Page 29 of Resistance Training

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L arry’s response to my tagline idea for the senior fitness brand is less than wildly enthusiastic.

Partly because he’s checking the fuel level, here in the helm of his yacht, partly because he keeps checking out Cindy’s backside as she strolls around on the main dock.

She’s alternately checking her phone and scanning the marina.

It’s a beautiful day. Partly cloudy, light winds.

That could change later in the day, but it hardly matters. This isn’t a sailboat.

The Nautical Smile —which is seriously one of the cheesiest boat names I’ve ever known—is a forty-five-foot motor yacht, and it’s moored in slip three, a premium slip at the nicest marina around Portland.

With direct access to the Willamette River, it’s perfect for lazy Sunday cruises along the protected waters of the Multnomah Channel, even in March.

I’ve been out on this boat with Larry before.

He lets me operate it. Since I had plenty of experience handling my dad’s motorboat and our family sailboat back at Mercer Island, he even added me to his insurance policy as an approved operator.

I fucking love this vessel, and it inspires me to succeed in a way that’s very different from my initial motivations for getting into the fitness business.

I can tell that was Larry’s intention. To inspire me to make “own-a-yacht kind of money.”

But I don’t seem to be inspiring him with my business plan this morning. “Apps can’t spot you,” I repeat. “Because fitness apps are so popular now, but it’s imperative for seniors to have human trainers nearby, spotting them and ensuring their form is?—”

“Yeah, I got it,” he says as he tests the navigation lights. “I like it, bruh. You didn’t actually think I invited you out here so we could talk business on a Sunday, did you? On my boat?”

I slowly lower my backpack to the seating area behind me so he can’t tell my laptop is in there. “Well, we talk business all the time, so I figured?—”

“Gwen told me you haven’t taken a weekend off in months.”

“I didn’t go into the gym at all yesterday. And I brought a book to read, so…”

“Atta boy. You feel comfortable with her system?” he asks, gesturing at the instrument panel.

“Uh. Yeah. You want me to start her up?”

He checks his watch. “I’m gonna go ahead and start her up now. I already checked the oil and fuel levels before you got here. Turned on the fuel valves, checked the battery. You got to know this system pretty well last time—it’s all the same.”

“Yeah. You want me to take the helm?” Larry did not mention I would be piloting the boat today, but if we aren’t going to be talking business, then this is exactly what I need to do if I want to keep my mind off Vivian.

“For sure. Why don’t we do a walkaround, check the exterior while she’s warming up?”

“You got it.”

“A little walk and talk. You can take your backpack with the laptop and put it in the main salon if ya want,” he says with a wink.

“Can’t fool you, huh?”

“Have to get up pretty early to fool a fool, bruh.”

I stow my backpack in the main salon and then help Larry with final prep. As we’re loosening the dock lines, he says, “So, I hear you gave your Aries friend a ride home last night. She sounds like a real firecracker.”

“You heard correctly” is all I’m planning to say about that. I turn my head away from him, staring out at the horizon, so he can’t see my Pussy Face.

“I already saw your Pussy Face, kid. You don’t have to look away.”

Fucking know-it-all Larry.

“She really knocks you on yer ass, doesn’t she?”

“You could say that.”

“It’s rare to meet a woman like that—a woman who knocks you on yer ass, y’know?”

“You aren’t the most convincing person to spout this theory, Larry.”

“They didn’t all knock me on my ass. One of them I married specifically because she didn’t. That was after the first one who did.”

“And the third was an ass knocker?”

“You can say that again. Fourth was a church mouse. Number five could be the death of me, but I made the decision. I don’t want to live the rest of my life without her.”

I look over at Cindy, who’s still pacing around on the main dock, staring at her phone. But I see a smile spread across her face. I know she heard him. I wonder if they’re talking about marriage already.

“Lemme ask you something,” he says as he checks that the anchor is properly stowed. “That little cat you rescued. If someone showed up and said, Hey, that’s my kitten. I want her back. Would you give her back? Don’t think about it, just answer.”

“No. I’m keeping her—she’s mine.” I am startled to hear myself answer so quickly, but I’ve known it was true ever since we were at the animal hospital. “She doesn’t know it yet. But she’s mine.”

“And how would you feel if another man wanted Vivian? You think you’d be cool with that? Every day, for the rest of your life? Don’t think about it, just answer.”

No. My entire body tenses up with a fuck no, I’m keeping her—she’s mine response. But I don’t say it out loud because I hear Cindy call out, “There she is!”

And there she is.

Vivian.

Walking down the main dock toward Cindy’s open arms, carrying a big shoulder bag, and I can just tell from the way the bag’s hanging that she’s filled it with books.

Such a nerd. I watch them hug. I watch her squint over at me, and I can see that she is just as surprised to see me here as I am to see her.

If she’s feeling anything more than surprise, she isn’t showing it.

When I went into the guest bathroom before I left home this morning, the kitten was in her kennel, but she wasn’t hiding in the back corner, she was right up front.

She looked up and hissed at me, an automatic reaction, but there wasn’t much fire behind it, and she just kind of stopped hissing after a second.

She was still tense and watching my every move as I filled a bowl with dry kitten food, but it felt like progress.

That’s how I feel right now. My initial instinct when I see Vivian—with her hair up in a ponytail, in her jeans and slip-on sneakers and that tight little T-shirt under a wool cardigan, carrying a hooded jacket—my automatic response is fear.

To armor up. But when those walls are halfway up, I realize this doesn’t make a lot of sense anymore. Not with this person. Not now.

And that fucking terrifies me.

“Well, look who’s here. So glad you could join us.” Larry doesn’t even bother to act surprised. “I believe you know my colleague, Mitch,” he says to Vivian.

“Oh now, let’s not even try to pretend we aren’t delightfully helpful wingpeople,” Cindy calls out as she takes Vivian’s hand and leads her down to the slip. “You know, even though we’re in our lingam phase.”

“Limerence,” I correct her.

“Right. That too. Even though we’re busy limerencing the lingam twenty-four seven, we do enjoy the company of other couples.”

“Not a couple,” I correct her again.

“Right. Not yet.”

Larry holds out his hand to help Vivian onto the swim platform from the narrow walkway. “Come aboard, young lady.”

I grab onto the dock cleat to pull the stern closer to the dock as Vivian takes his hand.

She had plenty of experience climbing aboard boats when she lived on Mercer Island, but her hesitation tells me she hasn’t been on a vessel for a while.

Her shithead ex doesn’t sound like the kind of guy who enjoys water-based recreation.

My face heats up at the thought of the way that guy treated her.

Or maybe my face is heating up because it spent, like, twenty minutes between her legs last night and it just wants to get right back up in there, but nope.

This is the opposite of my intention for the day.

I give Cindy a look, frowning at her, but it’s not easy to maintain this expression when I’m so damned fond of that lady. I hold one hand out to her. “Step aboard, troublemaker.”

“Oh, I’ll just wait here a minute, hun.”

Interesting.

“There’s a full bar,” she says to Vivian, pointing below deck toward the galley, “coffee and tea, sandwiches, cookies, protein bars. Lots of bottled water to keep you hydrated.” She winks at her.

“Oh, and the cabinets in both heads are fully stocked with anything our guests might need, if you know what I mean.” She winks again.

Condoms. She clearly means condoms. Probably nipple clamps, whips, handcuffs, so many items I do not want to picture my clients using. Unless that client is Vivian. And even then, I don’t want to picture it, but now I can’t stop.

“You can call me anytime if you have questions,” Larry calls out as he hops onto the dock. “About the boat. Or whatever.”

“Wait, what?”

“You’re captain for the day, kid.” Larry unties the dock lines and tosses them onto the boat. “Me and my woman are going for brunch. You kids have fun. I set your course to Multnomah Channel on the Garmin,” he says to me. “Up to you, though. You know yer way around.”

For shit’s sake. I start to coil the lines and stow them, muttering about meddling old people, and I don’t care if they can hear me.

“You really aren’t coming with us?” Vivian asks, still clinging to her shoulder bag and coat. She doesn’t sound too disappointed, and that makes me very uncomfortable.

“I trust Mitch to take good care of both of you,” Larry says as he wraps his arm around Cindy’s shoulder and waves to us, like we’re the teenage neighborhood kids and he’s entrusting us with his luxury minivan that has condoms in the glove compartment.

“Winds are light. Perfect day for cruising. Shoot me a text when you’re back.

Cabin key’s on the hook,” he tells me. “You can bring them to me at the gym tomorrow.”

So casual. He has the ease of a man with so much money he knows he can just buy another gently used vessel if I sink or steal this one. And he knows I won’t strangle him because I want him to invest in my business.

Cindy blows us a kiss. “Bye, babies! Have fun, y’all!”