"You're trying to kill me. You hate me."
"I don't hate you. I'm helping you."
"AHHHHHHH!"
Shay was so red I was actually waiting for her to self combust. Her curly hair was soaked in sweat.
I know it probably wasn't the nicest thing to do, but I sped up the treadmill.
"No! No! No!"
Shay's feet slapped at the belt. Her arms flailed around like drunk birds.
"Tuck your elbows in."
"TUCK you!"
I laughed. I knew it wasn't funny to her, but, well, she had just told me to go 'tuck' myself.
I was kind of enjoying the whole gym thing. It kept me busy. Lauren was back in Florida doing some photography and most likely relaxing on her daddy's huge ass boat. I had six weeks before I headed to South America with the guys for the last little bit of the This is Us tour. I couldn't think of anything better to do than help Shay.
Or, in her opinion, create scenarios of mass torture.
"Three...two...one..." I counted. I stopped the machine. Shay crumpled down on her knees and gagged.
"That was good!" I said brightly. She looked up at me and glared.
I had decided when I picked Shay up that morning that I was going to be cute. When she opened the front door, I was hiding behind a huge ass cut-out of Richard Simmons.
"Let's go Simmons Beauties!" I said in a gross imitation of Richard's nails-on-chalkboard voice.
Shay was not a morning person. She shut the door in my face before I could peek around the cut-out and laugh.
That was why it took me forty-five minutes to get her out the door. By that time, Jake and I had bent the cut-out and made pretty much a fairy fort for him to crawl in and out of. He was reluctant to leave it. Only the promise of ice cream for lunch lured him out.
"Jake's probably bored," Shay said, breaking through my thoughts. She was still laying on the treadmill.
"He's fine," I said. "They have crawly tubes. Kids can spend hours in those things."
I squatted down and lifted her wrist. I let it go and her arm slammed back to the ground.
"Get up. I want you to do ten reps with the weights."
A tiny sliver of eye peered up at me. "Weights? You're joking."
"How do you think I got these?" I asked. I flexed. She didn't look impressed.
"I don't want those," she said. "Guns on girls look gross."
"So do turkey gobblers," I argued.
"Turkey gobblers?"
I made a wiggling motion under my arm. Her eyes widened. She sat up.
"Just ten?"
I nodded. "Just ten."
I should have learned my lesson by now. When Nick Carter says something, he usually lies. I was flat on my back on the weight bench, knees bent and feet planted firmly on the ground, and I was struggling with the twentieth rep. My arms felt like Jell-o.
"This is more than ten," I said through gritted teeth.
"What? No, it's not! Reps mean up and down. Woosh, woosh."
He accompanied the 'wooshing' noises with a lifting demonstration. I kicked my leg out and whined. Any longer and the bar was going to be sitting on my face. He took the bar and put it back in the holder.
"Great!" he said enthusiastically. He hiked his gym shorts up and looked around. I wanted to hear the magic words 'We're done,' but Nick had other ideas.
"Let's try some boxing."
"Boxing? Nick, my arms are like wet noodles."
"It's a good cool down," he promised.
It wasn't a cool down. Ten minutes later I had giant pillows strapped to my fists and we were face to face. Nick tossed a light punch and hit me right in the chest. I stumbled back.
"You're supposed to block," he complained.
"I didn't know you were going to do that!"
"Use your reflexes."
I bit my tongue. This time when Nick thrust his arm out, I swatted it away with both gloves feeling like a sissy nanny. He shook his head.
"Okay, change of plans. You try to hit me."
He bounced from foot to foot and waited. I flung out an arm. He blocked it with his own glove.
"Is that all you got?" he taunted. Bounce. Bounce. "Haven't you ever wanted to hit me? Ever?"
"I don't think--"
"Shay, I called you fat. Remember?"
My eyes burned. I would never forget that. The jerk. The ass. The--
I swung my arm out. He blocked it, but just barely.
"Good. I--"
I don't know what he meant to say. After the first hit (which felt really good), I kept going. And going. And going. Nick backed up each time until he was pinned against the wall and I was wailing on any spare inch of body I could target. He slid down the wall and covered his face.
"WHITE FLAG! WHITE FLAG!"
I was huffing and puffing and sweating again. But I was also smiling.
"You're nuts," he gasped. He wiped a line of spit that he fallen out of his mouth. "Good workout?"
I nodded. "Good workout."
After we both hit the showers and picked up Jake, Nick, as promised, took Jake for ice cream. I was all ready to order a cookie dough triple scoop for a job well done, but Nick smiled at the gawking girl behind the window and instead ordered one chocolate scoop and two low fat custard bowls.
Low-fat custard was like ice cream's younger, dumber brother. I couldn't help but eye Jake's little bowl as Nick handed it down.
"Don't even think about it," he said with a laugh. I sullenly took my very boring, very small bowl and sank down at a small umbrella table.
"How'd you like the gym?" Nick asked. He ruffled Jake's hair. Jake was lapping at his spoon like he just had to get the last drop before digging in for more.
"Goooooodd! I crawled-ed through tubes!"
Nick gave me a look that screamed 'told you so!' I made a face.
"Do you want to come with us again tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?" I asked, just as Jake gave an enthusiastic 'Yeah!'
"That's the plan. One day isn't enough."
One day was more than enough, but I didn't say that aloud. Instead, I listened to my stomach growl. My custard bowl was empty. I don't actually remember scarfing it down, but it was totally gone. I looked up at the sky. Maybe a swallow had swooped down and ate it.
"Mommy, whatcha looking for?" Jake asked. He tilted his head back. His chin was covered in chocolate. I sighed. Nick grabbed my hand. I looked at him in surprise.
"I'm proud of you," he said.
Suddenly, I wasn't so hungry (or grouchy). I smiled as he squeezed my fingers. Maybe I could beat him up again tomorrow.
At least that was fun exercise.
