Page 23

I’m already walking away from Waylen, but I overhear snippets of what the trio is saying about me.

What, are they dating now?

What is he thinking?

She’s not exactly a great example of what we’re doing here.

Their jabs circle in my head on my way to my lab, but what’s worse is that I don’t hear Dr. Wright say a thing in response.

So, are they right?

Am I simply fooling myself into thinking that I’m not just a novelty for him?

I sink onto my stool at my lab table, pulling out my files, organizing my previous lab tests, and prepping my equipment to run more. I drew blood samples from everyone on Friday but didn’t have time to run my tests, so it’s what will take up the rest of my day.

I slot the first set of tubes in the centrifuge and start it. Collecting my pipettes, I get to work separating plasma, blood cells, and work my way through the different components to be analyzed by their designated machines.

While I wait for them to do the work, I play back the kinds of things Dr. Wright says to me when we’re alone.

He compliments my curves. Calls me soft. Says he’s obsessed with thoughts of fucking me. Even the way he explored my body the first time in his office at the university, it felt more like…a new fetish that seemed to surprise him rather than his attraction to me as a person.

Dread fills my belly.

It all feels so sexual and shallow, which wouldn’t be so bad if he’d stood up for me. Said anything to counter the ridicule aimed my way at the idea of him being interested in me. And he seems to be.

At least, that’s what he says when we are intimate.

I shake my head and get back to my tests. I can’t dissect his intentions.

But I do know that this isn’t the first time a man hasn’t stood up for me when negative comments are thrown my way, especially by those who fit that attractive mold.

Maybe if I hadn’t just had this issue with Nick this weekend, it wouldn’t hit me so hard. Maybe I wouldn’t be falling into a tailspin thinking about it when I should be concentrating on getting my work done.

I want to be able to present these results to my subjects today, show them their progress and fire them up before another workout session, but it’s so damn hard to stay focused.

I haven’t always been confident in my body, but I’ve grown into it. I’ve worked hard to value myself regardless of what others think of me and how they think I should look.

The silence surrounding the whirring of the machines as they spit out data for me drains my post-coital high and replaces it with a pounding headache. I need a break from this place. From the shit I’ve let myself get into.

Maybe being an open and free woman isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Maybe I should have known better than to let myself get in this kind of situation. With three men. All of them older than me. All of them with positions of power.

All of them with fangirls and hanger-ons who are willing to take swipes at me without any repercussions.

Printing all of the readouts as the machines spit them out on the network database, I don’t have the mental fortitude to analyze them right now.

So, they all go in their designated folders, and I sit and rub my eyes and forehead as I give in to feeling sorry for myself.

Sometimes, it’s just not worth fighting.

After another half hour of this, I get off my stool and flip through the results again, jotting notes in pencil and merely highlighting the differences between the first labs and the recent ones.

As I expected, as I told my subjects to expect, the results show minor improvements. But minor or not, they’re improvements.

I stuff them in my bag and go to change in the locker room by the studio where I meet my group.

I smile at them as they enter, chitchatting about their weekends and their families.

Marcy has a new granddaughter that she’s over the moon about, and it’s easy to ooo and aah over the pictures she shows me.

Frederick went on a walk with his son this weekend and pushed him on the swing at the park, which is more than he’s been able to do before. The pride in him has me grinning back.

The small changes in their lives fill me with the gusto that I let deflate earlier in the day.

When we start, it’s an easy workout. Still, thirty minutes of movement, but I incorporated some yoga positions that test their stability and balance. They all wobble a little.

“Don’t worry about wobbling. That means your muscles are working. So, if you’re not wobbling, you’re not challenging yourself enough.” They all smile back at my encouragement, but my head isn’t in the game as well as it should be.

By the time we’re done, I remind them that we will be adding light weights to our next workout, so be prepared to sweat, and be prepared to be sore the next day.

“You want good shoes on Wednesday. Good stable shoes.” I clap my hands. “Okay. Before you all leave, I want to hand off your new test results. Come grab them.”

I’d summarized my notes on a small card for each of them, showing what changes they’ve been making and what it means in layman’s terms. Their shocked faces make pushing through today more than worth it.

Sandra, one of my older ladies, squeezes my arm. “Thanks, dear. And remember, for someone who’s been around for a lot longer than you have, whatever’s got you down today, it ain’t gonna last forever. Okay?”

My smile is small but genuine. “No. It’s not. Thank you.”

She nods at me, sweat plastering her gray hair to her forehead, and walks toward the door to share results with one of the other women.

I’m glad they are making connections with each other.

My phone buzzes in my bag, and I’ve never been so relieved to see my bestie’s name on my phone.

Hey, girlie. Things okay over there?

Sighing, I shoot a text back to her. In some ways, yes. In others, no .

Then, I lay out what happened with Dr. Wright.

The aghast face emojis fill my screen.

I know. I can’t even process it right now. I mean, I feel like a novelty. You know?

Baby girl, you are anything but a novelty, and if he can’t see that, you either have to make him or shut it down.

Shawna always has my back. I love her to pieces.

What kinds of things does he say?

I give her my list that I can remember, and waiting for her response has me spiraling again. I really hate this.

Those sound pretty damning, and they definitely don’t sound like he’s respecting you as a person. But it’s borderline fetishizing your body. I think you should confront him about it, especially after he didn’t stand up for you with those nurses.

Yeah, I will. But I have good news too, and I’d rather focus on that right now.

Ooo, please, do tell.

So I tell her about making up with Nick and our upcoming date this weekend, which I totally invite her to. Turnaround is fair play. But I also tell her about what happened with Matteo yesterday. Spending the night, and the complete surprise that was.

The last few days have been a whirlwind, and I have no idea how to process it all. Three men. All of them are good in bed. All of them come with their own hang-ups and issues. All of them cause problems for me at the center.

Girl. We need another binge fest and coffee date. When are you done? I’m opening the bottle of wine right now.

I’ll be over after my shower.

Good. The door will be unlocked for you and your glass will be waiting on the counter.

I stuff my phone back in my bag and set to work putting the studio back in order.

As I clean up the space and replace the mats to their piles, I can feel a presence behind me, and tension draws my shoulder blades tight.

I turn to find Dr. Wright hovering in the doorway, seriousness lining his features as he looks me over.

“Can we talk for a minute?”

I cross my arms but nod. He clocks my discomfort, steps in, and closes the door behind him before he approaches. I’ve never seen him look sheepish like this before.

“I wanted to explain about ignoring the trio and their comments.”

My brow shoots up.

“I didn’t want to acknowledge their gossip because I didn’t want to give them any more fuel. It’s always been my policy, and this time it felt wrong.”

“Mmm.” It’s not an apology. It’s an excuse and maybe an acknowledgment.

His hand lifts a little and drops, like he’s thinking better of touching me. Good call on his part. “I realize how it must look from your point of view, and I’m sorry for not defending you.”

“I appreciate that, but I don’t think you do understand my point of view.”

His brows furrow, and he frowns, back to the serious doctor I met when I pitched him my thesis project.

“Do you realize the things you say to me? About how soft I am. About how fat or round my ass is? How well it means I can take you? Complimenting my curves. It’s all physical, focusing on my size, and it makes me feel like a novelty to you. Your first fat girl.”

His mouth falls open, his confusion clear. “I—I didn’t mean to be offensive. Olivia…”

My arms tighten around myself harder. I can’t give in just because he seems contrite.

“I don’t mean to make you feel that way. I’ve never really known how to talk about attraction outside of that ideal body lens.”

“Because you’ve never been attracted to someone like me before.”

Despair fills his eyes, and he shakes his head. “No. I haven’t.”

“Well, it’s unclear if it’s me you’re attracted to rather than you’re new discovery of how attractive my body type can be. You need to figure it out before this”—I gesture between the two of us—“happens again.”

I back away, stepping around him and out the door to shower and go drown my emotions in wine with my best friend.