No Strings

I bark out a laugh and press the start button on my treadmill. She hits start on hers as well and begins to walk. Her machine makes a faint screeching sound my machine doesn’t make, like it’s scratching against the bottom. Screech, screech, screech, screech, screech, screech. Holy shit, it’s annoying.

She picks up the pace a little, and the sound gets louder. Thank God I never use that machine. How is it not bothering her? Then I notice at some point while I was once again ogling her, she put earbuds in. I can faintly hear the sound of country music playing from them.

After several minutes of this annoying noise, I look to see how long she set her workout for. She catches me staring and takes one earbud out. “Whew! This machine is gonna work me hard.”

Is she serious? She’s walking at an unhurried pace. The people on the streets of New York walk quicker on their way to work.

“How long are you planning to walk for?” I ask while I slow my run down to a brisk jog.

“I’m not really sure. I guess until I get tired.”

Great. At that speed, she’ll be here all day, which means I’m stuck listening to that screeching noise for the rest of my run so this woman can go for a leisurely stroll.

“Have you worked out before?”

“Nope. A part of the new me is to become healthier, and because there’s no way I’m giving up my fried chicken or ice cream, I figured my best bet is to work out. It just so happens my new living situation means I have this gym at my disposal, so I thought, what the heck.”

Would it be piggish of me to tell her that her body looks just fine and there’s no reason to waste her time on that treadmill—driving me nuts with that screeching noise while I’m trying to listen to the news and enjoy my workout in peace? If she wants a workout, I can gladly accommodate her, and I guarantee she’ll work up more of a sweat than she’s doing right now. The thin material of my shorts stretches against my growing erection. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten laid. Between finishing up the club in LA and moving back here with my teenage son, who hates his parents and the world, I’ve been a little preoccupied.

A few minutes go by and then she presses stop on the machine.

“You’re done?” She’s only burned thirty calories.

“Yeah. Don’t want to overdo it on the first day. Figure I’ll work my way up slowly.”

I stifle my laugh at how ridiculous this woman is, but I’m also pleased that horrid machine is now quiet.

“Have a good day,” she says, waving as she walks out of the gym. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

You bet your fine ass you will.

Chapter Two

Savannah

“Is that what you wore to the gym?” Brianne laughs, handing me a steaming mug of coffee. “Your UGGs and pajama shorts?”

“I don’t own any workout clothes. And anyway, I only lasted like ten minutes before I got winded.”

We both crack up laughing.

“Are you going tomorrow?”

“Sure. Why not? New city, new me, right?” Plus, aside from my appointment on Friday to fill out paperwork and get a tour of the office, I have the remainder of the week with nothing to do but get acquainted with my new living arrangements. Monday will be my first official day of work.

Brianne smiles sadly. “There’s nothing wrong with the old you. You’re perfect.”

I want to believe her, I do. But it’s hard to believe you’re perfect when nobody in your life has ever wanted you enough to keep you… to put you first. To show you that you’re their everything. Not my parents, not my foster parents, not my best friend, not even my husband.

Cue pity party for one.

“I guess I just want to figure out who I am.”

“You will. And when I get back, I’ll help you.” She winks playfully. “This city is filled with wealthy, yummy men. Trust me.”

“You aren’t lying,” I agree, remembering that sexy man jogging on the treadmill.

When Brianne quirks a brow, silently asking me to elaborate, I do. “I ran into some hot guy at the gym. I didn’t plan to get a workout and a show, but hey, I’m not complaining. If I have to suffer through a grueling workout, a bit of eye candy makes it worth it.”

She shakes her head and giggles. “There you go! Did you ask him for his number?”

“No! My divorce was finalized like five seconds ago.”

Brianne’s answer to getting over Neil is to get back out there, but I don’t agree. I put myself out there once, gave Neil my all, and ended up husbandless, best-friendless, and homeless. This time around, I’m going to do things differently, starting with focusing on myself.