Okay, so she’s got a point. I can lie here complaining, or do something to help myself. I snatch the leaflet from her and begin to peruse it for myself. High-intensity interval training… well, even the thought makes me cringe. Jumping rope? I’d pass out if I tried. Yoga? Hell, that’s for bitches, not for a big fucker like me. Pilates… same goes. Oh, here’s something I could do – weight training. It even suggests something simple like carrying cans around. I’ll just have to practice lifting a few more beer bottles. While drinking the contents, of course, now I’m allowed since I’m no longer on antibiotics. Wait, there’s something else. Breathing exercises, now those I can do without making an idiot of myself.
She’s right, though. I’ve got to do something. While riding a bike isn’t particularly challenging, I’m not confident I could easily get on and off without getting stronger. What’s a biker without his two wheels?
I feel a pat on my hand and notice I’ve been lost in my thoughts, as Trixie is getting up to go.
“I’ll leave you to read that shit for yourself.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I add the last word belatedly, but she’s already out the door.
Diaphragmatic breathing?Now that’s one I had to mouth out.Alternate nostril?What the hell is that?Pursed lip?Fuck. The list goes on. I never realised there were so many ways to get air into your lungs. I thought that was just something your body did automatically.
Lung training machine?Now that sounds better than making myself sweat jumping rope, or a fool of myself by contorting my limbs doing yoga. Searching online, I find they go for just a handful of dollars. One that catches my eye even has decent reviews. That’s got to be worth a try, and sounds more masculine than the other options. I put it in the cart, checkout, and pay for it. Next-day delivery, I’d be a fool to miss out. Though, of course, I’ll have to send a prospect to the nearest drop point to get it. Direct deliveries to the club are frowned on.
My reaction to that blow job has kicked my head into gear. I can’t spend the rest of my life wheezing like an invalid. After trying the breathing exercises for a while, frustrated because they don’t immediately help, I decide to get on with a new exercise, go downstairs and practice lifting beer bottles to my mouth.
But when I reach the bottom step on the staircase, I come to an abrupt halt. It’s evening, so it’s not surprising most brothers are here, but usually they’d be congregated around the bar or the pool table, or in groups playing cards, or even the slot machines we’ve installed in the club. Freak and his boy are often taking on all comers with their gaming setup in one corner.
Tonight, all brothers, club girls, and Pippa seem to have one purpose. They’re huddled in a group, most holding tablets, and there’s a general excitement I’ve not seen before.
The prospects are missing. Neither Heathen nor Knight is manning the bar.
Words is the first to spot me. He gives me a wave, looking far more animated than he usually does. Wondering what the fuck I’m walking into, I descend the last step and start walking over.
“Hey, Short!” Saint jumps up and offers me his seat when he sees me. “We’ve got a treadmill, elliptical, and rowing machine ordered.”
“And weights,” Freak puts in.
“Yoga mats!” Pippa states gleefully. “You know? I can’t wait to get back into that again.”
“You’re pregnant,” Saint observes.
“Lover, I’ll do it carefully. There are special programs for expectant moms.” Pippa leans over and gives him a kiss as she reassures him.
“I’m in on the yoga,” Heaven trills.
“Me too,” Star agrees. “But what about a pole? Can we get one of those?”
Sudden silence descends. Then, slowly, realisation dawns and smirks appear on my brothers’ faces.
“Add that too, Genie,” Rattler instructs, sporting a shit-eating grin.
“Done,” our tech brother, who’s apparently in charge of ordering all this stuff, confirms.
I might sometimes be slow on the uptake, but I’m not that stupid. All this exercise equipment, except, hopefully, the pole, is being ordered on my behalf. And a fuck ton of it. This makes my recent cheap purchase pale in comparison. I toss a glare at Trixie, who turns a deep shade of red and looks away fast, refusing to meet my eye.She’s betrayed my trust. She’d gonestraight down and exposed my embarrassing predicament to my brothers.But I can’t hold on to my immediate impulse to be angry at her. Fuck, once she’d obviously betrayed my plight, my brothers rallied around to give me every chance they could to help me recover, or at least gain sufficiently functioning lungs.
A lump forms in my throat. Then a more serious thought hits me. “How much am I going to have to pay for all this shit?”
Bullseye looks up. “Nothing, Short. Sure, you’ll be the one to immediately benefit from it, but it seemed beyond time we had a fuckin’ gym in this club.” His gaze roams the room, pausing on each man in turn. “It will stop us getting out of shape and flabby.”
“Fuck off,” Piston says, rubbing his rounded stomach.
“Fighting keeps me fit enough,” Tempest refutes.
Overwhelmed, I don’t know what to say, though the practicality does hit me. “Where are we going to put all this shit?”
Freak barks a laugh. “Got the prospects cleaning out the old barn we’re not using. Just needs some fixing up and we’ll be set.”
My breath catches, not a good thing when the one thing I need to do is keep breathing, and I stagger to the chair Saint had offered up.
“Well, I’ll be fucked.” My face splits into a smile of its own accord. “I don’t know how to thank you, Brothers.”
Saint’s hand clasps my shoulder. “Just get fit again, Short. That’s all we ask.”
The almost solemn moment is spoiled when Rat calls out, “That stripper pole should be here in the clubroom, not in the gym.”
“Fuckin’ agreed,” more than one man calls out.
