Tawny Weber - Call To Engage

“Come on, ladies, lift those butts,” she called out, fully aware that half her class was men. But she’d learned that some things better motivated women—encouragement, commiseration, results. And some things motivated men—insults and questioning their virility. “Nobody walks out of here comfortably. I want you moaning, groaning, huffing and puffing. I want those muscles screaming because you pushed them to the max. Lift, release. Lift, release.”

She finished with a series of stretches.

“Arch, higher, higher, people. Stretch those muscles. Release the burn, let it go. You don’t want those babies locking up. At least not before you all make it to your cars.”

That snared a round of breathless laughter. Ava rode it out pulling them through the rest of the cooldown, ending with a little light meditation and a few body affirmations.

“Breathe, people. Pull that cooling air into your belly. Let it fill your body with soothing light. Repeat after me. I’m strong. I’m capable. I kicked butt today. I’ll kick butt tomorrow.”

And with that, she pushed to her feet. Ignoring the sweat that drizzled down her collarbone into the wicking fabric of her turquoise tank, she clapped her hands.

“Great job. You all kicked butt today.”

As always, Ava moved through the room making contact with students. A form correct here, a congratulations there. There were enough newbies in the class that she didn’t know everyone’s name, but thanks to years of what she called extreme socialite training, she was able to make everyone feel as if they were a friend.

“Ava, you’re the best.”

“So are you, Terri. You’re really mastering those burpees.” She patted the red-faced woman’s arm, smiling as she noted the developing muscle tone. “By the end of this course, I’ll bet you’re in that pair of jeans you bought.”

Like a lot of people who hit the gym, Terri had come with a goal to lose weight for an event—in her case, a high school reunion. Once she’d hit that goal, Ava encouraged her to reach for another one, so the woman was now fixated on fitting into a size-nine jeans.

Some people worked out for the love of it. But Ava knew the other 95 percent of the world needed incentive. She figured tapping into that was as much a part of her job as modifying a workout to fit a variety of needs.

“Thanks to you and this class, I bet I’m in them two months ahead of schedule,” Terri said, patting her hip as she headed out the door.

“You are the kick-ass woman, aren’t you,” rumbled a voice as big as the man framed in the doorway. As always, Ava smiled a little as she noted that Mack had to duck to get through without banging his shaved head. You’d think the guy would have built taller doors given that it was his gym.

“There’s a reason the phrase no pain, no gain is popular,” she pointed out, taking the towel he offered. Mack Prescott was a man the size of a bulldozer with a face to match, with the personality on par with a bear. Grumbly and gruff with most, but cuddly sweet with some.

“If the whining moans from your students are anything to go by, they’re gaining more than they bargained for.”

“Too much?”

“They sing your praises right along with those moans,” Mack said with a shrug as he moved through the room. She could see him doing a mental check of the inventory, assessing the state of the mats, the chill of the A/C and the quality of the speakers still beating with music. “You’ve got a way about you, Ava—that’s for sure.”

“I plan to make the world stronger, one hard body at a time.” Ava dabbed the towel at her throat, sopping up the beads of sweat still pooling there. “Resistance makes strength, my friend. You know that as well as I do.”

“I do, indeed. From the looks of it, all those resisting students are going to be in a whole lot of pain later,” Mack observed with a smirk. “Pretty smart, actually. First you pummel them in workout class so they’re so sore their muscles are crying. Then you lure them in for a massage so you can pummel them on the table, work the knots out of those muscles so they’re ready for your next workout class.”

“Perfect, right?” Ava laughed. “I even have Chloe handing out massage flyers at the door.”

She was only half joking. Chloe James, the receptionist for the gym, was perched at her desk right outside the door. And she did have flyers advertising Ava’s massage services. But she wasn’t waving them in the air.

Ava slanted a look through the glass walls and smiled.

Probably because the bubbly woman was otherwise occupied.

“Have you thought about my little proposition?” Mack asked as he straddled one of the workout benches lining the wall.

“You know, the propositions I get usually involve booty calls, naked workouts and offers to show off a guy’s most impressive muscle.”

Mack snorted.

“Sorry, sweets. You’re not my type.”

And that was the sad, sad truth for womankind. Ava had lost count of the number of complaints she’d heard over Mack’s preference for hard bodies of the male variety.

“Only one of the reasons I love you, Mack,” she said, at ease with him as she was with few men. “Another is your impeccable taste, of course.”

“You mean in wanting you to come on board as a partner? I’m serious about it, Ava. I need someone I can trust, and you’re my top pick.”

But she didn’t know if she ever wanted to be a man’s top pick at anything. Or if she wanted the responsibilities and stresses of being part owner of anything, even a business she loved. So she simply shrugged.

“I haven’t given it much thought yet,” she said.

“Well, I told you I’d give you until the end of the week before I asked anyone else—so take as much time as you need.” He got to his feet with a grace at odds with his size and offered a smile so reminiscent of his cousin’s that her heart squeezed for a second.

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t answer yet,” he interrupted. “Just think about it. If it’s the money, we can figure that out. If it’s the workload, we’ll hash that out. If it’s because you don’t want to make another commitment to a Prescott, well, that would make you a wimp. And we both know you’re not a wimp.”

Ava angled her chin, pretending she wasn’t insulted at the idea of returning to wimpiness after so many years of wallowing under the weight of her wimp crown. But she couldn’t ignore the tight knot in her gut at his reference to Elijah. She spent so much of her life acting as if Elijah didn’t exist that being reminded of him twice in as many seconds was a little much.

“I’m a good trainer, and excellent massage therapist. But I don’t I know that I want to be a businesswoman,” she said stiffly. Then, with a roll of her eyes at his sharp expression—God, the man could nag without saying a word—she lifted one hand in surrender. “But I’ll think about it, and we’ll talk next week.”

“Atta girl. You’ve done good, Ava.” Laying one beefy hand on her shoulder, Mack gave it a quick squeeze. “You should put some of that energy into your personal life now. You know, give one of those propositions a chance. Go on a date or something.”

She almost laughed. But knowing it’d be hysterical laughter tinged with horror, Ava managed to keep her response to a shake of her head.

The answer to that’d be a no.

Actually, that’d be a hell, no. Or even a hell, no, never, no way, not a chance.

But she didn’t say any of that aloud. Not because she wanted to encourage Mack, but because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. The poor guy had strong family loyalties, and her reasons for the multiple forms of no would slam right up against that devotion.