Moar story

Scott hated his job. An average day at Allen’s Physical Fitness Center consisted of Scott sitting around, drumming his fingers on any available surface, avoiding Allen by means that sometimes exceeded “creative” and tripped happily over into “mentally unbalanced”, and pretending to be “friendly, relaxed, and willing to help” as dictated by the Allen’s Physical Fitness Center Employee Mission Statement. Of course, on occasion he was also forced to actually do his job, but considering that most of the customers who came in were regulars and thus needed no assistance from Scott, this was a blessedly infrequent occurrence. The downside of this was that Scott spent the majority of his working hours bored out of his skull.

At least the dress code was lax. Scott liked a lax dress code. Whereas Martin tended to wear things like sweaters and overlarge T-shirts to hide the extra pounds he had gained during his employment as a librarian, Scott dressed a little sparser to emphasize the fact that he had no such extra pounds to speak of. His ensemble today consisted of a muscle shirt and a pair of shorts that had been good to him in the many years they had served him, as well as a pair of relatively new, quite impressive sneakers. Scott was an appreciator of impressive sneakers.

Scott was also an appreciator of attractive women. This was yet another reason he hated his job.

When Scott had been given the job at Allen’s Physical Fitness Center, he had asked (in that sly yet amiable manner that made him semi-renowned as a people person) if many of the customers were pretty girls. Allen had assured him that yes, indeed they were. It later turned out that Allen was, in fact, a lying bastard. This was only a fraction of the reason Scott avoided him if at all possible; the other reason was that Allen was a very large, very loud, robust man in his late forties who liked to clap Scott enthusiastically on the back and lead him around by the neck, and also held such unreasonable expectations as wishing for Scott to perform actual labor while on the clock. Scott was very much opposed to this manner of thinking, unbeknownst to his boss. There was a human-sized space cleared out under the front desk and a stack of post-it notes with ready excuses for the absence of Scott kept ready at all times.

Back to the issue at hand, Scott spent several days confused as to the lack of female clientele before finally bringing the issue to Kelly.

“Well, it’s a men’s gym, Scotty,” she’d told him, giving one of the elliptical machines a bored visual once-over.

“It’s not,” Scott retorted, defensively. “It’s completely neutral. Says so on the Employee Mission Statement thinger. ‘Create a completely neutral, comfortable atmosphere for the customers.’ Number six.”

Kelly had given him a disparaging glance, lips twisted into an analytical sort of frown. Then she shook her head and strode over to a treadmill. “Well, whatever the mission statement says, it’s a men’s gym.” She prodded at the control panel. “The atmosphere, the music, the equipment…it’s all pretty much geared toward guys. It’s just not female-friendly.”

Scott stared. Kelly shrugged. “It…it’s supposed to be…” he moved his hands around uncertainly. “Um, neutral.”

“It’s not,” Kelly said flatly. She climbed onto the treadmill and placed her hands on the bars. Then she frowned, stood up on her toes, wrinkled her brow, sighed, and got off the machine. “This is too big for me.”

“Everything’s too big for you, Kell, that’s not the gym’s fault.” Scott leaned against a wall and sighed. He considered running a hand through his hair in exasperation (Martin did it all the time, and sometimes it seemed to make him less irritated) but rejected the idea because it was gelled very precisely and he didn’t want to muss it. Besides, the roots needed bleaching, and the less it showed the better.

“Well, sue me for being short,” Kelly groused, kicking the treadmill’s base half-heartedly. “Besides, you’re not exactly like, Andre the Giant yourself, pal.”

“I am a perfectly respectable height, thank you very much,” Scott said immediately. “I’m like, 5’9”.”

“Oh, please,” Kelly said. She swung her arms idly as she walked back over toward the door. “5’7”. Don’t argue.”

“Whatever.” Scott stretched his arms over his head. “You like tall guys, go for Martin.”

“I do like tall guys,” Kelly said haughtily, “and so does Martin, so I’m not sure how you expect that to work out. Anyway, I’m going home.”

Scott sat in the back on the stool used for leg stretches, drumming his fingers on his knee and avoiding Allen and pretending to be friendly, relaxed, and willing to help. He wondered if the library was busy and if he could get away long enough to bother Martin for a while, which was always more interesting than work. He then wondered if he could call Kelly and ask her to pick up some peanut butter before she went into work, because they were almost out. He spent some time idly considering whether to watch the playoffs with Eric and Brandon (on the one hand, they had asked nicely and would have pizza, but on the other hand he didn’t like football, if that was even the sport they were requesting him to watch) and where he had put the number of that girl he’d met last week and whether her name was Angela or Ashley, or maybe it was Heather.

“Scotty!” said a booming voice, jerking Scott out of his reverie and giving his internal Allen Detector/Warning System a swift smack to the head. “What are you doing, just sitting around here? We’ve got customers!”

There were two things that were annoying about Allen at this particular point in time: it was 4 o’ clock and neither of the customers needed tending to, and Scott had never given Allen permission to call him “Scotty”. Only Kelly was allowed to call him Scotty. (Martin, he supposed, would also be given this privilege if he wanted it, but he didn’t seem to.) Not that Allen would have listened if Scott had asked him to stick to the name on the employee time table.

“Sorry, I was, uh…”

“Daydreaming, huh?” Allen accused, grinning amicably and failing to notice the look of dread and vexation on his employee’s face. “Well, that’s fine, that’s fine, gotta have some time to think, eh? But now’s the time to get off your rear and do some work, son.”

“Sorry, sir,” Scott said drearily, lifting himself with some difficulty from his seat. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all, son, not at all,” said Allen, clapping Scott on the back and hauling him forward by his neck. “We got a new customer in. Pretty girl, at that! Figured you’d want dibs.” And then he winked, crinkling his already lined face into a web of complex wrinkles. Despite the disconcerting effect this had, Scott brightened.

“Yeah? Where is she?”

“Over by the bikes.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the stationary bicycles and gave Scott a friendly shove that almost plowed him into the carpet. He then departed, leaving Scott free to pump his fist in the air enthusiastically and set off to make himself useful.

The girl standing expectantly near the wall of the nearly deserted gym was roughly 5’3”, slim, dressed in a pair of black bike shorts and a red tank top with red barrettes pinning her hair into two little ponytails, and wearing a pleasant smile. She was standing with her feet a little apart, toes pointed inward, one hand clasping her other elbow behind her back…the overall effect was incredibly cutesy and incredibly familiar.

Scott stopped dead. “You’re the pretty girl?!”

“Compliments won’t get you out of helping me bench press, but thanks anyway,” Kelly said flippantly. She batted her eyes.

“No, Allen said—argh.” Scott almost pulled his hair for stress relief, but remembered just in time: fauxhawk, gel, don’t touch. He clamped his hands on the back of his neck and growled to himself. “We finally get a hottie customer in here, and it’s you.”

“Oh, I’m not so bad once you get used to me,” Kelly said brightly. “Well, unless you’re Martin. Shut up and spot for me, will you?” She turned on her tennis shoed-heel and made her way to a bench, whereupon she arranged herself onto it and looked expectantly at Scott.

With a grumbled protest, Scott went to stand behind the bench and lifted the bar up for Kelly. “Why are you even here? I thought you said this is a guy gym.”

“It is, but mine’s—you can let go now—mine’s closed for renovations and I figured here I could get a discount and a guy who won’t try to look down my shirt. Well, not maliciously, anyways.”

“Nothing to look at,” Scott said, but his heart wasn’t in it. He sighed.

“You can at least pretend to be glad to see me, you know. I came all the way here.”

“But it’s you. I was hoping it was somebody hot, you know. Not that you’re not cute or anything, you’re all right, but you’re Kelly. Damn it.”

“Well, I feel special now,” Kelly said, and rolled her eyes as she lifted up the bar. “Look, if it makes you feel any better you can flirt with me a little to pass the time.”

Scott blinked. Then he glowered. “Well, I can’t if you give me permission. It has to be spontaneous.”

“Dork,” Kelly said mildly, lowering the bar. “You could at least make small talk. We’re gonna be here for a while.”

“Only because you’re lifting like a granny,” Scott chided. Kelly stuck her tongue out at him, so he flicked her forehead. She scowled, and he tugged on one of her ponytails. This continued for several minutes (and Scott had to admit she had excellent concentration) until someone near the bicycles cleared their throat.

“Is there going to be a fight, here?” said the nametag-wearing man leaning casually against a bike. Kelly halted her movements and Scott shuffled his feet in an embarrassed fashion.

“Hi, Craig,” he said eventually. “We’re, um, I’m just spotting for her, it’s cool.”

Craig, who was the sort of white-toothed, bronze-skinned, sleek-haired individual that lived to make all the other men in the room look bad, flashed a dazzling grin and crossed his buff arms over his equally buff chest, stance relaxed and impossibly charming. “You should bring your girl around here more often,” he said, and winked at Kelly. She was staring. Scott wanted to smack her upside the head.

“She’s not my girlfriend, she’s my—” Scott stopped. He had been about to say ‘sister’, because Craig was the sort of guy who was mentally incapable of comprehending a relationship between a man and a woman that did not involve sex unless they were related, but then his brain had kicked in and told him That’s right, explain to Muscle Boy how Slightly-Tan-Scott is Black-Chick-Kelly’s brother, and his mouth helpfully supplied “—brother’s girlfriend.”

“Ah,” Craig said knowingly, and gave Kelly an appraising look that made Scott want to deck him (which, in all honesty, was nothing new; Craig made a hobby of supplying Scott with reasons to unleash physical violence upon his person) before standing upright and shrugging in a manner that caused all the well-defined muscles of his upper chest and shoulders to ripple invitingly. Scott bet that he practiced it in front of a mirror every morning. “That’s a shame. She’s a cutie.” He winked again and sauntered away, which of course only showed off his calves—he probably practiced that, too. Scott muttered something dour under his breath.

“You had to tell him I have a boyfriend,” Kelly snapped, lifting the bar so suddenly that it smacked into Scott’s palms.

“Ow!” He rubbed his hands and glared. “Well, I had to tell him something. Besides, you don’t want to date that. Trust me.”

“Oh, and how do you know, Smarty Pants?”

“Well,” Scott said, in a tone of voice meant to indicate that he was not a Smarty Pants, he just knew things she didn’t and was willing to throw his knowledge around, which was totally different, “he’s a jerk, a cheater, a smartass, and he thinks he’s better than everyone else. Plus, he’s just going to try to seduce you and then kick you to the curb. He talks about all the women he’s played in the break room all the time.”

Kelly rolled her eyes and sighed deeply. “And did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m not in the market for some deep, committed relationship? Maybe I just think he’s got a cute ass. Besides, I can look out for myself. I’m a big girl, Scotty.”

Well, at least she was still calling him Scotty, which meant she was only exasperated and not angry. “I know. But really, he’s a loser.”

Under the expression of concentration she now wore as she pressed up on the bar, Kelly smirked. “I wasn’t serious. I trust you. He’s probably a jerk.”

“Damn straight,” Scott said, but wasn’t quite able to quell his triumphant smile. “You’re way too good for him.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so. Besides, Martin would bite my head off if I let you go out with a loser like Craig.”

“God. He can stop being my big brother any day now.”

This incurred knowing laughter. That was more like it. Eventually, Kelly lowered the bar back into place and sat up, stretching her arms over her head. “Thanks,” she said, swinging her feet to one side. She looked up at Scott, making that doe-eyed expression at him that she could probably conquer the world with if she put her mind to it. “You really think I’m too good for him?”

Scott sighed. “Yes,” he said dutifully, and Kelly scowled. “What? It’s just that I already said. Did you not believe me or something?”

She smiled a little reluctantly. “Nah, I believe you. Thanks for spotting.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Scott. He reached out and prodded Kelly in the shoulder. She stuck out her tongue. “I hate to say it, but I think Craig was on to something. We’re pretty much four years old, aren’t we?”

Kelly laughed. “Basically. But, you know, it’s just how we are.” She rocked back and forth on her toes, thoughtfully. “Sibling-y.”

“Heh, yeah,” said Scott. Somewhere in the general region of his stomach, there was a vague sinking feeling. He ignored it. “Um, hey…when you’re done, you wanna get some dinner?”

“Can’t,” she replied, pouting a little in regret. “I have work at six, remember? By the time I get changed and drive over…”

“Ah, yeah.”

“I was just going to pick up a sandwich.”

“Um. ‘Kay. So…actually! I can—oh wait, no I can’t, I don’t get off until six.”

Kelly giggled at his look of disappointment. “Tell you what…tomorrow’s Sunday. No work. We can go out then, okay?”

“Okay!” Scott said, grinning, and Kelly shoved his knee with her foot.

“You’re a dork. I’m gonna go try one of your ginormous treadmills.” She rolled her eyes and set off in that direction, and Scott followed.

“You should come here every day.”

Kelly glanced over her shoulder with an expression on her face that clearly read You’re kidding me, right?

“What? If you get referred by an employee, you get a major discount. Besides, then I could annoy you every day, right?”

“Hmm,” said Kelly, as if considering the offer deeply. “Well…if I get a discount…I’ll think about it.”

“Awesome,” Scott said happily.

And thus Allen’s Physical Fitness Center gained its first female customer, and Scott’s job satisfaction rose significantly, and all was well.

Until Kelly started suggesting music options that sucked less, but that’s a different story.