Dad Bod (Under Construction 1)

“You did, Healthy Lady, and maybe I might get lucky and earn some brownie points with my favorite trainer.” I fall back into my desk chair, my legs suddenly weak from the deep timbre of Madden’s tone. Immediately, I feel the sensation of his callused fingers grazing my chin, and I pinch my eyes closed to hold on to that memory.

“Brownie points, huh? I thought you were a cupcake man. Don’t tell me you’ve crossed over to the dark side?” At this point I have no idea what this conversation means or what we’re even talking about. The flirty banter is strong, though.

Madden clears his throat, the sound deep and rough and sexy. “I got a clean bill of health from my doctor. And the best part, he took me off the Metoprolol. I have it all in writing. So are we good to workout today?”

“I’m ready and willing.” I kick myself, again, because my choice of words are only digging me deeper into this distorted situation.

“I’ll see you at four.” Madden ends the call before I can reply. I toss the phone on the desk and rest my head against the chair. I don’t want to read too much into things with Madden, so I need to tread lightly until I’ve had time to think. He’s obviously said something to Carter and Laney that would lead her to believe he’s interested, so—

My thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door, which opens with Laney and Bryn entering. “I cleared your schedule until four”—Bryn winks—“so let’s go.”

I grab my phone to check my schedule. I don’t cancel on clients, and I’m not sure why Bryn would think that was an okay thing to do. Thankfully I only had a small trio of golden girls blocked off between noon and two, and it looks like Bryn moved them to Gia’s schedule—cue eyeroll—so the clients aren’t inconvenienced with a sudden schedule change. I’m sure I’ll get to hear lots of complaints and gossip come Wednesday when the trio return for their next appointment.

Phyllis, Patsy, and Claudine are three of my favorite clients, living out their golden days in a beach house together on Tybee Island. It was the only way the trio could afford the oceanfront property on their meager retirements, but it was a pact they’d made forty years ago when Phyllis’ husband had the first of many heart attacks—if they were met with the misfortune of becoming widows, they’d retire to the island and take care of each other. Friends till the very end, they always say, and I think it’s sweet that their friendship has withstood so many ups and downs through the years. They’ve been friends longer than I’ve been alive, so that’s pretty fuckin’ awesome.

My workouts with the golden girls are one of my favorites

. You can learn a lot from old women if you’ll listen close enough. I imagine, Laney, Bryn, and I fifty years from now, old and saggy, hitting on young hot studs in the gym. We have lots to look forward to.

“Time’s wasting, Jo! Move that tight ass,” Laney demands. I might punch her in the tit before the day is over.

“Where are we going?” I ask as I stand from my desk and slide my phone in the pocket of my leggings. Pants without pockets are just sad.

“Girls’ day!” Bryn and Laney chime in unison. So they planned this, ambushed me. I can’t even trust my best friends. Bitches.

Bryn locks her arm with mine and leads me out of my office and through the lobby, with Laney bringing up the rear. We pass by Gia at the front desk, and I turn back to look at Laney when Gia’s mouth gapes open in disgust. But of course, if Laney were smiling from ear to ear and flipping me off while groping her crotch, I’d probably be offended too. Lan’s imaginary dick is likely as big as Carter’s. She’s all in your face with crass personality. You can’t take Lan anywhere without some sort of embarrassment, and I’m not even sure why I put myself through her antics.

I swat my hand at her and pull her alongside of me as we bust through the double glass doors. The parking lot is fairly empty for this time of the day; most of the workout buffs crowd through the doors after five pm when their workday ends.

We load into Laney’s Camaro, seat belts necessary because she drives like a maniac. Laney cuts the corner hard as she pulls out of the parking lot and onto Butler Ave. “That elliptical worked up an appetite. Spike’s sound good to y’all?” Laney asks.

“How are you hungry? I saw the mustard smeared across your cheek when you arrived at the gym.”

Laney shrugs. “I didn’t ask for diet advice, Jo. So don’t give it. Besides, I’m sure I burned off my mid-day snack, so lunch isn’t gonna hurt. I’ve been craving a seafood platter all week.”

At the mention of cravings, the thought crosses my mind that Laney might be pregnant. But before I let the question fall from my mouth, I think better of it and stuff it to the back of my mind. It’s a sensitive subject for Laney. If she wants me to know something, she’ll tell me. Unfortunately, she doesn’t use that same consideration with me.

Laney parks, taking up two spaces right in front of Spike’s on the Oceanfront, just like the asshole she is. We head to our usual table on the patio and pop the umbrella up to shield the blaze from the sun. Yeah, it’s late September, but the South has one season, situated right in the fourth circle of Hell.

We order drinks and appetizers—fried calamari for Laney, and seafood lettuce wraps for Bryn and I.

“So you’ll never believe who’s on the roster for my five pm hot yoga class…” Bryn teases.

Laney smirks like the cat who ate the canary, and I’m starting to wonder how much the men at Davenport Construction gossip.

“Who?” I ask, intrigued.

“Maverick. Reynolds.” Bryn bites off each name with a clipped and angry tone. “But for the life of me, I can’t imagine why a man whore like that would need flexibility and strength training. I mean, isn’t that what he uses his harem of twits for?”

Laney grasps her stomach as she erupts into laughter. “Oh fuck, Mav has you in his sights!”

“Like hell he does! And quite frankly, I don’t want his crab-infested crotch on my yoga mats! There isn’t enough Lysol disinfectant in the state of Georgia to rid my yoga studio with the myriad of sexually transmitted diseases that man may possibly carry.” Bryn shudders in disgust then turns to me. “Jo, pleeeassse have Gia take over that class.”

“I don’t know, Bryn. I think that would be a disservice to a client. Then Gia will be a notch on Maverick’s bedpost, and I don’t see that ending well for our little group.”

“Group? Do you mean us girls … orrrr.” Bryn’s brow raises high in her hairline, and she tilts her head. “You don’t mean the fellas too, do you?”

“Well, yeah? I mean, we’ve all been hanging out, and the guys did save us from a night in the pokey the last time we all got together. Are we not a little group?”