Love Has The Best Intentions Read Online Free

hadn’t
taken an inch off her hips. Her lack of commitment might stem from
not investing enough money in a program. Perhaps if she splurged an
entire year’s food budget on leotards and walked to work because
her car had been sold to pay The Fitness Studio dues ...
    Lana, dramatically attired in a scarlet
leotard, mini wrap skirt and matching leg warmers, led the way into
The Fitness Studio. Two men in the process of picking up their
cards to leave immediately surrendered them again and one dropped
his shoes on the floor with a thud. A third man squeezed the can of
racquet balls he was holding so tightly that the lid flew off.
    During her interview, Becca was asked about
her goals in joining the club. She swallowed the wish of gaining a
traffic-stopping body and murmured a few words about needing to get
back into shape, thus implying at one time she had been a pocket
Venus.
    The woman conducting the interview kindly
concealed her disbelief under a warm smile and summoned a
statuesque blond to take Becca on a tour of the facilities. As a
confirmed pizza-for-breakfast person, Becca had trouble warming up
to a guide with the radiant complexion of one who considers yogurt
and alfalfa sprouts junk food.
    The machine room was crammed with bikes,
steppers, ski simulators, rowing machines, etc., all controlled by
electronic brains and equipped with more choices than a Surface or
Tablet.
    Forcing a smile, she clung to high hopes for
the next stop, only to find the blue tiled pool awash with muscular
shoulders and arms cleaving the water as dedicated dolphins swam
laps with the concentration of hamsters in an exercise wheel. The
splashing reminded Becca of watching a shark attack in a horror
movie.
    After touring the weight rooms, relaxation
center (sauna and massage) and aerobics areas, the women returned
to the office. Becca’s guide, barely concealing her desire to wash
her hands of this couch potato who had apparently wandered in off
the streets by mistake, shoved a sheet of paper across the
desk.
    “By signing up now, you can take advantage of
our special. Six months of free classes.” Her patronizing tone of
voice implied that they were both aware Becca wouldn’t last six
months.
    A muscle-bound man in nylon shorts and a
fishnet T-shirt wandered into the cubicle and attempted to wheedle
a midnight movie date from the blond. Becca stared at the
abbreviated class names on the page, too intimidated by the silent
contempt for her flabbiness to ask for clarification.
    “V’Ball” caught her eye and she seized it
with the relief of a drowning victim spotting a life preserver
floating nearby. The entry sparked memories of family picnics,
friendly competition over a sagging net, grass tickling bare feet
and fireworks after dark. She was aware, however, that her skills
needed brushing up.
    “Do you have a beginner’s class in
volleyball?”
    The other woman didn’t bother to glance in
Becca’s direction. “There’s a sign-up sheet in the pink
folder.”
    Becca located the folder in the pile stacked
precariously on the corner of the desk and scribbled her name on
the top sheet. The die was cast. She would breathe, eat and sleep
volleyball until she had that perfect body.
    The first session was scheduled for a week
from Friday night. In an attempt to gain some confidence before
hand, Becca resurrected a fitness DVD and gyrated faithfully each
night while BoJangles purred in utter contentment on the couch. Ten
hours of shopping finally yielded a peach short set that she felt
made her thighs look miraculously thinner.
    Inspired by memories of 4 th of
July family reunions, Becca also designed an advertising campaign
for a local car dealership featuring children roasting marshmallows
over a bonfire, families seated on blankets as dazzling fireworks
exploded overhead and barefoot players hitting the volleyball over
a net, their blissful expressions reflecting the twin joys of
companionship and competition. Her boss and the client