“Hey! Welcome to Crush.” Andrew’s voice echoed through the place.
And here I thought he’d name it after himself. I swallowed hard and tried to fight off the free-falling sensation in my gut as he stalked toward me. Hair scraped back in that stupid-handsome bun, his scruff trimmed to perfection. He was in a slim-fitting spotless white T-shirt and navy shorts, and when I glanced down I was able to quickly confirm that the man never skipped leg day.
“Crush?” I finally managed.
“It’s cool, right? The name is a vibe. There’s a bunch of different meanings. Crush your doubts, your limitations, your fears.” He pointed to a pyramid of dumbbells. “Crush those weights. Crush a smoothie after you’re done.”
Crush your frustration at your ridiculously attractive neighbor.
“What do you think?” He gestured around the room proudly. He was fishing for compliments, but the truth was, he deserved them.
“I’m sort of in awe,” I admitted. “I can’t believe this is the same spot that used to turn out Wismer Bank and Trust T-shirts.”
He puffed up his chest. “Thanks. I’m waiting on one more thing.” He pointed to an open area above the mirrors. “I’ve got a Philly street artist named Vasquez coming in to write ‘crush’ up there. He does everything freehand, but it’s so perfect it looks like he uses a stencil. Gonna have a few little drips coming off it, a few paint splatters. Subtle. It’ll be done before the party for sure.”
He was talking about the space like the future of it wasn’t hanging in the balance. I took advantage of the natural segue.“Yeah, speaking of theparties”—stressing the plural to remind him about mine—“I was hoping that we could discuss—”
Andrew folded his hands in prayer pose and held them in front of his mouth. “Can we just please focus on your workout? I need you to forget about everything else and gimme this hour. Please?”
Forget about everything else? It was a big ask, considering the things I could never forget every time I looked at Andrew. But I had to agree. He’d been on his best behavior while I worked with Dude, allowing me to run the class like he was any other client and not a fellow combatant in a decade-long grudge match.
“Okay, fine, you got it,” I said. “But before we start I need to come clean about something. My wrist is better now. Look.” I held it up and swiveled it. “Zero pain.”
He narrowed his eyes at the offending appendage then glanced at me. “You’re not just saying that?”
“I swear I’m not. I mean, maybe we should just skip all of this?”
As I admitted it I felt exposed. I was there because I was nosy and I wanted to gloat about what I thought I was going to see, not because I actually needed his help. Andrew had agreed to the swap to help me rehab an injury that had eventually healed on its own, which meant I didn’t need him. And it wasn’t like I had any desire to take up lifting. I ran occasionally, did yoga now and then, hiked with Birdie, and that was more than enough for me. There was no #gymlife in my future, even if I could spit at one from my front door.
“No, we’re not skipping it. Absolutely not.” Andrew’s expression shifted as a storm cloud passed over his features. “I stillwant to make good on our agreement, it’s only fair. And besides, I want to help your left side get stronger and less susceptible to injury. It’s your nondominant side so it’s always gonna be weaker.”
Andrew wanting to help me was an entirely new concept. Andrew wanting to antagonize me? Poke fun at me? Par for the course. Buthelp? Not the man I knew at all.
“How do you know I’m right-handed?” I demanded.
“I’m observant. It’s part of my job.” His eyes dragged over me in a way that I wanted to chalk up to professional scrutiny but actually felt more like appreciation. “Last night, when you were training Dude I watched the way you worked with him. It was obvious you’re right-handed.”
I felt heat rush to my face. The Gibson Glare includedinteltoo?
I coughed and turned in a circle like I was chasing an invisible tail. “So, uh, what first?” I looked away from Andrew but could still see him reflected back at me from every angle around the room.
“I’ve been watching you,” he said, his genial tone taking the stalker vibes out of the words. “The way you move, how you walk, your posture.”
My skin prickled at the reminder of Andrew scrutinizing me without me even realizing it. I braced for the veiled insults.
“I think you’re going to do great. You have phenomenal spatial awareness. You move well, you’re graceful. We just need to add a little strength to the equation, and that’s where I come in.”
Graceful? Me?
“I have a bunch of ideas about what I want to cram into these three sessions, but for today we’re starting nice and easy. Thisway.” He hooked his hand then headed to a far corner, away from the heavy machinery.
Nice and easy? I bristled. I mean, I wasn’t all ’roided up like the rest of his clientele, but I wasn’t exactly a weakling. After all, I could walk a sled-dogging eighty-pound Rottweiler with one hand.
He stopped in a corner and pulled out a cut-off broomstick with a two-foot rope tied in the center that was attached to a flat two-pound weight. Of all the sophisticated-looking equipment in the place he was making me use something that seemed better suited for senior citizen rehab?
“This one is great. Let me demonstrate.”
Andrew grasped the stick at each end and held it away from his body at shoulder height with the weight dangling down in the middle. In a flash the air around him seemed to shift as he switched on his focus. He adjusted his stance, straightening his back so that each vertebra seemed to snap into place, giving him what looked like an extra three inches of height. He took an intentional breath, let it out slowly, then paused, like he was an actor getting ready to take the stage.
