10
Riley
Gym Days
Three days into Oz’s absence from our station – and thus, Andi’s presence in town – I sit on a leather padded bench in the local Rollin On Gym between sets and count through my breaths.
I enjoy working out.
I enjoy being strong.
And I enjoy exercising my mind by working through math problems rather than counting sets. Training, for me, is a chance to tune my entire body – my muscle gains, and my mind – to stay sharp, fast, and prepared for all the shit that gets thrown at me on a daily basis.
I’m a cop. I’m the lowest of the low rungs at my station, which means I’m often walking the beat, I almost always have to canvas scenes and do the boring interviews where we know they don’t know shit, but to conduct a thorough investigation, it’s something we must do, and it means I’m usually the lunch collector, tank cleaner, drunk guy washer, and paper shredder.
It’s often a thankless job, but what’s worse, is the numbing effects sitting at a desk or walking Main street has on my brain. It’s not that the chief wants to give me the shitty work, but someone’s gotta do it, and since everyone else has been here longer, they’ve already done their hard yards.
But no matter how prepared my workout regime makes me, no matter how many sets I do, or what kind of mathematical equation I solve, I’m not at all prepared for when Andi Conner walks through the gym with a pair of headphones in her ears and a megawatt grin on her face.
She doesn’t see me… or if she does, she pretends she doesn’t.
She bops across the room to the same beat as my thundering heart and stops by the leg press. Setting the weight to much,muchheavier than she is herself, I narrow my eyes and prepare to sprint across the room when she releases the pin and crushes herself to death.
But she doesn’t.
She sits in place and makes herself comfortable, and pulling the pin, her legs fire up and carry nearly two-hundred pounds of heavy steel.
Color me surprised.
Her face strains, and her arms bulge when she uses them to fortify her strength, but her music remains on, and her lips stay in a smile. A strained smile, but a smile nonetheless.
“No perving on the clients, Cruz.” Jimmy Kincaid – co-owner of the gym, and fighting champion – slaps my shoulder and draws my attention away from Andi. “That’s not the kind of establishment we run here. If she feels your eyes, she’ll feel uncomfortable. You make my clientele uncomfortable, then you and I will have a problem.”
“Sorry.” I lay back on the bench and barely react when he steps to my head and becomes my spotter. I lift the bar from the rack and start a new set. “She and I are… friends. I wasn’tperving; just watching.”
“It sure is a fine line, huh?” Looking down at me, shaggy hair hangs in his smiling eyes. “Perving and watching. If she’s your friend, then I’m sure she’ll come and say hi. If she’s not, then I’d rather you weren’t ogling her ass while she was trying to work it out. Andi’s cousin is family to me, which makes Andi my family, too. In my family, we tend to hurt the creeps that stare too long.” He flashes an upside-down grin. “You creepin’?”
“No.” I push out a long breath and focus on my arms rather than the burn in my chest. “Not a creep. I won’t look again.”
His hands come out when my arms shake. He places them near the bar in preparation to take the weight, but he doesn’t touch. He doesn’t mess up my set. “How’s your mom doing?”
“Better.” I grunt through another rep. “She was feeling crappy the other day, but seems to be perking up.”
“That’s good. That makes me happy. That’s ten; put the bar up.”
I don’t, because I don’tcountreps. I solve puzzles, and I’m not done. “Kids are good, Jim? Family’s good?”
He flashes the kind of grin only the most satisfied men can do. “My crew are just fine. Everyone’s happy. Everyone’s healthy. That’s fifteen; put the bar up.”
I don’t, because Andi’s my puzzle, and I’m not done.
Jimmy’s eyes flash between mine, then lift in her direction. Back to mine. Back to her. Is he watching her because she’s pretty, or are her weights crushing her?
I push number eighteen up and set the bar in the rack, and sitting up, I find her not at all crushed, but her thighs bulge as she pushes the mammoth weight up.
“Fuckin’ pushing it. Both of you,” he grumbles. “I pay the insurance around here, and the pair of you are gonna give me a stomach ulcer.”
“I’m fine. I know my limits, but maybe you should go spot, Dee.”