Set on You

How can he be in love with me if I’m not even sure I’m in love with me anymore?

I worship this squat rack the way Mother Gothel regards Rapunzel’s magic hair. It gives me life. Vigor. Four sets of squats and I’ll be high on endorphins for at least a day, fantasizing about the strength of my thighs crushing the souls of a thousand men.

SQUAT RACK THIEF has graced Excalibur Fitness with his cocksure presence for the third day in a row. I’ve officially designated him my gym nemesis.I’ve been here for less than half an hour and I’m already fantasizing about “accidentally” spritzing him with a bottle of chemical disinfectant.

“You sure you’re not a little confused and exhausted from all those shoulder presses?” he asks, unable to squash his patronizing amusement.“I don’t get exhausted. Ever. I appreciate the concern, though,” I add, voice sweeter than Grandma Flo’s sugar pie.“Oh, I could exhaust you.”

he’s seemingly obsessed with his dog, because his Instagram bio reads Dog dad to Albus Doodledore.

“What is it about needles you don’t like?” I ask.He contorts his face, as if I’ve just asked an outrageous question, like why would one dislike diarrhea, or STDs? “They hurt.”“Says the guy who fights fires.”

I’ll admit, watching a six-foot-two alpha male fireman drink a children’s juice box is strangely attractive. Why am I more attracted to him when he’s vulnerable and in need of medical attention?

“So, are we just gonna stand here or are we working out?” I try to lower my voice to a serious tone. It fails miserably. I sound like a child trying to impersonate their stern father.He snorts, pulling a small slip of paper out of his pocket, scribbled with what appears to be a workout routine. I’m pretty sure I see the word Revenge at the top of the page, ominously underlined multiple times. “Oh, we’re working out.”

Working out with someone who could pass as a movie star is more challenging than expected.

“I’m done with this. I think I’m gonna puke,” he pants, bent over, palms resting on his knees.“Hey, this is all your own doing. Your sick little revenge fantasy.” I lean my elbow on the squat rack. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow.”“Things guys like to hear after a date.” He gives me a mischievous grin and quickly backtracks when he sees my jaw drop. He holds his hands in front of him. “I’m just kidding. Please don’t kill me.”

If buying Scott ice cream can earn his complete and total forgiveness, I’ll buy him all the flavors on the menu.

“Do you not eat ice cream?”“I’m lactose intolerant.”He clutches his chest, as if I’ve told him I only have a month to live. “Wow. What did you do to deserve that?”

I’m not thinking about him in this way. We’re purely platonic gym nemeses turned acquaintances. Obviously.

He eyes me with curiosity. “So just how introverted are you?”“I’ll put it this way: If I have plans for more than two consecutive nights, I’ll probably stress about it all week. Oh, and if someone cancels plans, it feels like I won the lottery.”He smiles. “Now I know how to get you to like me. I’ll just make plans with you and then cancel them.” Strangely, the idea of Scott canceling plans on me doesn’t sound nearly as appealing as I wish it did.

“Can you walk or do you want me to get you an Uber?”“Pffttt. Of course I can walk.” It’s a half-truth. I can walk. Just not in a completely straight line. But who needs to walk in a straight line?

YOU CAN LEARN a lot about a person by going through the entirety of IKEA with them. It’s a true test of one’s patience, spatial awareness, level of maturity, and self-discipline. Particularly in the final section, where they so rudely tempt you with cinnamon rolls and Daim chocolate caramel candies. Why are you trying to break me, IKEA?

His stride is confident, unhurried, and so entirely sexy, I could watch hours of CCTV footage of him doing nothing but walking.

According to Scott, Trevor is a perpetual bachelor. In fact, he affectionately referred to him as a “cynical womanizer because daddy issues,” which strangely encapsulates the vibes I’m getting.

“Can I make a prediction?” he asks as Frodo departs on his quest.“Go for it.”“The uncle is Frodo’s real dad.”I give him a sarcastic stare. “Really?”“I’m right, aren’t I?”“No. Not even close. This isn’t Star Wars.”He ponders for a moment. “Okay. Gandalf is Frodo’s father.”“Scott, rest assured. There is no baby daddy drama.”He fake pouts. “Well, that’s a missed opportunity.”