Chapter 3- New Connections

The steady thump of my sneakers against the treadmill is almost enough to drown out the grunts and clangs of the crowded gym around me. I focus on keeping my breathing steady, in through the nose and out through the mouth, as sweat trickles down my spine.

I’ve never been much of a gym rat, but there’s something satisfying about the burn of worked muscles and elevated heart rate. It makes me feel productive, accomplished even at this early hour. And hey, it certainly doesn’t hurt to put a little extra effort into maintaining the physique.

Lord knows I’m punching above my weight class with Emma. I’ve lost count of the number of times a well-meaning buddy has elbowed me with a sly grin and an eyebrow waggle, crowing about how I “married up.”

It used to irk me before but I’ve mellowed with time and the security of a rock-solid marriage. Now, I just smile and shrug, secure in the knowledge that at the end of the day, I’m the one Emma chose.

I’m just starting to work up a good sweat, endorphins buzzing pleasantly, when a flash of movement in the large gym mirror catches my eye. My feet stutter briefly on the treadmill, forcing me to grab for the handles and right myself.

I’d clocked Marcus when I first walked in, of course - kind of hard to miss him, even in a gym full of meatheads and fitness bunnies. He’s just so massive, his bulk made even more impressive by the fact that it’s packed with dense, rock-hard muscle. The man is a walking advertisement for superior genetics and a religious dedication to the iron.

But I’ve never seen him like THIS.

He’s set up in the squat rack in the corner, a truly obscene amount of weight loaded onto the bar.

I watch as he executes perfect, deep squats. The display of raw power in his leg muscles is something else. It’s just so impressive, the way his huge body moves with such controlled strength and grace.

How old is he, anyway? He has to be at least ten years my senior, maybe pushing forty. But it is tough to say for sure. His skin is smooth and taut, his frame corded with lean muscle without an ounce of excess flab.

Shaking my head at the direction of my thoughts, I resolutely turn my attention back to the calorie counter ticking away on my treadmill display.

The rest of my workout passes uneventfully, if not quite as quickly as I’d like. I dutifully make my way through the free weights and a few machines, trying to hit each muscle group with dedication.

I’m midway through a truly punishing set of hamstring curls when a large hand claps down on my shoulder out of nowhere. I jerk in surprise, almost losing my grip on the handles.

“Shit!”

“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s cool,” I reply pushing sweat-damp hair back from my forehead.

He cocks a brow, a contemplative twist to his full lips as he eyes my posture. “Mmmhmm. Interesting form you got going on but it’s not proper.”

I blink, “How so? I mean, I know I’m not the most coordinated on this thing, but-”

“Here, lemme show you.” Marcus steps around to my side, gesturing for me to resume my position on the bench. When I comply, he squats down to adjust my feet placement on the bar, his huge hands dwarfing mine as he demonstrates the proper grip.

“You want to focus on squeezing at the top of the movement,” he explains. “Really engage those hammies, don’t just rely on momentum. And make sure your back stays flat against the bench - no arching or you’ll tweak something fierce.”

“Huh,” I mutter, trying to follow his instructions. I manage a few slow, controlled reps under his watchful eye, and immediately feel the difference. “Damn, okay yeah, I see what you mean. That’s a way better burn.”

As Marcus prepares to leave, he turns to me with a grin. “It’s all about the little tweaks. You keep that up and your legs will be thanking you in no time.”

I laugh, wiping the sweat from my brow. “Thanks, Superman. I’ll keep that in mind. And hey, if I ever get too buff, don’t come crying to me when I start stealing the spotlight.”

Marcus chuckles, hefting his gym bag over his shoulder. “Dream on, buddy. It’s gonna take more than a couple of hamstring curls to steal any thunder from this.”

“Fair enough,” I concede with a smile. “But seriously, thanks for the tips. I’ll try not to snap myself in half.”

“Please don’t,” he laughs heartily. “I don’t want to have to explain to Emma how her husband broke in half trying to impress the big guys.”

I give a mock salute. “Understood, Coach. I’ll keep it safe. No hospital trips on your watch.”

“Good man,” he replies. “And hey, if you ever want to try lifting something heavier than your phone, let me know. I’m around.”

“Will do,” I call after him, already plotting my next gym session. “Take it easy, Hercules!”

His laughter echoes back as he disappears into the throng of gym-goers, leaving me smiling and newly motivated.

Keeping his pointers in mind, I power through the rest of my sets with renewed determination. By the time I’m staggering to the locker room, my legs feel like overcooked spaghetti and I’ve got a layer of sweat sufficient to fill a kiddie pool. But damn if it doesn’t feel good like a clear mark of a job well done.

I strip down and hop in the shower, groaning in relief as the steaming spray beats down on my head and shoulders. I take my time lathering up, letting the heat soak into my tired muscles. By the time I’m toweling off and shrugging back into my business casual, I’m loose-limbed and humming with satisfaction.

I’m still riding the endorphin high when I stroll out into the main lobby, gym bag slung over my shoulder. To my surprise, I spot Marcus by the elevators, bent nearly double as he fiddles with the laces on one neon orange sneaker.

“Sup, Schwarzenegger!” I call jovially, making my over. “Fancy meeting you here, eh?”

He looks up with a smirk. “You’re awfully cheerful for someone who was panting like a winded bull not twenty minutes ago.”

“What can I say? I’m reborn,” I quip, striking an exaggerated bow. “A little proper blood flow does wonders. I might have to officially adopt you for your magical fitness advice.”

He laughs, straightening up. “Dream on. I’ve got a queue of fitness fanatics vying for that privilege. You need more than just a good workout to make the cut.”

I feign a heavy sigh as we step into the elevator. “Shot down so quickly. You’re a tough one to please, Marcus. It’s brutal.”

The doors slide shut and we begin our slow ascent, stopping at seemingly every other floor to let people in or out.

I’m just starting to zone out, lulled by the gentle sway and mechanical hum, when the elevator dings and in walks a sight to behold.

Well hello there.

She’s a bombshell blonde in fire engine red dress, her golden hair scraped back in a messy knot atop her head. Her face is bare of makeup but still arrestingly lovely, all pouty lips and big doe eyes. And that body, Christ on a cracker ... The high, tight swell of her ass, the truly mesmerizing bounce of her tits with each step, barely restrained by the straining cotton...

I hazard a quick glance at Marcus from the corner of my eye to gauge his reaction. Surprisingly he seems unfazed, his gaze fixed ahead as if she hadn’t even entered.

Huh. Maybe he bats for the other team? Can’t fathom how any hot-blooded man could fail to react otherwise.

Intrigued by his lack of response, I’m about to make a comment when we reach the floor.

I’m just about to follow when the woman suddenly pitches forward with a startled yelp. She would have face-planted directly into the closing elevator doors if not for Marcus’ lightning quick reflexes.

“Woah there!” He scoops an arm around her waist, effortlessly changing her trajectory and setting her back on her feet in one smooth motion. “You alright?”

She flushes scarlet, one hand pressed to her heaving chest. “Oh my gosh, Thank you! These stupid shoes, I swear...”

She lifts one foot to reveal one of those thick-soled white nursing clogs, the strap askew from where she’d apparently tripped right out of it.

Marcus stoops to scoop up the wayward shoe, holding it out to her with a playful half-bow.

“Your slipper, my lady.”

“Some Prince Charming you are,” she huffs, even as a reluctant grin tugs at her lips. She takes the shoe with a demure flutter of lashes. “But thank you, really. I’d be picking my teeth out of the door if not for you!”

“Nah, we couldn’t have that,” Marcus demurs as he holds the door for her exit. “Can’t deprive the world of such a pretty smile. You take care now, alright?”

“I will!” She sketches a dorky little salute, nearly braining herself with the hand still clutching her shoe. And with an awkward little giggle-snort combo, she scurries off down the hall.

“Well,” I drawl, sidling up next to him. “That was quite the save.”

“Just doing my civic duty. Keeping peace and all that stuff.”

“Riiight. And I’m sure her being insanely hot had nothing to do with it, eh?”

Marcus chuckles, stepping out when the elevator reaches his floor. “Take care, and don’t forget those tweaks. Might save your life one day, or at least your workout.”

I flip him off again, still chuckling as the doors close.

Shaking my head, I lean back against cool wall of elevator and fish out my phone. I’ve got two texts from Emma, a string of emoji hearts and some cheeky innuendo that makes me chuckle under my breath.

As I tap out my reply, a sudden thought strikes me. Popping my head out just before the doors slide fully shut, I call out, “Hey, Marcus! Wait up a sec!”

He turns back, one brow cocked. “What’s up? Miss me already?”

“Ha, very funny,” I retort as I jog over to him, ignoring the smirk on his face. “Listen, Emma and I were talking and we’d really like to have you over for dinner this weekend. You know, as a thank you for the other day with the dresser and all.”

“Oh. That’s real nice of you but you don’t have to do all that. I told you, I was happy to help.”

“I know,” I agree easily. “But still, we’d like to do something to show our appreciation. And honestly, any excuse to show off Emma’s cooking, you know? She puts Rachel Ray to shame, I swear.”

He hesitates, a flicker of something like uncertainty crossing his features. For a second I’m sure he’s going to politely decline, some gentlemanly aw-shucks about not wanting to impose.

But then his expression clears and he shrugs one massive shoulder. “Well alright then. If you’re offering free food, how can I say no? I do love me some good home cooking.”

“Excellent! How’s Saturday, around sevenish? I’ll text you the details later, just let me know if you have any allergies or dietary restrictions. Emma’s been dying to try out some new recipes, I’m sure she’ll go all out.”

“Seven works for me,” Marcus confirms with a nod. “And don’t worry, I eat pretty much anything.”

The savory aroma of roasting chicken and herbs wafts through the apartment as I lounge on the sofa, idly scrolling through my phone. The tantalizing scent is making my mouth water and my stomach grumble impatiently, eager for the feast to come.

The sound of the bedroom door opening catches my attention and I glance up to see Emma emerge, freshly changed out of her cooking clothes. She’s opted for a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and a royal blue v-neck that makes her eyes sparkle. Her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders and I can see a hint of lip gloss making her smile extra shiny.

“Don’t you look nice,” I comment, giving her an appreciative once-over. “What’s the occasion?”

Emma rolls her eyes fondly, smoothing down her shirt. “We’re having company, remember? I can’t exactly host in yoga pants.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” I assure her, grinning as I push up off the couch. “I’m just wondering if I should go throw on a tie or something. Gotta keep up with my stylish wife.”

She laughs, swatting my chest playfully. “You look fine, Mike. It’s just our neighbour, not the Queen of England. I doubt he’s expecting black tie attire.”

The color makes her eyes pop like sapphires, bright and sparkling against her delicate features. Her hair is down from its usual messy bun, spilling over her shoulders in shiny, honeyed waves that just beg to have fingers tangled in them. And her lips...

“Are you wearing makeup?”

A pretty flush steals across her cheeks as her fingers flutter self-consciously to her mouth. “Oh, um. Just a little gloss. Why, is it too much?”

I frown slightly, cocking my head as I study her face. She doesn’t usually wear much more than tinted moisturizer and mascara on a daily basis. Seeing her done up like this, with shimmery shadow and a plush red pout was a bit surprising.