"Harder!"
Harry grits his teeth, body pushing hard as he forces his lithe frame to bear the hefty load of the weights resting firmly in his strong hands. His facial expression looks pained as he bends his knees, squatting as low as possible, desperately trying not to focus on the intense burn in his muscles and the salty sweat sliding down the side of his face.
"Two more, let's go!"
Harry turns his head to glance at his trainer, Sean, the burly-looking dude with a neck the same size as his over-grown bicep. The man's arms were crossed over his chest, covering the black wicking fabric all trainers were forced to wear here. He had been riding Harry hard today, and he was already mentally and physically exhausted. He cursed him silently before he moved to bend his knees again, despite his body's protest.
"Come on, fucking push!"
Harry wonders if he knows how patronizing he sounds when he's screaming at him. He bets Eleanor hand selected this prick for that reason. She loved to make sure he was consistently chastised like the child she thought he was.
"Really man? You're acting like a pussy today. I said harder!"
And that really had been the biggest issue on his mind since his blowout fight with Eleanor two days ago where he finally broke it off. It was like something snapped in him, and all that was left was anger. Anger for everything she had ever done to him, everything she put him through, everything he was now blatantly aware she chose to do just to manipulate him.
But at the same time, he had been with Eleanor for so long that he didn't know exactly how to extricate her from his life. He didn't even know life without her, really. For example — he still went to the gym, the gym she picked with the trainer who he hated because he yelled at him, just like her.
The thought of all of the things he had to change just to live his life without her was overwhelming. His house, his gym, his clothes, his diet, his job, his friends. His entire existence had become one long to-do list intricately linked to the woman who was supposed to be his future wife, and he felt conflicted. Yes, in a sense — he was free now. But at the same time, he felt imprisoned. Imprisoned in a life forever tied to her that would take forever to get out of.
"Stop dilly-daddling...one more!"
He let the breath rush out of him, wrangling the thoughts in his head to focus on the task at hand. Being at the gym was a great stress reliever, and he just needed to focus.
He lets his body squat down once more, despite the protests in every fiber of his being. All he has to do is push back — just once more. He tries to think of anything but the pain and push —
The push of her mouth against his is urgent, and he hasn't felt passion like that in...
He chokes suddenly, the memory breaking his concentration as his legs give out — the ground forcing his knees to his chest and reminding him that he really doesn't bend that way anymore. The breath rushes from his lungs as Sean comes to grab the metal bar quickly, pulling it up into the metal stand of the leg press machine so that Harry is safe.
The crumpled shell of a man lets his head hang back, muscles trembling — and he's not so sure it's from the weights anymore. His memory is foggy, half-heartedly trying to forget the feeling of Olivia's tongue in his mouth, the way she gripped at his shirt, the feeling of her gentle fingertips against his jaw.
"Dude, are you okay?"
He could tell Sean was sincere, even if he was clearly frustrated by Harry's failure at the simplest of tasks.
"Yeah," he sighs.
Harry rolls his body so that his feet were planted on the ground again, taking a hand from Sean as he's lifted effortless back to his feet, testing his legs before letting him go, despite the jello-like feeling in quads.
"What's up with you today, man?" Sean asks, tossing a towel his way. He catches it, still panting a little as he dabs at the sweat rolling down his face.
"I dunno," he answered honestly.
He had felt off ever since he woke up this morning. It didn't matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the off-rhythm feeling out of his soul. It probably didn't help that it had been two days since he broke it off with his fiancé and he was still sleeping in his office — but more importantly, it had been two days since he had kissed Olivia.
No matter what he tried, he couldn't get that moment out of his head. He had done the best he could to forget it — to think of anything all day, from perfecting his golf swing to singing every melody that came into his head. But it didn't help. The smell of her shampoo was still fresh in his mind, and the taste of her cherry red lips was so tantalizing that he could still taste them on his own.
Ignoring his spaced out state, Sean ushered him over to the benches, which sat in front of a wall of mirrors. Harry can't help but run a hand over his still lightly damp face, desperately trying to get his mind back to his typical Saturday.
But this wasn't a typical Saturday — he was no longer engaged, he was living in his office, working at a job for his former fiancé's Father, and he just made out with his best friend, who also just so happened to work for his former fiancé.
There was absolutely nothing typical about this Saturday. Nothing at all.
He needed some type of normalcy right now, so he needed to focus. This was his attempt at it — breakfast, gym, maybe lunch with an old friend — his normal Saturday morning routine. Surely, that would make today feel somewhat normal and allow him to get his rhythm back.
But he didn't have any friends, and the only kind of routine his heart wanted was feeling her lips against his again.
A thrill runs through his veins as he remembers how her tongue had swiped at his bottom lip tentatively, how her fingernails had scratched against his chest, the sensation of which was dulled thanks to the cotton of his shirt. He shudders, remembering the moan she had let out when he slipped his tongue against hers.
He sits on the bench, rolling his neck slightly, as if he could roll his memories from his mind. Sean places two dumbbells at his feet, a pair of 45-lbs, and he knows that now is not the time to daydream.
He bends down, fingers wiggling around the small metal bars before he pulls them up with a groan, laying back effortlessly.
"Three sets of eight," Sean says before moving to the end of the bench to spot him.
"But these are forty five pounds!" He scoffs.
"You givin' me lip, boy?" Sean retorts.
Harry just groans, not ready for another fight this week, and he certainly doesn't want to rack up an extra three miles of running for giving his trainer attitude, like Sean is apt to do.
"That's what I thought. Now come on — up!"
Harry grits his teeth again, bending his elbows and pushing the metal above him, rotating his wrists in the process like he's supposed to. He lets out puffs of air as he continues to push the metal around, grunting heavily as he does so.
Sweat beads on his creased brow, forcing his body to go further. The first set was relatively easy, but the second set is definitely much more difficult. He goes slower this time, feeling the muscles in his arms and shoulders light on fire, forcing his mind to think of anything other than the pain.
A soft whimper pulls from the back of her throat, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly. The sound alone causes him to press his lips tighter to hers, as well as his body. His fingers move to her hair, letting his fingers revel in the feeling of her soft locks, hands gripping tightly as he tugs them closer to each other out of need.
His arms give out mid push from the memory, and in a blind panic, he instinctively pushes his arms to the side as the dumbbells fall to the floor, resulting in them bouncing on the hard rubber surface with a loud thud. Sean jumps back, almost getting his toe smashed by one of the weights. They both look up as the entire gym turns towards them to see what all the commotion is about.
"Alright, alright...quit yer gawkin'!" Sean yells to the rest of the gym before picking up the weights like they were pieces of paper instead of massive hunks of metal. "You. Treadmill. Now."
Harry dips his head in a panic, as if he just got scolded. "But I still have a set to do..."
"Not today, you don't," Sean snaps.
He bites his bottom lip before standing, following Sean into the cardio room with a groan.
Sean steps next to a line of vacant treadmills, nodding to Harry to get ready. Harry gently lifts one leg behind him, stretching his quad before swapping legs. He hopes Sean goes easy on him, maybe three miles at most. That should take him a half an hour, and he thinks he can keep his mind from wandering too far for thirty minutes.
"I don't know what kinda shit you've got going on — and frankly, it's none of my business..." Sean starts, ushering Harry onto the treadmill. "...I'm not one to tell a man no when his woman is giving him some, but I don't want another session like this."
Harry was instantly horrified as Sean pushed the start button. "But I didn't...I'm not..." he mutters, nearly falling off the back because he forgot to walk when Sean hit the start button.
"You're trying to tell me that you're throwing weights around and nearly crushing yourself just because you're having an off day?" He scoffs. "I've been doing this job a long time. I'm glad you're getting some, because you were really an uptight mother fucker. But next time? Cancel your session."
Harry's jaw hangs open at his words, unsure of what to say as Sean turns to walk away. He stops mid-stride. "Oh — and five miles." He hits the up arrow furiously, throwing Harry unexpectedly into a run.
He watches as Sean drops a bottle of water and a towel on the treadmill for him before walking away, leaving him to his thoughts. He tried to think of what he needed to do today, but all he could think about was Olivia.
He's surrounded by the scent of cherries, and every time he moves his hands through her hair, the smell envelopes him, making his head dizzy with desire.
He sighs, glancing down at his progress. He's only made it a quarter-mile. So much for not thinking about it.
He supposes he can't avoid it forever, which is what he's done. He hasn't called, seen, or talked to her at all in the last two days and he isn't sure what to do. She is normally the one he goes to for stuff like this, but he can't go to her about this one. There has to be a reason why it keeps creeping into to his thoughts. He has to figure it out, and the sooner he does, the sooner he can forget it.
He snorts. Not that he's going to forget that anytime soon.
It's not like he wants to forget the kiss, but it's complicated now. On the one hand, she works for his ex. It's not like he can ask her to quit for him. On the other hand, he doesn't even have a roof over his head at the moment, and everything is tied to his former fiancé. What kind of man is he? He can't just go knock on her door with open arms and say "take me!" A homeless pathetic shell of a man? Like she'd want him then.
He wonders if she would even want that, you know — if he did have his shit together. Does he even want that?
Of course he does, but he shouldn't. He knows that she deserves better. In his mind, she deserves the world, a man who can treat her like the Queen he sees her as. He's heartbroken and a mess, and he kissed her in a moment of vulnerability. He knows that she deserves better than being a broken-hearted rebound.
It doesn't change the fact that he wants her, though. It doesn't change the fact that when he closes his eyes, she is all he sees. It doesn't change the fact that when they kissed, the most beautiful melody in the world started playing in his mind's eye. It doesn't change the fact that kissing her was the happiest he's ever felt.
Ever.
He pressed the arrow to up his speed, hoping that if he runs fast enough, he can outrun his thoughts. Unfortunately for him, they tag along.
He kissed her.
He kissed her, and he liked it.
There. He admitted it.
He waits for the overwhelming guilt, the bone-crushing regret that he thinks will somehow tie Olivia to the ending of his former almost-marriage. But it doesn't. It's not there.
He doesn't feel guilty. Nor regret.
The realization almost makes him panic, his stride breaking as he almost falls off the treadmill, and he curses himself as the girl on the stationary bike behind him giggles at his clumsiness. He turns the speed down a little and regains his composure.
He kissed her, his Livvy. In his office, on the 35th floor of his high-rise, against his desk, after she wiped icing off of his lips. He says it over and over again in his head, still waiting for the guilt — but it never comes. He momentarily thinks of the word cheating, but it's temporary, given that he and Eleanor had broken it off a few hours prior.
All bad thoughts are banished in an instant when he recalls the feeling of her lips against his, the way her body felt pressed so tightly to his, and a little trill of excitement slides down his spine.
Boston, Massachusetts.
His mind wanders to where she is, what she's doing. He instantly feels bad for not knowing her better, especially when she knew everything about him. But it's Saturday. He tries to imagine where she is at this exact moment — the park, maybe? Maybe she's home, enjoying a book. He could see her curled up on the couch, book in hand, ponytail pulling her gorgeous chocolate curls up and off of her face, exposing the pale expense of her narrow neck and that mole an inch below her right ear. He bets she's reading some kind of chick lit — no, the New York Times? No, he knows she's more of a Wall Street Journal kind of girl. Or — he thinks — maybe she's at the Broad Museum, being cultured and looking at paintings with her head tilted to the side, lip bitten slightly. Kinda like the way she looks when he tells a Dad joke, at least the part right before she laughs.
He shakes his head, instantly upping the speed again. He shouldn't be thinking these things. Nick said it was okay for him to think these things, but not to act on it. So where does that leave him now? He hadn't even been broken up with his fiancé for 24 hours before he made a move, which has to be some kind of terrible human rule.
But was it really cheating? Was it really that bad? He and Eleanor were broken up. Besides — it was only a kiss. Or was it? Could it be considered just one long kiss? Or more like four or five that lasted a really long time? He wasn't quite sure, given his mind had gone on vacation for the entire experience. All he could remember was the fire that slid through his veins, and the all-consuming, bone-crushing desire he had for her in that moment. He hadn't been thinking at all — at least not with the head on his shoulders, anyway.
He shifts his thinking, trying to imagine how he would feel if the tables were turned, which isn't too hard to do considering he and Eleanor had hit a rough patch a year or so ago and had cheated on him with an up and coming producer. He was a nobody, though — just a random. Nothing special.
But his Livvy wasn't random, and she was most certainly special, to him anyway. He's not sure if that makes it better or worse. And what about her? He wonders how she felt about the whole thing. He wonders — is she mad at him for not stopping her from scrambling out of his office like a deer caught in the headlights? For not calling her in the two days since?
Honestly, he groans. How could he be so stupid to sit here and debate whether or not he was cheating on a miserable whore he broke up with when his Livvy was probably sitting there wondering what the hell was wrong with him for just letting her walk away like that. Sometimes, he thinks Eleanor might be right about him. Moments like this, he really is "such a man."
He wonders what he should do next? When will he see her again? She's in the enemy's camp, and he can't ask her to leave a good paying job for him. But at the same time, their relationship has now escalated. They've been intimate, in the most generic sense of the word, and now there are expectations and discussions to be had. If he's going to be a gentleman, anyway — which he always tried to be.
A bead of sweat trickle down his forehead, but he's not sure it's from the workout anymore.
He doesn't want things to change between him and Olivia. They can't. He needs her. Needs her more than he needs to breath sometimes. He needs her to be his sounding board, his advice column, the one to laugh at his jokes and look at him like he means something, like he's still worth his space on earth.
He wonders what would happen if they can't figure this out. What if — what if she won't leave her job? What if Eleanor makes her life hell? What if — what if they can't have the old relationship they used to have anymore? What if — what if she expects things of him he can't give? What if — what if he breaks her heart?
He tries to shake his head from the thoughts. His heart aches slightly at the concept and the realization of what this all means, knowing he has so much to figure out before he sees her next. The realization that a simple kiss might mean losing everything between them makes his heart pinch. It scares him that he feels more about Olivia and their potential future relationship than he does about his former relationship, the one he had built and sacrificed and literally went through hell for years for. So he tried to shove it back into the back of his brain — along with all the songs he didn't write and the house in Holmes Chapel he'll never have.
He wasn't meant to be happy. Eleanor made him believe that.
But his Livvy didn't.
His Livvy.
What the hell is he going to do now?
He looks down.
Half a mile.
Fuck.