my wrist monitor at the kiosk and walked through the cardio room in my dirty clothes. What I was looking for wasn’t there, so I went to the weight-lifting room next. That’s where I found Finn showing someone how the kettlebells worked.

  I stood patiently in the corner. Eventually he noticed me waiting. He muttered something to the elderly man he was helping, then came over to me. “Katherine! I didn’t expect to see you back at the gym so soon. How was Max’s spin class?”

  “I want to learn how to use the boxing gym,” I said.

  Finn nodded excitedly. “That’s what I’m talking about. You want to get into martial arts?”

  “No,” I said simply. “I just want to punch something today.”

  It must have been painted on my face that I wasn’t in a joking mood, because he stopped smiling and led me into the boxing room. There were a few guys in there using the equipment. One or two of them glanced over at me as we entered.

  “If you want to lay into some punching bags, then we need to wrap your hands.” He retrieved a roll of cloth that looked like gauze, but with a loop on one end. He took my hands in his. “This loop goes around your thumb. Then you wrap it around your wrist three times, like so.”

  His fingers moved deftly as he wrapped the soft cloth around my wrist. Once again I was struck by how gentle someone his size could be.

  “Then you wrap it around your palm three times… like that. Then we’re going to wrap it around your thumb, then between each of your fingers once. First between the pinky and ring finger… Then between the ring and the middle finger… Then finally between the middle finger and index finger. After that, we finish it out by wrapping it around your four fingers a few times. There, we’ve finished the wrap and can secure the Velcro part around your wrist. Give your hand a squeeze. How’s it feel?”

  I obeyed. The cloth was snug, but not enough to inhibit my motion. “Feels good, I think.”

  He repeated the same thing for my other hand. I flexed my hands and nodded. Then he led me over to the corner, where a teardrop shaped bag hung at eye-level.

  “This is called a speed bag. It’s a good way to start things off easy, to help your knuckles get used to hitting something.” He punched it lightly with his bare fist. The bag flew backwards on its swivel, hit the platform that it was hanging from, then swung forward in an arc to hit the platform closer to his head, before wobbling back into place. “The goal is to get into a rhythm, hitting the bag every three clacks. One-two-three, one-two-three.”

  He demonstrated several punches in a row. THWACK-THWACK-THWACK, punch, THWACK-THWACK-THWACK, punch.

  “Starting off, you don’t want to punch very hard,” he warned. “Even with the tape, your fingers aren’t used to taking a beating. So go easy on it.” He stepped back and gestured with a massive arm. “Give it a try.”

  I gave it a tentative punch. The bag obeyed, bouncing back against the wood above it three times. The second time I tried two punches in succession. My timing was off, but I could instinctively sense how it needed to go.

  “Very good,” he said. “I’m going to go check on my buddy over in the weight room. Are you good to go to town on this guy for a little while?”

  “More than you know,” I said.

  When he left the room, I started punching again. One-two-three, punch. One-two-three, punch. I started off slow to get a feel for the rhythm, then gradually sped up. Soon I was alternating hands, two with my left then two with my right.

  It was the perfect activity, because it was easy to zone out once you got into a rhythm. My thoughts drifted back to the Pacifica Vinyl opening down the street.

  Punch, punch, punch, punch.

  I couldn’t believe I hadn’t heard any rumors about the store before now. The vintage vinyl community was a small one. Word traveled fast, especially about the big corporations moving in on smaller businesses.

  Punch, PUNCH.

  It wasn’t fair. I’d been running my store for five years. I’d suffered through the early years, where I wasn’t making a profit and couldn’t even pay myself a salary. If not for Darryl letting me sleep in their spare bedroom I didn’t know what I would have done.

  Punch, PUNCH-PUNCH.

  And finally, after all that struggle, I was successful. Not only was the store profitable, but it was thriving! I was paying myself a salary, in addition to the business profits. I had begun to think about expanding, maybe even opening a second store in the next year or two. I had an apartment, and a car. I even had a solo-401k for my retirement!

  And in the blink of an eye, it was all doomed.

  PUNCH, PUNCH, PUNCH-PUNCH-PUNCH.

  I took my frustrations out on the speed bag. Soon I was bouncing back and forth on the balls of my feet, changing the angle I punched from. New sweat beaded on my forehead and trickled down my back.

  Nothing mattered except the steady sound of the bag.

  “Sorry that took so long—it was Frank’s first time using a barbell, and I wanted to make sure his form was good.” Finn appeared next to me. “Damn girl, have you taken a break?”

  I continued punching the bag. “No.”

  Like a viper striking, Finn snatched the bag with his hand and stopped it in place. “You don’t want to overdo it on your first day. The speed bag is light, but it still bruises your hands if you do too much. Want to try some kickboxing against a larger punching bag? Using your legs earns a lot of points.”

  I lowered my hands and sighed. “No, I’m good actually. I just needed to blow off some steam. I’m going to grab a snack upstairs. Thanks for showing me the ropes.”

  Finn looked like he wanted to say something, but he held back. “I’ll come with you.”

  I glanced at the scoreboard on the way:

  25-29 AGE GROUP

  BRODY F:_____351

  KATHERINE D: 299

  MARCIA J:_____214

  JAMES P:______155

  Finn pointed at it in passing. “That’s what’s up. You’re right behind Brody.”

  I felt a small pulse of satisfaction at the score. Even though I was still behind Brody, it was nice to be in the running. It made it feel like I had accomplished something in my two days here.

  “What’s the flavor today?” Finn asked.

  “I already had a smoothie at lunch,” I replied as I grabbed one of the pre-made sandwiches from the fridge. “How do I pay for this?”

  “Just scan the barcode at the kiosk over there, then your wrist monitor. It’ll add it to your account.”

  I sat down at one of the tables and opened the sandwich. It claimed it was turkey and cheddar, but there were so many spinach leaves between the slices of wheat bread that I couldn’t see any meat. Still, since it was the first solid food I’d eaten today it tasted amazing.

  Finn was quiet as he made himself a smooth
ie, then joined me at the table. “You take a look at the spreadsheet?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” I said around a mouthful of food.

  “Tomorrow’s pull day. We’ve got some big movements like deadlifts and power cleans, so be sure to bring your A-game.”

  I still wasn’t sure if I was going to come that often, but the way Finn said it as if it was a given helped motivate me. I was expected here tomorrow. Like a workout partner, not just a gym employee going through the motions.

  “I’ll be here first thing in the morning. Before work.”

  My face must have changed at the mention of work, because Finn leaned back in his chair and crossed his massive arms over his equally-massive chest. “So, what’s up?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m glad you’re taking advantage of your platinum membership. But you came back an hour after leaving and demanded to punch something, then went to town on the speed bag like it was an ex-boyfriend.”

  I chuckled and shook my head. “It’s not that. No boyfriend problems. Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He nodded and grabbed his smoothie. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked something so personal.”

  Ugh. I was doing what I always did: internalizing all of my problems. That was the problem I had after my parents died, according to my psychologist. I was supposed to share things with people. Invite them in to my personal life.

  “That new construction on the corner of the block?” I said. “It’s going to be a Pacifica Vinyl.”

  Finn’s eyes widened excitedly. “No shit? That’s awesome! My sister in Portland raves about them.”

  “I own Vinyl High Records,” I said dryly.

  “Oh,” he said. Then his eyes widened with realization rather than excitement. “Oh no.”

  “Yeah. Hence my need to punch something.”

  Finn ran a hand through his dark hair. “I’ve been in your store! It’s a really cool place. Authentic, not like a big chain. The stoner guy that helped me was really friendly, though he reeked of pot.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, Paul’s great. But Pacifica opening up down the street means my store is screwed.”

  Finn put down his smoothie, reached across the table, and took one of my hands in both of his. “That really sucks, Katherine. I’m sorry.”

  It was a simple gesture, but it almost made me tear up. “Thanks,” I said softly.

  He smiled and held my hand for a moment longer. “I’ve got a massage with one of the members in two minutes. If you want to punch some more stuff after that, just let me know.”

  “I might take you up on that,” I replied.

  He gave me a final comforting smile before leaving.

  9

  Finn

  I couldn’t get this girl out of my head.

  I wasn’t the kind of guy who believed in love at first sight. In my opinion, it was a dumb concept. A shallow way of judging someone solely based on their physical appearance. That’s not what true chemistry was.

  But from the moment I had met Katherine? I was drawn to her.

  I went to the Rejuvenation Lounge to give a sports massage to Lisa Porter, another one of our platinum members. She chatted the entire time about her grandchildren. One of them had gotten into UCLA, apparently. I smiled and made pleasant conversation with her, but I couldn’t help but wish I was still with my other client.

  I held her hand. She had told me why she was having a shitty day, and I responded by holding her hand in mine and squeezing it comfortingly. Had I crossed a line? It wasn’t as involved as, say, a sports massage, but it felt a lot more intimate. And I barely knew Katherine.

  What if she was requesting a new trainer at that very moment? Asking for someone who was more professional? For the rest of Lisa Porter’s massage, it was all I could think about.

  When my hours at the gym were over, I went to the weight room to do my own exercise workout with my buddy, Nate. We were lifting such a large amount that it was crucial we each had a spotter. The best gains a person made were right on the edge of failure.

  As I strained my muscles and pushed the massive barbell, I channeled all of my emotions about Katherine into my strength. If I could just complete this set, maybe I could get her out of my head.

  But as I drove home, she was still all I could think about.

  While cooking dinner—chicken and rice—I picked up the phone and decided to clear the air by texting her.

  Me: Don’t forget, tomorrow is pull day!

  Katherine: I know, you just reminded me a few hours ago!

  Me: I’m just making sure you find your A-game. Once you find it, put it in your gym bag so you don’t forget it. I’ve got high expectations for you tomorrow.

  Katherine: Let me warn you now: you had better lower your expectations. I Googled a video of someone doing a power clean. It looks complicated!

  Me: It is, but you have the luxury of the best personal trainer in Colorado.

  Katherine: The most modest one too, apparently ;-)

  I spent the rest of dinner over-analyzing her winky-face emoji.

  The next morning, I picked up around the gym while waiting for Katherine. It felt like waiting to see whether or not a date would stand me up. The longer the minutes ticked by, the more my dread rose…

  But then she walked through the door.

  “I’m here,” she said, hefting her gym bag. “I couldn’t find my A-game, but I brought my B-game instead.”

  I let out a dramatic sigh. “I guess that will have to do.”

  She smirked at me. “Are all personal trainers so personal, texting their clients after hours?”

  “RMF is all about the personal touch,” I lied. “I want you to do fifteen minutes of cardio to warm up before your working set. Then meet me at the weights.”

  She went to the locker room to change, then hopped on an elliptical. I pretended to tidy up the plate trees while watching her in the other room, chugging along steadily. Her long legs glided through the air with the machine, and her reddish ponytail swayed back and forth with each stride. The outline of her hips and chest were perfectly visible from this angle…

  “Cut that shit out,” I muttered to myself.

  Her skin glistened with sweat when she joined me at the weights. She practically glowed with energy. “Let’s do this, coach.”

  The first thing I showed her was the deadlift. It was easily one of the best compound movements someone could do, and Katherine got the hang of it very quickly. But there were still some slight adjustments I had to make, touching parts of her body gently to demonstrate. My palm on her lower back to help her keep it arched. Another touch on her thigh, to remind her to make sure she goes parallel to the ground.

  I was always professional with my clients, despite the need to touch them at times. I was good at partitioning it away, even when my clients were gorgeous women with amazing bodies. But with Katherine…

  Every time I touched her? It was like electricity passed from my skin into hers. Her skin was warm and soft, and it made me wonder what other parts of her felt like…

  The worst part was that the deadlift movement required her to stick her ass out. The way her yoga pants hugged her curves? She had an onion booty, because it was so beautiful it made me want to cry. Somehow I managed not to stare directly at it, but I was always aware of it in my peripheral vision.

  It took a tremendous amount of willpower to keep from getting a hard-on around her. Thankfully I succeeded, because my compression shorts were tight enough that there was no way I would have been able to hide a hard dick from anyone within eyesight.

  After deadlifts, we switched to power cleans. This was a far more complicated movement. I broke it down for her into three parts: pulling the bar from her knees to her waist, then shrugging her shoulders, and finally stepping into a quarter-squat to catch the bar. She was pretty good at it, but I still needed to make several adjustments to her form.

  More touching.

  She gave no i
ndication that anything was weird, but I felt like I was an awkward teenager again. It had been a long time since I felt this way.

  What was wrong with me?

  We finished up the rest of the exercises: pendlay rows, bent-over flies, curls. By the time we finished, I was exhausted from trying not to admire Katherine as anything other than a normal gym client.

  “Nice job,” I said, high-fiving her at the end. “We still need to work on your power clean form next week, but otherwise you did much better than any regular noob.”

  “I bet you say that to all the regular noobs,” she replied with a smirk.

  Fuck. That grin could melt steel. I needed to go take a cold shower to recover from being around her.

  But before I could say goodbye, Katherine hit me with another hurdle.

  “Hey, can I get one of those sports massages?” she asked. “My upper back is a little sore after the boxing yesterday, and my hamstrings are tight. I could use a good rub.”

  Shit, I thought.

  “Of course,” I said smoothly. “I’ve got nothing on my schedule until nine, so we can go do that now.”

  Alright, I thought as we went upstairs. Looks like my professionalism is going to be put to the test.

  10

  Katherine

  As we went upstairs, I wondered if I had been too flirtatious.

  I could use a good rub. I cringed. Who talked like that? He probably thought I was some perverted customer who just wanted to be touched by the big, muscular trainer. How unprofessional could I have gotten?

  Thankfully, Finn didn’t seem to notice, or he was kind enough not to acknowledge it. Because this was his job. I was his client. Any friendliness from him was purely platonic. It was ridiculous of me to read into any of it.

  But still, the way he had gently touched me during my weight-lifting session…