Flirting with the bad boy: A love at the Gym Novel Page 2

  “What’s wrong?” Suzy asks, her eyebrows pulling together. “You look upset.”

  I shrug. “Tweedle dee, Tweedle dumb, and Tweedle jerk were just at it again.”

  “Ah,” she says with a knowing nod. “The super-hot but super annoying brothers.”

  “My brothers are not hot,” I say, curling my lip.

  She laughs. “You just have to say that because they’re your brothers. So what’d they do?”

  I give her a quick recap of their annoying antics.

  “You know what’s really ridiculous?” Suzy says after taking a long sip of her margarita. “They act like that around you, and yet you’re a really good person. Like… what would they do if you were some heathen who did drugs and hooked up with guys and partied all night? They’d probably drop dead of shock.”

  I snort. A teenage boy wearing a red Golden Grill T-shirt brings our food out and we temporarily stop talking in favor of eating these delicious tacos.

  “I wonder what they would do if I just suddenly showed up to work with a face tattoo,” I muse, my mouth full of food.

  Suzy laughs. “You don’t even have to go that far to freak them out. Just bring home some dirty stoner guy.”

  “Oh man, they would die!” I say, bursting into giggles. “They don’t even approve of the clean-cut nice guys I date.”

  “You will always be their angelic little sister,” she says with a wistful look. Suzy is an older child and I think she’s always had both a crush on my brothers and a desire to have brothers of her own. “You’re too good in their eyes.”

  “I’m too good in all eyes,” I say with a little scowl as I take another bite of my taco. “I’ve always been too good. I never do anything bad. I never break any rules. I never even date guys I think are sexy because I just stick to the boring, nerdy losers.”

  Suzy’s expression turns contemplative. “Maybe you should date a bad boy.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “No, I’m serious. Just like… break out of your shell. Find you a sexy bad boy and have a fun fling.”

  I pretend to gag. “No, way. Totally not my thing. I mean, I might pretend to date a bad boy just to annoy my brothers but I don’t want to date one in real life. You know me… I’m a hopeless romantic.”

  “You’re a pathetic romantic,” she says with an eye roll. “You’re not like me. You can’t just go on a date for fun. You get too attached.”

  I sigh. “I can’t help it. I want my fairy tale. And no guys in Roca Springs are prince charmings.”

  “Still,” Suzy says, her eyes lighting up with mischief. “Can you imagine the look on your brothers’ faces if they saw you dating some grungy biker guy? It would be so hilarious.”

  A devious grin spreads across my lips. It only gets wider as I think about how they treated me today, like I’m some angelic perfect little kid who can’t possibly dress like a grown adult woman and be attractive.

  “Maybe I could fake it. Like hire some male actor to pretend to be a grungy biker guy, just to annoy my brothers.”

  Suzy laughs. “You could bring him to that fancy gala dinner thing your company throws.”

  My eyes widen. “That’s actually a great idea. The gala is in two weeks.”

  Suzy cocks an eyebrow. “You’re going to hire an actor to prank your brothers?”

  I shrug one shoulder. “Maybe not that. Maybe I just like… I don’t know… get on some dating app and find a guy who will agree to pretend to be my date for one night. And I’ll get him to look really bad. Like, the exact worst nightmare of a guy that no one wants their daughter to bring home. And I’ll act all stupidly in love with this guy, too.”

  Now we’re both grinning wickedly at the idea of this silly plan. Suzy leans forward, her eyes sparkling. “You could take it even further and have the guy propose to you after only dating for like, one week. You say yes and get all excited, and right when your brothers are about to have an aneurysm, you can tell them it was all an act, and that’s what they get for treating you like a child.”

  I nod. “I like it,” I say. “I mean, it’s crazy, and it’ll never work, but it’s fun to daydream about.”

  Suzy takes a long sip of her margarita. Then she gives me a weirdly contemplative smile. “Sometimes crazy is the best thing you can do.”

  3

  Kris

  I’m going on a date in the day time. This is a first for me, but it’s a nice first. Seems like everyone wants to go on a first date at night just because that’s what tradition dictates. Well, I work nights almost every day of the week, so picking up a girl at seven in the evening means taking off work. Luckily, now that we hired Tasha as an additional night shift worker, I can theoretically take off for dates if I want to. But missing work for some first date that won’t turn into anything special is kind of annoying.

  So extra points for this Carly woman who suggested smoothies during the day. On a Wednesday, no less. I’m already feeling maybe one percent optimistic about this date because she agreed to a Wednesday, middle-of-the-day date. That’s unique. Maybe it’ll actually be worthwhile.

  I ride my motorcycle up to the smoothie shop and park in a spot up front, facing the windows of the little shop that’s in the middle of a shopping center. I like to be able to see my bike when I’m in a store. Before I even discovered my granddad’s Harley in the garage, I owned this bike, which was my first big purchase. My second big purchase was a truck because sometimes a motorcycle isn’t practical. But it’s a beautiful day and perfect bike weather. My Honda is a nice bike that I work hard to keep in excellent condition, and that means it draws the attention of other motorcycle fans. I hate when strangers think they can walk up and touch my bike, or lean against it to take a selfie. It’s rude and disrespectful and makes me want to leave it safely in the garage where no one can mess with it.

  But that’s not what bikes were meant for. I absolutely love the feel of the wind, the roar of the engine, and the speed of life zooming by as I ride. I guess I got that from my grandfather.

  In a shocking surprise, Carly looks exactly like the photos on her dating profile. I recognize her the moment I step off my bike. She’s sitting on a bench in front of the smoothie shop staring at me. Her hair is even the same length as it is in her photos, so she must have posted recent selfies. She’s also just perfectly average looking. No filters, no photoshop. I can appreciate that. Looks like I’m now two percent optimistic about this date.

  “Hi there,” I say, giving her a smile.

  She stands up and folds her arms across her chest. “You ride a motorcycle?”

  She says it in the most condescending way, and it actually confuses me for a second. Here I was thinking we were off to a good start. “Um, yes?” I say.

  She gives a dirty look to my bike and then looks at me. “I am not riding on that thing.”

  “Okay, well, we took separate cars here,” I say, trying to be friendly. “So you don’t have to ride it.”

  “Do you have a real car?”

  “I have a truck,” I say.

  She nods once, as if she’s satisfied with my answer. “Good. Because I hate motorcycles.”

  Okay, now I’m at zero percent optimism. Still, I go into the smoothie shop and I buy our drinks. We sit at a pink round table in the corner and we go through the whole process of an awkward first date. I’ve been through it so many times, and it never changes. The process is exactly the same. Small talk, simple getting-to-know-you questions. Polite answers. Nothing deep, nothing serious.

  There’s this weird pressure I feel when I’m on a date with someone I met on a dating app. It’s like you are both filled with this expectation. You both know you’re here, meeting each other, because you want a relationship. So instead of some romantic, sparks flying, whimsical date, you have more like a job interview. A job interview where you’re both being polite, put together, friendly versions of yourself. You’re not real. They don’t see the real you who sings badly to songs on the radio, or the real y
ou with laundry on the floor and unwashed hair. They just see the perfectly fake version of yourself that you use to try to win over a date.

  It’s all so fake. So clinical.

  I’m sick of online dating.

  And yet here I am, smiling politely and answering her interview questions, and thinking that this whole thing is as cold and boring as my strawberry smoothie.

  I’m pretty sure Clara feels the same way because she seems bored as she asks me these random questions in an attempt to get to know me. They’re the same questions everyone always asks each other on a first date and I’m tired of answering them. This awkward, non-exciting date lasts about forty five minutes and then we stand up and I walk her to her car. I know it was a longshot in hoping for something special, but there were no fireworks today. Not even a tiny little spark.

  “It was nice meeting you,” I say, offering her a friendly smile.

  “Same,” she says, grinning up at me. “We should do it again some time.”

  Um, what? Did she really just imply that we should go on a second date? There was nothing about this first date that indicated we have any chemistry. I just smile at her and wish her a good rest of her day. I don’t want to reject her in person, so maybe I’ll send a text later. It’s crappy of me, I know. But telling a woman you don’t want to see her again is also crappy. I’d rather not do it to her face.

  * * *

  The gym will close in half an hour, and although I’m usually a night owl, I can’t stop yawning. The music playing on the gym’s overhead speakers is some annoying pop song that is so loud and annoying it shouldn’t be putting me to sleep, but it is.

  “Wake up,” Tasha says, tossing a pen at me. She has shoulder-length brown hair that she keeps pulled back with a narrow black headband. Actually, her hair is many different shades. I guess she has it highlighted or something. It’s brownish but with lots of light brown and blonde streaks. She’s sitting behind the front counter and I’ve been sitting on a weight bench playing on my phone for a bit. Since it’s almost midnight on a Wednesday, it’s a work night for most people and there’s no one here in the gym working out.

  “I’m falling asleep,” I say, yawning again. I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I do not want to admit to myself that my lack of sleep is because I’ve spent way too much time on my dating app, hoping to find the profile of my dream girl.

  “Well, you need to wake up or I won’t let you drive home when we close,” Tasha says. “I can’t risk having you fall asleep at the wheel—err, at the handlebars, so to speak.”

  “I won’t. I wake up when I get on my bike.”

  She gives me a look like she doesn’t quite believe me, but she’s not going to argue. Tasha is pretty cool. We’ve become friends over the past few months of her working here. She took this job as a second job to help pay the bills because she also raises her teenage niece. She’s a teacher in her day job, and sometimes I think she’s way too nice to be a teacher. All the ones I had in school were constantly yelling at us. I’m glad we hired her because she’s a great employee and is really friendly to the guests. I should have known that Noah would fall in love with her. He was looking for love and Tasha fell right into his lap. They’ve been dating almost the entire time she’s worked here.

  Noah is one of my two co-workers, and also part owner of this gym. Brent, Noah, and I have three important things in common: we were all friends in college, all into fitness, and all wanted to be entrepreneurs. Together after graduation, we created this gym and opened our own business together. So far, it’s going pretty well. I love being my own boss.

  “So how’d your date go?” Tasha asks a few minutes later.

  I look up from my phone, where I had been playing a digital card game to pass the time. “Huh?”

  She motions toward my phone. “Your newest dating app date? How’d it go?”

  “How’d you know I went on a date?”

  She shrugs. “You’re always going on a date.”

  I chuckle. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”

  “So how’d it go?” Tasha leans forward, her elbows resting on the counter. “Was it a love connection? Are you planning a wedding? Have you already deleted the app because you’ll never need to meet a woman again?”

  I shake my head. “Nah. She was kind of rude. Said she hates motorcycles.”

  “Definitely not the girl for you,” Tasha says.

  I sigh. “I think I’m sick of online dating.”

  “I don’t know how you’ve done it for so long. I hate first dates… they’re so… ugh.”

  “Ugh,” I say, nodding in agreement. “I mean I do want a girlfriend, but I’m sick of trying to look for one.”

  “Then don’t look for one,” she says, giving me a soft smile. She has those stars in her eyes that she gets every time she thinks about Noah. They’re so in love it’s kind of annoying. “Just wait for the perfect girl to magically show up in your life.”

  “You know magic isn’t real, right?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Sure it is. It was magical when I met Noah.”

  “It was luck when you met Noah,” I say. “You’re attractive, he’s attractive. You lucked into finding each other.”

  “Magic luck,” she says, lifting her eyebrows in a way that dares me to argue. “It’ll happen to you, too.”

  I go back to playing my game because there’s no reason to argue with my best friend’s girl who also happens to be my coworker every night. No need to annoy her. “I hope you’re right,” I say.

  “Tomorrow is another day,” Tasha says. “Another chance to meet your soul mate.”

  “Are you a greeting card writer now?” I say sarcastically.

  She snorts and throws another pen at me.

  4

  Lanie

  I wake up feeling pretty stupid about that whole bad boy date idea. It’s not like I’d actually find someone like that, but I can’t stop thinking about how funny it would be to freak out my brothers by bringing home some guy they’d absolutely hate.

  But this isn’t some fantasy world, it’s real life and in real life, you don’t meet sexy bad boys and you don’t pull off epic pranks on your brothers. In real life, you have to get up, get dressed, and go to work. Today I choose a pair of black slacks, some ballet flats, and a simple (and loose-fitting) purple shirt. If any hot guys happen to see me wearing this drab outfit, they will just look the other way, or not even notice that I exist. My brothers can’t possibly hate on this outfit.

  My dad is in the kitchen pouring himself a travel mug of coffee when I wander downstairs. Yes, I still live at home with my parents like some kind of loser. But my parents are pretty great and they don’t mind if I stay here. They also don’t charge me rent, so I’ve been living here since I graduated college two years ago and just saving up money. Maybe one day I’ll buy a house.

  And although I don’t admit it to anyone—my secret hope is that maybe one day I’ll meet some dreamy man, fall in love, and we’ll buy a house together. Seems far-fetched, but you never know. Like Suzy says: we aren’t that old yet. There’s still plenty of time to find our soul mates, even if the whole soul mate thing sometimes feels hopeless.

  I think maybe I should get out of Roca Springs. Surely the dating pool of men gets bigger when you leave this small town.

  Dad calls my name, pulling me from my thoughts. “I have some work for you today, so come to my office when you get there.”

  “Okay,” I say, wondering why he can’t just tell me now. He’s weird like that. He prefers to keep work stuff at work, not at home.

  Dad leaves for work and I dawdle around a bit longer. It’s only seven-thirty and my work day technically starts at eight. Mom is still sleeping. She retired a few years ago after Arctic Protein became profitable to let her stay home. Now she says she likes to catch up on her sleep because raising four children over the years meant she never got to sleep.

  I quietly drink some coffee and heat up some frozen waffles for brea
kfast so I don’t wake her. Then I make the short drive to work to figure out what random task Dad has for me to do today.

  It is not what I expected.

  My office is filled with boxes of chocolate. The fancy expensive kind with boxes wrapped in gold foil with little black velvet ribbons on them. There are at least fifty chocolate boxes on my desk.

  “Um… Dad?” I say, poking my head into his office which is two doors down from mine. It’s also about four times bigger than mine. “What’s up with all the chocolate?”

  He grins. “It’s our way of being classy,” he says, motioning for me to take a seat in the leather chair across from his desk. While my office is decorated in light colors and cute, sparkly décor, Dad’s office is as manly as it gets. Of course, he sells protein to fitness stores for a living so he as to look like he knows what he’s talking about, which is muscles and manly protein type things. Dad was a body builder back in the day. He’s still pretty buff now, even though he’s older. Which makes all the chocolate even weirder. Dad doesn’t even eat the stuff.

  He points to a box on his desk, then slides it over to me. “Gala invitations,” he says.

  I open the box flap and peer inside. Sure enough, dozens of cream-colored invitations printed on thick cardstock are inside. They also look extremely fancy, as if they’re invitations to the wedding of the century, not just a charity gala hosted by a fitness company.

  “I want you to personally deliver each invitation,” Dad says. “Along with a box of chocolate. Here’s a list of addresses, and most of them aren’t that far away. It might take you a day or two of driving around, but take your time. This is important.”