Gym Butterflies

Jack Forder has been in a rut lately. Things weren't great with her increasingly distant boyfriend, and her job at the gallery had done little to further her artistic aspirations. Then, one night, she reluctantly joined her boyfriend at a party, and found inspiration watching a fit young woman best everyone there in a pushup contest. She realized then, she wanted to be stronger. More confident. Which was a task, because confidence was one thing she severely lacked. 

So Jack did what most people do when they're determined to get into shape, and joined a gym. It didn't hurt that the intimidating gym employee and local indie wrestler had taken an interest in helping her learn the ropes. It wasn't going to be easy, but Jack was fed up of waiting for things to change. For her boyfriend to treat her better. For her to break out of her artist's block. She was going to start showing up for herself.

Sweet and transformative, this slow-burn romance follows Jack as she struggles to prove to herself that people can change, find new friends, new inspiration, and sometimes even new love. 

Excerpt:

"That was impressive," came a low measured voice, so startlingly close to her it almost scared her into the pool after her offender. 

"What?" Jack sputtered and turned. Her increasing mortification felt like a stone in her chest when she saw who had spoken.

An intimidatingly muscled man was sitting calmly in a chair by the pool, right behind her. Two fingers propped against his temple under a wave of purple hair. The sides of his head were shaved down to a dark stubble. A loose shirt with a logo of some band she didn't recognize did little to hide that he was built like an olympian. 

Dark eyes watched her expectantly.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone get so singularly doused by a cannonball," he clarified. "Literally no one else was touched." Jack glanced around to confirm that she was, indeed, the sole victim. "I bet mosquitoes swarm you over anyone else too, yeah?"

It was true, but she wasn't going to tell him that. She blanched under his cool gaze. She needed to reclaim some dignity. Her eyes settled on a towel draped over the chair next to him. 

"You could offer me a towel instead of commenting on my misfortune," Jack held out her hand indignantly. 

His eyebrows shot up, but his expression stayed stony. Without breaking her stare, he reached over, lifted the towel and offered it. Jack snatched it and started to wring out her hair.

"Misfortune?" he echoed. She could feel her cheeks heat. 

"Yes. And?" 

The firm shoulders lifted in a shrug. He seemed to have muscles she didn't even know existed on the human body. 

"I just don't remember the last time anyone used that word in a sentence." 

"What? It's appropriate diction," Jack shook her head and tried to keep her voice from lilting upward. 

She regretted it as soon as his eyes lit in amusement. 

"Diction..." he echoed in a whisper.

"Thanks for the towel," she muttered rapidly. Jack broke off eye contact as she handed it back.

"Wait a minute," he interrupted before she could make a hasty retreat. She wavered, warily shifting weight between each foot. The uncomfortably handsome stranger paused, and she would almost have thought he was searching for something to say, if his air wasn't so effortlessly confident. Instead, his eyes held hers with an amused patience. 

"... Yes?" she finally prompted. "Wait for what?"