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  I turned to leave the dance floor, clearly done dancing, but before I had a chance to register what had happened, I slammed into Colleen Masterson, knocking her straight down to the floor.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?” I leaned down quickly, Willow taking her other side as we helped lift her up. Colleen was a couple of years older than us and was the smallest girl I knew. At just five-foot-one and maybe one-hundred and ten pounds, she was the perfect size to be the best flier on the cheerleader squad that she had been all through school.

  Colleen nodded, leaning up as Willow and I helped steady her. She seemed shaken and I felt like a complete oaf. Suddenly, a loud ring of laughter came from behind Willow. I looked up through the paused dancers that had gathered around us and saw Shay pointing our direction. Everyone around her was laughing, save for Mason, who was making his way toward us with a concerned pinch between his brows. Dustin joined him, but not before throwing a disapproving look over his shoulder toward Shay.

  “Hey, are you all right?” Mason asked, not pointing the question toward Colleen but at me, instead. I didn’t answer, because my focus was still completely drawn to where Shay was making jokes. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she was definitely staring at me, and Stephanie was laughing with her. I swallowed, heat rushing to my face as Willow turned to look behind her, too — just in time to see Shay call me a “fat klutz”.

  And that time, I heard her.

  “I’m sorry, Colleen,” I mumbled, standing as quickly as I could and bolting for the door. Willow chased after me, calling out my name and asking me to wait but I didn’t stop. Tears stung at the back of my eyes as I shoved through the crowd, using more force than necessary. I hated that I couldn’t hold myself together. I didn’t even cry when Mason broke up with me, why the hell was I about to cry over something someone I didn’t even care about said?

  Because he cares about her, that’s why.

  How could Mason go from dating someone like me to dating someone like her? She was awful. He deserved better, he should want better.

  He should want me.

  Moses had Dale’s Range Rover pulled up almost as soon as I sent him the text and I slid into the backseat quickly, locking the door behind me, like that would shield me from the cruel reality I had just faced.

  “Take me home, Moses,” I said through the tears still building. I tried to catch a deep breath, but came up short each time. My chest was too tight. My lungs weren’t big enough.

  Moses didn’t hesitate or ask a single question, just pushed the Rover into drive and tore out of The Crawl like he felt the urgency, too.

  Moses used to be Dale’s family’s butler, but he transitioned into more of a family friend by the time mom and I made our way into the Poxton tribe. He was in his sixties, though his bald head and tan skin made him look more like a biker in his late forties. He had barely any wrinkles to speak of, which I swore I would find the secret behind. He eyed me curiously in the rearview mirror for just a moment before looking straight ahead again. I was waiting for the questions to come, but thankfully they didn’t.

  My phone rang as soon as the light from The Crawl faded behind us. Willow’s name and striking smile lit up the screen and I hit the red ignore button hastily before turning off my phone completely. I knew she wanted to help, but I was past the point of being pulled back by Willow’s Words of Wisdom. Each mile we drove brought us closer to home and farther from the club, yet still I felt my heart ripping. I closed my eyes tight and saw their faces, heard their laughter, felt the embarrassment. I’d never been the butt of any of my friends’ jokes — at least, not that I knew of. Why was it that Mason’s new girlfriend could make fun of me and get away with it so easily? Why didn’t anyone stand up for me?

  Then again, could I really blame Shay for my embarrassment? It wasn’t her who ate the way I did. It wasn’t her who watched me put on more and more weight over the years. It wasn’t her who knocked Colleen to the floor in the middle of a crowded bar. All of those things were my fault, and the saddest truth was that I wasn’t even doing anything to change the way I looked. Or felt.

  Maybe it was time to start.

  Like a strobe light of assault, little moments that I hadn’t thought twice about struck me violently in the backseat of the Range Rover. I remembered covering myself at the beach while all my friends laid out in two pieces. I remembered having to shop at a completely different store for my prom dress after the attendant told me and Willow that they didn’t have anything above a size nine. I remembered having to order a large gown for graduation, even though they were already so flowy and loose. I remembered it all, all of a sudden, all at once — all in striking detail.

  It was the first time in my life that I realized I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin.

  When we pulled up the long drive to Dale’s house, my mind was still replaying the laughter I’d heard. Mason hadn’t joined in on it, but he hadn’t stopped it. Still, he asked me if I was okay, and that was all the hope I needed to think that maybe I did stand a chance of winning him back.

  But before I could think of going after him, I had to go after a better life for myself.

  “Thanks, Mo,” I whispered quietly, my voice strained. He offered a soft smile and only nodded in return. Again, I was thankful that somehow in this town, he’d lost the interest in finding out every detail of a bad situation.

  It wasn’t even midnight yet when I stepped through the door into our massive foyer. I heard mom and Dale talking in the kitchen and I let my feet carry me there without even thinking about what I would say. Dale was mid-bite and Mom was laughing as they stood around the kitchen island, large bowls of ice cream in front of them, when I walked in.

  Dale dropped his spoon when he saw me and Mom whipped around, cutting her laugh short. She immediately rushed to me when she saw my face and I let her pull me into her. For a small woman, she had a fierce hug.

  “Oh baby, what happened?” Dale asked, moving toward us. I pulled back from Mom’s grip and shook my head, my eyes falling to the wood floor.

  “I think I change my mind,” I said softly, not sure if I was really on board with what I was about to say or if I was just acting in the moment. Either way, the words were there. “About the trainer.”

  Mom looked back to Dale who crossed his arms over his chest, a worried look on his face. “Are you sure?” I nodded, though my eyes stayed down. He sighed. “Don’t do this for some boy, Natalie.”

  “It’s not for him.” Not entirely, anyway. I cleared my throat, lifting my eyes to meet his. “I need this. For me.”

  Mom pulled me in for another hug. “Oh sweetheart, it’ll be okay. You’re so strong. I know you can do this. And Mason will kick himself for ever letting you go.”

  I shrugged out from under her and pulled my arms over my chest to mimic Dale. It felt safer to stand like that. “Can I start tomorrow?”

  Mom smiled softly and nodded. “I’ll call the club first thing in the morning.”

  I felt the tears pricking my eyes again, but I somehow managed to hold them in check. “Thanks, Mom. Dale. Really.” I shook my head, my eyes finding the floor again. “I’m sorry.”

  Dale frowned. “What on earth are you sorry for, baby?”

  I shrugged. “I knocked a girl down tonight. I’m so big I—” a sob finally choked its way through my throat and my hand flew to my mouth. I shook my head as they both moved to comfort me, the tears I’d been holding back breaking free. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

  Saying the words out loud finally made me realize how far I’d let myself go. No matter how I had played it off in the past, my size had always bothered me — just not enough for me to care to make a change. But that night was the breaking point. I knew the road ahead of me wouldn’t be an easy one, but I didn’t have a choice anymore.

  Mason had weakened me. And that night, his girlfriend had finished the job he started, successfully breaking me into pieces. They were scattered on the floor around
me and I knew it was time to pick them up and start rebuilding.

  I hoped I’d build a better me.

  A stronger me.

  And definitely — a smaller me.

  I walked into the Poxton Beach Country Club just after two in the afternoon the next day. The club sat on the west edge of town, a large, grand building right at the front of our one and only golf course. I’d only been to the club for Dale’s parties and Sunday brunch before, and never once had I been curious enough to ask if there even was a gym, let alone ask to see it. As I followed a club associate through the large hallway toward the back of the building, I was regretting my word vomit to my parents. Yes, I had been upset. Yes, I wanted to start making changes — but was a trainer really the best way to do that? When we walked through the large glass doors and I found myself standing in a room full of slim, ripped, beautiful people, I was sure I’d made a crazy decision in my haste.

  I definitely did not belong in that room.

  “Your trainer is just finishing up with his last client,” the older woman informed me. She tilted her head toward a small fitness room behind the row of treadmills. “Go ahead and walk back there. He should be done soon.” She paused, her smile still radiant. I guessed she was maybe in her late thirties and her PBCC polo shirt was perked up by a set of what I was sure were very fake assets.

  When I only smiled and nodded awkwardly, she turned to excuse herself, but not before adding, “And have fun. He’s the best trainer in this place.” She winked and I felt myself blush, though I wasn’t exactly sure why.

  I made my way toward the small room the woman had referred to, crossing my arms over my body as I walked past the various members in their tight workout gear. I was dressed in yoga pants and a Poxton Beach High School t-shirt from homecoming two years ago with my thick hair pulled into a high, messy bun. I looked frumpy and I knew it, but with my body, I didn’t really know how to look otherwise.

  When I reached the glass windows that separated the private fitness room from the rest of the gym, I paused, watching the two people inside. There was a man knelt down on the ground, his muscular back showing through the ripped up, wide-sleeved black tank top he wore. From that angle, I could see there was a woman on a spongy black mat in front of him.

  She was on all fours, but all I could see was her back right leg extending up toward the ceiling with a flexed foot as the man gently guided her knee. I watched the muscles in his arms flex as he moved, the ripples and ridges changing with each lift and fall. I had never seen muscles like that — not that close, anyway. Just the partial view of his backside had me crossing my arms tighter and wishing I would have at least tried not to look like a bum.

  After another minute, the woman dropped her leg and sat back on her heels, giving the man a high five and a smile so big it made my cheeks hurt. Though when he stood and turned around, I completely understood why.

  Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

  He threw a small white towel over his dark, damp hair, dragging it down his face slowly to wipe away the sweat he’d worked up. His arm muscles were even more defined from the front, his biceps tightening with every movement of his hand. As he pulled the towel down and around his neck, I noted his strong, tense jaw, covered with just the smallest bit of scruff. His bright green eyes were lasered in on the woman and he continued his slow assault with that damn white towel while she asked him questions. He was scowling, almost as if the towel had greatly offended him or he was contemplating a world issue and for some reason that scowl had my body feeling a heat it had never felt before.

  My trainer was none other than Rhodes — Poxton Beach’s closest thing to a bad boy. Other than the fact that he was a senior when I was a freshman and he was absolutely terrifying, I really didn’t know much about him. I only had one year of roaming the same halls as him at PBHS, but that was all I needed to know it was best to keep my distance. Rhodes was a mystery to most of the town, and the fact that he would be getting up close and personal with my body in a matter of minutes set me on edge. It was like a red DANGER sign lighting up over and over again as I watched him closely, that same fear I’d felt toward him in school creeping up. Still, my feet wouldn’t move.

  When the woman gave one last wave and walked out the door to my right, I was still standing and staring like an idiot on the other side of the glass. Rhodes dragged the towel over his face once more before lifting his shirt, revealing a sliver of tan skin as he tucked one corner of the offending white fabric beneath the band of his shorts. It was then that his eyes found mine, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, I felt a small shift in my universe.

  Rhodes frowned, assessing me through the glass that was my only safety from the unfamiliar sensation I was currently experiencing. Slowly, he walked through the door and leaned against the frame, crossing his arms. “Natalie?”

  I was still standing a safe distance from him, my body angled toward the glass. I nodded before finally finding my voice. “Yes. Yeah, um, yeah I’m Natalie. Natalie Poxton.” I extended my hand for his, but he just quirked a brow as he appraised it before looking back at me again, jaw set. Suddenly I felt like an idiot and I let my hand fall.

  “I see. I’m Rhodes; I’ll be your trainer. Come on,” he said, moving from his leaning pose on the frame to stand straight. “Let’s get your numbers.”

  I tried not to analyze what that I see meant as I followed him back to a small office behind the section filled with weights. It was tiny, but elegant, like only a Poxton Beach office would be. There was one desk and a matching bookshelf that held mostly files. The desk was vacant except for a white, sleek computer and a green notepad, which Rhodes picked up as soon as we entered. He gestured to a large glass scale in the back corner near the bookshelf. “Step up.”

  I snapped my head toward him but he was already scribbling away in the notepad, leaving my pleading eyes to fall on the scale in front of me. But that scale wasn’t sympathetic. I swallowed, shifting. I knew it was part of the process. I knew that. Then again, what I hadn’t known was that Rhodes would be my trainer.

  Cool, life. Cool.

  When I didn’t move, Rhodes glanced up from his notepad and used the pen in his hand to point to the glass monster again. I sighed, shaking out my nerves the best that I could, and stepped up. I was far from excited about the number that popped up on the digital display in front of my face and even more horrified when Rhodes proceeded to calculate my body fat percentage. When he wrapped a long, blue measuring tape around my waist, hips, thighs, arms, legs, and neck, I was pretty sure my face could fry an egg I was blushing so hard. When all the poking and prodding was done, he sat behind the desk and asked me to sit on the small, dark blue cushioned chair across from him.

  “So, what’s your goal?” He asked, pulling out a new file to store my information. His arms were still slightly glazed with a sheen of sweat that I couldn’t help but fixate on while I tried to think of the answer to his question.

  To get my boyfriend back.

  Yeah, suddenly that didn’t sound so smooth.

  I fidgeted, unsure of what else to say. “I don’t know, I suppose I’m here for the same reason everyone else is,” I offered, hoping he would nod and continue on. But he didn’t. He lifted his eyes to mine, the piercing green capturing my gaze as he studied me. After a moment, he sighed and leaned back, balancing the pad on his knee.

  “Okay, who is he? Who’s the guy?”

  I blanched.

  “What?”

  “The guy. The one you’re trying to get or forget or whatever.” His voice was booming, but with an edgy rasp that somehow smoothed it out.

  I crossed my arms, defensive. “There’s not a guy.” Not that you need to know about, anyway. “I’m here because I want to be.”

  He shrugged, not fazed in the slightest by what I felt was a huge act of standing my ground. “Fine. Then what’s your goal?”

  I chewed my bottom lip, working from the left side to the right and back again. It was a
nervous habit I’d had my entire life, and I had to carry copious amounts of lip balm to make up for it. Rhodes’ eyes fell to my lips and I snapped my mouth shut. They stayed there for a moment longer before he found my gaze again. I had forgotten he asked me a question until he lifted a brow, waiting.

  What was my goal?

  “I just want to be pretty,” I finally answered, my voice just above a whisper. I had let my eyes fall to the floor, just like I did with my parents the night before, and when I lifted them to meet his again I slightly regretted it. His brows were pinched together over the bridge of his nose and he shook his head before quietly scribbling in that damn notepad of his.

  I imagined he was writing something along the lines of, “No chance. Never happening. Poor girl.”

  “All right.” He stood and I followed, though I wasn’t sure what we were doing just yet. “Let’s go do your first workout. It’ll only be a twenty minute toning session today and then I’ll have you do twenty minutes of cardio. This will be your easiest day. You’re set up to train with me for two hours every day of the week except for Wednesdays and Saturdays. I’m working on your meal plan and I should have that ready by tomorrow’s session. Until then, I’ll give you the name of a fitness app to download to your phone so you can start logging your meals. Log everything, even if it’s bad. You have to be honest for this to work.” I was nodding feverishly, hanging on his every word. “You’ll weigh in once a week and we’ll take your measurements once every three weeks. Here,” he handed me a business card from a small stack behind the computer. “My cell number is on here. You can call me anytime, day or night, if you have questions about what you’re eating or anything else related to your training.”

  I took the card, startling a little when our hands touched, then he was on the move. “We’ll start with legs. Do you know the proper way to do a squat?”

  And I didn’t. I didn’t have the slightest clue how to properly execute a squat, a lunge, a calf-raise or anything else he showed me in that insane twenty minute session he put me through that day. But the way he looked at me, the strange way he appraised me when he thought I wouldn’t notice, had me wondering if my attention should even be on my form at all.