Page 23 of Resistance Training

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“ I mean, yes, it was very kind of her to help me out—help us out—even though I’ve been kind of a dick to her.”

I’ve been sitting on the floor here for half an hour.

Shifting positions, I lean the back of my head against the door to the guest bathroom, accidentally knocking it.

“Shit. Sorry,” I say to the kitten. She could be asleep in there for all I know.

Or crouching next to the inside of the door, waiting for me to open it so she can run away or slit my throat or both.

“I mean, yes, Vivian Sparks is a kind person in general. She was never not kind to me—that wasn’t the problem. I’m not going to get into what the problem was, or is. It’s complicated. Or maybe it’s incredibly simple. But I’m not going to bore you with it. Unless you want to hear about it?”

Nothing.

No response.

For all I know, Vivian was messing with me when she said I should talk to the cat through the door.

I read her the introduction and first chapter from the John Green book earlier.

I played her an entire Huberman Lab episode about creatine while I ate dinner.

I started a journal to track her behavior, likes, dislikes, what she ate.

She seems to like almost everything except me.

I get it. The girl’s probably been living on the streets, and she’s got the fortress thing down.

Right now it’s my job to provide her with fuel.

Her fire has just been to survive, ever since she was born.

And my other job is to ensure that I don’t fracture her spirit. I can do that.

She ate everything I gave her today, licked the bowls clean. I was thinking about texting Vivian to ask if I should feed her some more, but I don’t want to overdo it. With Vivian, I mean. I’m not going to text her after she kissed me.

I can’t believe she kissed me.

“Can you believe she kissed me?” I say to the door.

“And then ran off like that? I take back what I said just now—she’s not always kind to me.

That was a dick move. It was a hot move, but it was a dick move.

Sorry—I probably shouldn’t say dick to you.

But she shouldn’t have done that. She knew what that would do to me.

People don’t just go around kissing each other, okay?

That’s not a thing if you aren’t dating.

Clients definitely can’t go around kissing their personal trainers, in or out of the gym.

Just because we used to be friends, just because I used to have feelings for her, that doesn’t give her the right to just kiss my neck.

If anything, that’s exactly why she shouldn’t kiss my neck. ”

Fuck, that was hot, though.

Why hasn’t she checked in with me since she left?

I don’t believe for a second that she hasn’t consumed any food or drinks tonight.

Why hasn’t she asked about the kitten, even?

Is she that busy partying with the sassy seniors?

I pull my phone out of my pocket to make sure the ringer’s on.

It is. But there are text notifications from Vivian and I didn’t hear them come in. It’s eleven thirty.

“This should be fun,” I mutter.

I open the text app to find a photo. Of Vivian singing into a microphone with some guy who looks like every other guy in Portland. And she looks like she’s having fun. That does not make me happy.

VIVIAN

Hiya, hun. It’s Cindy here with Vivian’s phone. As you can see, our girl is busy entertaining us all with a very spirited duet of Summer Nights. Y’all should join us here at the tiki lounge. ;) Looks like this gal’s gearing up to put a large portion of unsanctioned meat in her mouth.

Also, y’all should know that she enjoyed a very large serving of strawberry daiquiri and one third of the loaded nachos we ordered for the table. This is Cindy again.

“Shit.”

This is none of my business.

This literally has nothing to do with my business.

Except that four of my clients are out together and the one who’s dating a future investor in my business is insinuating that I should pick Vivian up and save her from that terrible piece of singing meat.

So I will do the professional thing and drive to a tiki lounge to retrieve a client at around midnight. It’s a rescue mission. I won’t even talk to her.

After brushing my teeth and changing into a pair of jeans, putting a minimal amount of product in my hair, and also using a little cologne—because I am not human garbage—I return to the door of the guest bathroom to let the cat know I’m leaving.

“Hi. I’m going out for a little while, to pick up a client.

To prevent her from putting someone else in her mouth.

To make sure she doesn’t put anyone in her mouth, I mean.

I am not abandoning you. I will return. Do you need anything? ”

I take a deep breath and slowly open the door. The lights are off in there and I just hear a lot of hissing from inside the kennel, so I immediately shut the door.

“Great. See you later.”

I do not drink much anymore, and the only time I came to this bar before tonight was for Dolores’s birthday party last year.

It was a rager, and I left early because I couldn’t keep up.

But I have to say, as soon as I walk in here, I am reminded of just how much fun I haven’t been having.

I enjoyed about three weeks’ worth of debauchery when I first moved to Portland, and then I got straight to work, staying focused on my goals.

There’s no room for partying in your twenties when your ambition is to be an invincible top-tier personal trainer who owns more than one profitable gym before turning thirty.

But damn, this place is fun.

And loud.

And what the fuck does that guy think he’s doing putting his hand on Vivian’s shoulder when she clearly isn’t into him?

I walk right up behind her, touch the small of her back, and say into her ear, while looking at the guy, “You ready to go, Vivian?”

The guy unhands her, but it takes Vivian a few seconds longer to react.

When she does, it’s like she has no idea that the guy is still standing there or that there is anyone else here besides me.

She slowly turns around, slow-blinks, nearly loses her balance.

When I steady her by grabbing her hips, she places her hands on my chest and then slides them up to my face, strokes the stubble on my cheeks as she stares at the beanie on my head.

Her lips are glossy and full and parted, and I hate the idea of them being on or around any other guy. I hate that idea so much it scares me. Even more than it scares me how badly I want them on and around various parts of me.

“Fuck me, you look hot in a beanie,” she finally says, and she sounds angry about it.

“Yup. Let’s get you home.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Whose home?”

“Your home. I’m going to drive you home, and you’re going to go to bed. By yourself.”

She frowns at me, places one fist on her cocked hip, and pokes me in the sternum with her index finger, like an old-fashioned cartoon bad guy. “No, you are!”

“Yes. I am also going to go to bed by myself in my own home after I drop you off.”

Her face lights up and she wraps her arms around my neck. “After you get me off?!”

I remove her hands from my neck. “ Drop. I’m going to drop you off at your house—let’s go!”

“Stop bossing me around, Coach! How’s the kitten?!”

“Fine.”

“Good! Hang out here with me!”

“No! Come on!”

That guy who’s still standing behind her says, “So are we still hanging out, or what?”

Vivian waves him away without even turning around. Suddenly her other hand is under my shirt, flat against my abs. “I’m gonna reach under your hard shell and touch that sad little underbelly that hurts— Holy shit, your abs are amazing!”

I remove her hand from under my shirt. “Don’t touch the abs.”

“Boooo!”

“Mitch! You’re here! Time to go, hun!” I turn to find Cindy, who’s holding up Vivian’s jacket. “We had such a good time with you, doll, but Mitch has to take you home now. Your phone and wallet are in your jacket.”

“Ugh! Fine!” Cindy helps Vivian put on her denim jacket while telling her something that I guess I’m not supposed to hear. Meanwhile I get a better look at her outfit.

Miniskirt and black tights and boots and a red top that hugs her curves so tight I can’t think straight.

The fuck was she thinking, coming to a bar dressed like that?

As soon as Vivian manages to get her hands through the sleeves of her jacket, I grab one of her hands and pull her to the door, saluting Cindy and Mabel and Dolores.

“Good night! I love all of you!” Vivian calls out, her other hand raised. “Had me a bla-aast!”

I don’t slow down until we’re out the door and on the sidewalk. Then I let go of her hand, expecting her to latch on tighter. Surprisingly, she lets her arm drop and then skips ahead while singing “ Doobie dow doobie doo doobie doobie doobie dow !”

“Hey, get back here.”

“Why?” She spins around and sings. “You wanna get friendly holdin’ my haaaaand?!”

“I don’t want you to fall on your face. My car’s parked around the corner.”

“Because you like my face so much?” She crosses her eyes and sticks her tongue out to the side—which is something I taught her to do one summer.

“Because you’re drunk.”

“I’m really not. I’m just tipsy.”

“You can’t stand or walk straight.”

She stops in her tracks. “I am standing straight right now. Look at me.” She does indeed stand straight. Until she starts swaying. “Whoa. I don’t like that.”

“Come on. Let’s get you home.”

“Ohhhh, yes!” She stomps past me, wagging her finger. “Let’s be a grumpy grumperson and order me around!”

I catch up to her and walk on the street side. “Try walking like a normal person.”

“Like zis, you mean, monsieur?” She sways her hips and swings her arms from side to side.

She starts to cross the street, but I grab her arm and pull her back to the sidewalk. “This way.” I pull her to the left.

She blows raspberries at me. “Wait, why are you here, even?”