Training in Love Read Online Free Page B

eyebrows which catch the reflection
of this dim winter sun.
    I
don’t know how long we stand shaking hands, my tongue is glued to the roof of
my mouth. He has kept his eyes on my face for the whole time that I’ve been
staring at him, it’s just that what he sees is something completely different… We’re
together for less than a minute and I’m already uncomfortable.
    “Do
you want to come over to my car? I have some material in the trunk and I’d like
to assess the situation before starting.”
    No,
absolutely not. We aren’t going to assess any situation, because you will not
be my personal trainer anyway. Thanks for coming, bye-bye.
    I
walk behind him and for the first time in my life (I swear! I swear by
everything I care about!) I check out the backside of a guy. I can’t help
myself, really. He turned and walked towards his car and my eyes looked down
all by themselves, of their own accord. Anyway you can’t see anything, the
windbreaker he’s wearing is long enough to cover it, and besides, his sweat
pants are a bit large. I lift my eyes quickly, as though he might catch me in the
act even with his back turned. A broad back certainly. His hair is much shorter
at the nape, and longer towards the top of his head. In any case, I think he’d
look good even with his hair shaved down to zero or half-way down his back.
    We
get to the trunk and, as soon as he opens it, he pulls out a digital scale and
puts it on the ground at my feet.
    “The
first thing we’ll do is weigh you, to establish a starting point and some objectives,”
he says standing up.
    I
lift my gaze towards him and for the first time since I set eyes on his perfect
form, I feel like laughing. In fact his idea is so funny I giggle. “I don’t
think so.”
    He
is surprised and raises both eyebrows.
    “So
what is this? The royal ‘we’? Or did you intend to weigh yourself too to
establish a starting point and some objectives ?”
    “We
have to weigh you Olivia, it’s important. And if you want me to weigh myself
too, I don’t have any problem doing it. Besides, I have a few goals to reach
too. We could motivate each other.”
    It’s
now my turn to be surprised and raise my eyebrows.
    “I
have to put on a couple of kilos – of muscle of course,” he explains as though
I had asked him.
    I
don’t move and stare at him. For no reason in the world would I want to get on
a scale in front of someone like that.
    He
puts his hands on his hips. “Go on, get on it.”
    “If
I get on that scale, I’ll be forced to kill you.”
    Andrea
laughs, showing a long row of straight, brilliantly white teeth.
    He
thinks it’s a joke. I don’t move. No-one knows how much I weigh, not even
Linda. Ok, now the obese dietitian from Tuesday knows, but still… the concept
remains.
    He
stops laughing and crosses his arms over his chest. “Get on it Olivia. If we
don’t know where the starting point is, how do we decide where to arrive?”
    “I
know where I’m starting from.”
    “But
I don’t.”
    I
think he’s becoming impatient. Good. We’ll never see each other again anyway.
    “I’ll
weigh myself later,” he says as though this were an incentive. I couldn’t care
less how much he weighs and his goals! He’s practically perfect. What
objectives could he have? What are two kilos of muscle?
    Suddenly,
as I observe him, I have an unexpected thought. Why am I so reluctant to weigh
myself or practice some sport in front of him? Why don’t I want him to see me
at my worst? For him to know my terrible numeric secret? As though, him not
knowing the precise number would make me look less fat in his eyes? As though,
not seeing me sweat, I would have the remote possibility to seem pretty to him?
What does it matter after all? This guy is so gorgeous that it isn’t even thinkable
that there would be some sort of romantic consequences. He’s so beautiful that
it’s almost as though he were a woman, he’s so out of reach. It’s almost as
though he were