“No way. And who knows? You may end up loving me for it," Giles says, his arms crossed and his moustache bouncing in a broad grin again.
Chapter Four
Giles
“Looking good, Marcello... Yeah! Like that... Hold it. Tight. Yes... See! You've got this, now give me three more reps.”
“You said I'd be done at twelve!” Marcello pants and gives me a desperate look as he lies on the bench in front of me. My hands are poised, ready to catch the bar in his hands.
“But you're not even struggling," I tell him.
Marcello grits out what I assume is a string of Italian curse words and I smile as he pushes himself through three more reps.
“I didn't know you actually spoke Italian,” I say as I help him hook the bar back on the stand.
“I'm fluent in swearing in both Italian and Sardo... but yeah," he pauses, catches his breath, "I can get by. Spending all my childhood summers in Sardinia helped a lot.”
“That doesn't sound awful at all.”
“It wasn't,” Marcello says and his smile is wistful as he sits up. Something inside me wants to ask him more questions, about his ability to speak Italian, about those summers on a Mediterranean island, about what kind of memories he has, but I'm quick to quash the urge. I'm not here to be nosey. I'm here to ensure Marcello realises that the gym can be a fun place to be.
And I didn’t suggest that I become his training buddy so I could interrogate him about his childhood. I suggested it because it sounded like a good way for me to bring a new purpose to my gym sessions. Furthermore, I wanted to help. It may have been a long time ago but I still remember what it was like walking into a gym for the first time and howterrifying that was. It’s also true what I said; if he’s also able to deter Tony from approaching me, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
“So, let's move on to your lats,” I say, wiping down the bench where he was just lying with three thorough swipes of my towel.
“My what?”
“Your lats," I say and I poke him gently in the side of his back. “These muscles.”
Marcello rubs his side where I just poked him. “I have to work them out too?”
“You don'thaveto do anything,” I remind him. “But I was reading about how much of an all-over-body endurance event triathlon is last night so it makes sense to me to ensure our strength training programme is as all-encompassing as possible.”
Marcello blinks. “You were reading about triathlons? Last night?”
I lead us to the pull-down lat machine. “I didn't know much about them. Still don't really, but I found some amateur training schedules online.”
“Well you officially know more than me.” Marcello snorts.
“I'll send the links to you later. Then you'll know just as much.”
I feel Marcello's eyes on me as I move to connect the rope attachment to the machine. “You'll like this one. You have to sit down to do it.”
I move out of the way so Marcello can step in position.
“You expect me to hold... that.” He points up at the rope attachment, two short lengths of twisted black rope with two plastic balls on either end.
“Yep, one hand on each, near the handles,” I say but Marcello doesn't move. “What's wrong?”
“They... they look like...” Marcello begins but then descends into a fit of giggles.
“They look like what?”
“Oh, come on.” Marcello whacks the back of his hand against my chest. “You're gay, you must see it.”
“See what?" I frown at the tricep rope. “And also I'm pansexual. Not gay.”
“Oh.” Marcello's laughter halts abruptly. “Sorry I got that wrong.”
