Confusion turned to disbelief, and she shook her head and faced forward as the program picked up the pace.
“You can’t say those things to me when I’m PMSing, Ethan,” she stated. “You are, without a single shred of doubt, the best PT I’ve ever had, and I don’t want to lose you when I remember that my verbal filter is down for a nap.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I was the one confused now, because what was she talking about? I hadn’t said anythingcontroversial. It wasn’t fucking conceited to know your strengths and weaknesses.
“You’re not gonna lose me as your PT,” I chuckled. “I’m not easily offended. Say what you wanna say. We promised each other honesty, didn’t we?”
She huffed, getting a tad out of breath now. “You want my honesty? All right. Let’s be honest. First of all, being objectively handsome is great if you want your face in a fashion magazine. Attraction is subjective. Second of all—” She took a few breaths and gripped the handlebars. “Second, having a type may start with tall, dark, and handsome, but it ends with chemistry and shared interests or views. If your date can’t connect with you, the fact that she finds you attractive becomes irrelevant.”
I folded my arms over my chest as a tightness spread in my gut. Maybe she had a valid point or two, but I had experience.
“Was there a third of all?” I drawled.
The pace was increased again, and she shot me a look that was so unfiltered and full of fire that I knew I was about to get it.
“Not everyone is interested in a pretentious gym owner who shaves his chest,” she bit out.
Whoa. All right. Shit. That one packed a punch. I kept my expression composed, but fuck me if I couldn’t feel anger brewing. It wasn’t the first time recently someone had indicated it was ridiculous of me to shave my chest, and it poked at something within me that I didn’t wanna deal with. It pissed me off.Shepissed me off.
“Okay, I’m done—I can’t,” she panted and smacked the stop button. “This day can go to hell.” She bent over and planted her hands on her thighs as she tried to regain her breath. “I’m sorry for what I said. I fucking hate being mean.”
I swallowed and pushed aside my personal problems to be what she was paying me to be.
“I asked you to be honest,” I stated. And I didn’t regret it either. Maybe it was something I’d needed to hear. I was undecided. “Don’t worry about it. When was the last time you had a slow day?”
As far as I knew, she came to the gym every day—which was convenient since she lived right across the street, and I knew she didn’t tucker herself out every workout. Because she wasn’t supposed to. And since she’d said she hated walking for the sake of it, at least in the beginning, a trip to the gym was just as good. Everybody needed some form of daily exercise.
“Yesterday,” she mumbled. “I walked for half an hour and skipped strength training and swimming.”
“What about work?” I pressed. “Do you work every day? Do you take weekends off?”
She sighed heavily and straightened. “It’s possible I work too much.”
Shocker. As business owners, we tended to stress ourselves out.
“In that case, we’ll meet up in my office on Monday to hammer out a better routine for you,” I replied. “Getting your health back is much more than sweating and rebuilding muscle mass. You need proper sleep and recovery. Insulin resistance can sneak up on you at an earlier stage if you’re under a lot of pressure too. Not everything is about what you eat.”
“Ugh. Can you stop being nice after I insulted you to your face?” She grimaced and climbed off the treadmill to grab her stuff. “I’m just gonna go home and throw a pity party on the couch. And eat some fucking carrot sticks.”
I winced, torn between amusement and annoyance and…yeah, it wasn’t a good day for me either. Clearly. But my job came first when she was around, and she needed to chill sometimes.
“Natalie, you can also buy something you actually want,” I said pointedly. That sure as fuck gave me her attention, and shelooked over at me. “Based on your height, age, and activity level, we estimated that your maintenance level sits at around 1800 calories a day, and you’re on a significant deficit now. Nothing bad’s gonna happen if you add a few extra hundred calories on your worst days. What’re you craving?”
“A big fat burger,” she whispered.
I chuckled. “So, go get your big fat burger. And next month, you’ll be more prepared. The week before your period, we’ll crank up your workouts.” I paused. “It’s not the best analogy, but I think you’ll get what I’m saying. It’s better to do the time before you do the crime. Then you can indulge without feeling guilty—and without postponing what will balance out the indulgences.” I said that to clients all the time, especially to the rush of new members who came in after New Year’s. Health wasn’t about what you ate at Christmas. It was about what you ate the rest of the year. I nodded toward the exit. “I’ll walk you out. Take it easy this weekend, okay?”
“I’ll do my best. Thank you. I…” She sighed again and kept her head down as we walked through the gym. “Be honest. Are you judging me? Because I am.”
I shook my head. “I judge people for a lot of things, but not for hitting the pause button when they have too much going on.” Our time was up, so a ridiculously long speech had to wait—but trust, I could talk about this forever. “You have no reason to be hard on yourself for this, Natalie. Decades of marketing fast carbs and sugar as rewards and pick-me-ups have left one hell of a mark on the human race. Our brains light up when we see pizza, burgers, cake, and sweets.” I opened the door for her and stepped outside. “On the other hand, I know how addictions work, and once your body’s gotten used to receiving less of all that processed shit, you won’t want as much of it either. But you gotta be patient. Forming new habits and getting rid of old ones takes time.”
“Makes sense,” she murmured. She stepped out too, and she peered up at me with a rueful smile. “Whatdoyou judge people for?”
I cracked a smirk and scratched my arm absently. “In the spirit of honesty, I don’t waste time on judging people, but I’ll admit to being bothered by those who don’t even try. Those who believe in quick fixes and magic pills. And those who rely entirely too much on weak excuses.”
She grinned a little. “What’s a weak excuse?”
I laughed through my nose. “Skipping exercise because of bad weather.”
