chapter twenty-one
3:20 P.M.—INSTAGRAM POST: “DO YOU FEEL LIKE A FRAUD IN YOUR OWN LIFE?” BY CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL:
And no, I don’t mean fraud as in when you text your friends “omg dead dying lmfao rofl” with a completely straight face. I’m talking about serious thoughts, like “I got lucky,” “I don’t deserve my success,” “Someone is going to figure me out.”
These are real things I’ve thought to myself, and still think to myself occasionally. I’m only human. It all started way back when I exclusively wore neon workout clothes, listened to trap music, and hit my first couple thousand followers. I thought I was “unworthy,” especially compared to all the fit trainers out there with ripped abs. These feelings of inadequacy doubled by the time I got my first big collaboration with Nike. They offered to send me a literal headband. An inch-wide pink piece of elastic band. And I cried and curled up in the fetal position, so sure they would call me out on being a phony.
Similarly, I’m always seeing my clients disregard their progress. As harmless as this may seem, you’re actually disregarding all of your hard work and holding yourself to impossibly high, unattainable standards.
But there is good news. Did you know most people (ahem, mostly high-achieving women) who feel impostor syndrome do so because they’re simply driven to succeed? If you’re feeling some type of way about your success, my advice to you is stop trying to chase perfect. No one wants perfect, because it doesn’t exist.
Comment by Train.wreckk.girl: I love this. Impostor syndrome is all too real!
Comment by trainermeg_0491: I think these thoughts all the time. You’re right. Perfection isn’t possible. We should really be easier on ourselves.
Comment by NoScRyan: You can’t call yourself high achieving when you’re a trainer and you’re overweight.
• • •
SCOTT: Albus has a question for you.
Five seconds later, he sends a photo of Albus sitting upright in a human position with a tiny sign that reads Date tomorrow night?
If a goldendoodle named Albus asks you on a date, you kind of have to go.
CRYSTAL: Yes.
SCOTT: Wow. I’m hurt you’re so quick to say yes to him and not me.
CRYSTAL: What can I say? I like wizards.
SCOTT: I should have had him do my bidding weeks ago.
CRYSTAL: What do I wear?
SCOTT: Something nice. Don’t worry, next time I’ll bring you somewhere you can wear your leggings.
CRYSTAL: Damn, you’re already banking on there being a next time? What if I’m super boring? Or weird?
SCOTT: I’m boring too. And I already know you’re weird.
CRYSTAL: What if I chew with my mouth open? Or talk during important movie scenes? Or spend too much money?
SCOTT: All tolerable.
CRYSTAL: What if I have a needle fetish?
SCOTT: No comment.
• • •
“WHERE ARE WE going?” I ask, adjusting the hem of my floral sundress.
Scott is taking me on what he’s been calling a “top secret” date all day. As cute as it is, the anticipation is killing me. I’ve never been one for the element of surprise. I’m one of those people who read every movie spoiler. I always know who’s going to win The Bachelor, thanks to Reality Steve.
“Just wait for it.” Scott flashes me his mesmerizing smile, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the center console. It’s readily accessible, purely to taunt me.
At one point, I try to grab his hand. But he promptly bats me away, flashing me an intoxicating wink, reminding me of the no touching rule. As thankful as I am for Scott’s efforts, I’m like a child who’s been told they can’t have the candy right in front of them. I want to test his limits.
I fight to suppress nature’s urges as we drive through a relatively newer suburban neighborhood toward an area with brand-new custom builds.
I stare at the homes in awe, stifling my amusement. “Did you bring me here to creep in the windows?” I’d passively mentioned how curious I was to see what these homes looked like on the inside a couple weeks ago on our way back from dinner with my parents.
He gives me a throaty laugh. “Yup.”
“This is officially my favorite date ever,” I tell him as he pulls to the shoulder of the road.
“Ever?”
“I think so.”
“You’re such an oddball,” he says through a massive grin.
I attempt to channel the picture of tranquility as we walk side by side, shoulders grazing ever so slightly. We journey down the not-yet-paved dirt road, past some of the gorgeous Craftsman homes that appear to be complete, at least on the exterior.
“I love these homes. I just wish I could see inside,” I lament.
He nods toward one of the largest homes in the cul-de-sac. “Let’s go in.”
I stop in the middle of the road. “We can’t just go in.”
“Since when are you against trespassing in places you’re not supposed to be? You have no issues with changing rooms.” He gives me a wry smile. “And I bet they aren’t even locked.”
I take a quick glance around. There’s not a soul in sight, given the houses aren’t yet occupied. Normally, I wouldn’t be caught dead trespassing on private property, but Scott’s cult-leader-level charisma makes me want to drink all his Kool-Aid and bend some rules.
We jog up the steps to the front door. It’s locked. I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. I’m about to run back to the street when he continues around the back of the house. Before I can even yell at him to give it up, he’s managed to pry open the basement window. His lips tug upward in defiance. “Come on.”
I watch tepidly as he sneaks in, wedging his broad shoulders through the window, landing gracefully inside.
He evaluates the unfinished basement and then glances up at me, arms outstretched. “Get over here,” he orders, low and gravelly.
I take one last look around to ensure there are no witnesses before sliding through the window, legs first, straight into his arms. I revel in the feeling of his hard body against mine. “We broke in.”
He grins, proud of our criminality. He holds me for a beat, his hand stroking the small of my back. The intensity of his eyes holds me in place. His gaze flickers to my lips and I brace myself for a hot, adrenaline-rush kiss—derived from the excitement of breaking the law. He bends his chin, lowering his lips an inch from mine, hovering for a moment before abruptly turning his back. He jogs up the stairs two at a time, callously depriving me of his touch.
The moment my feet hit the main floor, we’re off. We run from one room to another, practically flying through the house, our laughter echoing off the barren walls. The home is essentially finished, aside from a few piles of extra wood planks and sawdust sprinkling the floors. This particular model boasts gleaming brown-gray hardwood, an all-white, gleaming kitchen, and a beautiful open layout. There are four bedrooms upstairs, with a huge claw-foot tub in the master bedroom en suite.
We climb into the tub, sitting opposite each other. His long legs take up the entire space, making it impossible not to tangle together.
I laugh, unable to get comfortable. “This arrangement doesn’t work. You’re too tall.”
He waves me toward him. “Come here. Sit with your back to me.”
I dry-swallow, digesting the fact that he wants me to sit between his legs as if we’re a pair of handsy teenagers in the back of a pickup truck at a drive-in movie. I raise my brow at his highly erotic suggestion. “We’d be touching.”
“Nah. Doesn’t count. It’s for practical purposes.” He flashes his mesmerizing grin. “I won’t touch you. I promise.”
I eye him suspiciously before spinning myself around faster than an amateur break-dancer. I settle in between his strong legs, leaning against his chest. Eyes closed, I take in his delicious scent, wishing I could bottle it and spritz it around everywhere I go. I bet I could even patent it and make millions.
It’s a bit awkward with his hands at his sides, settled on his knees, not touching me. But if this is as close as we can get, I’m not going to complain.
“I want a house like this one day.” I close my eyes as I clasp the cold edges of the tub, letting out a small, mildly pornographic moan. The muscles in his thighs clench around me and he promptly shifts back slightly. I smile, because I know I’m not the only one struggling here.
“If you had a house like this, you’d never leave,” he chuckles.
I let my head fall against his firm chest. “True. And neither would you.”
“How would you decorate each room?”
“I’ve always wanted a velvet green couch. Maybe some sort of gold, green, and beige-y theme in the family room. The kitchen’s perfect as it is, white and gray. I’ve always loved darker colors for the master. And then fun colors for the kids’ rooms.”
“Oh yeah? How many kids?”
I purse my lips in thought. “Two. A boy and a girl.”
“I’m having at least three. And obviously at least two dogs,” he says, deadpan.
I nearly choke. “At least three children? You’ll require a mom van.”
He shrugs, as if cool with it. “The full seven-seater.”
I laugh, picturing him as a suburban dad in a minivan. He gives me more of a sporty SUV vibe, but the image is hilarious nonetheless. Now that I’ve envisioned him as a sexy-as-sin domestic dad, there’s no unseeing it.
“I want a pool.” He waves his hand toward the round window beside the tub, which overlooks the sizable, un-sodded backyard. “We had a pool when we moved to Boston. Though my dad always complained about cleaning it.”
“Who needs a pool when you have a bathtub like this?” I resettle, making myself at home against his chest, pressing farther against him.
He swallows against the back of my head, but he doesn’t move. In fact, I feel the full brunt of his enthusiasm. His breathing goes ragged against me.
I smile, pleased with myself, continuing on as if none the wiser. “Baths are essential to my health and well-being.”
“Yeah? What do you like about them?” His voice comes out strained.
I tilt my head in consideration and turn back around, repositioning so we’re facing each other again. “They’re relaxing. With a candle, music, bubbles, oils . . . and soap. Just lathering myself . . .” I lean back against the opposite end of the tub, imagining the warm water lapping against my bare skin, the mixture of the fruity, citrus scent of my soap and the blossom scent of my candle.
“Show me,” he commands, eyes locked to mine.
“I start up here . . .” With achingly slow precision, I methodologically run my hand down my neck, over my breasts, and over my stomach. It might be evil, but I want to break him. I want to watch him lose all restraint.
His heated expression spurs me on as I dip under the hem of my dress, bringing it upward. My fingers tease around my inner thighs, and between my legs. My skin is on fire from his eyes alone. “Sometimes I’ll do this.” I slip my hand under the thin lace of my panties.
He practically lurches forward when I make contact with myself. From the way he’s clenching his fists, eyes dark, focused on my fingers under the lace, I’d say he’s on the brink of losing the battle.
I moan, fingers continuing to swirl around my warmth to relieve the pressure. Up until now, the changing room make-out was the hottest moment of my life. But him watching me like this, vulnerable in front of him, officially takes the title.
Just the way he’s looking at me, as though he’s fully with me, is all-consuming. It’s different than I’ve ever experienced before, to the point of being petrifying. I want to lose myself completely in him and no longer exist. I don’t think I could ever be the same, not after this. By the way my heart aches for him in this moment, I know if he hurts me, I’ll be completely wrecked. I’ll be broken beyond repair. And strangely, the risk feels worth the reward.
I grip the side of the tub with my free hand, swiveling my finger, the pressure building with each second.
“You’re so wet,” he pants over me, the silky evidence of his effect on my fingers. Our chests are rising and falling, the tension thickening with each passing second he’s not touching me. In fact, his hands are clasped on the sides of the tub, knuckles white, confirming that the hold he has on me has nothing to do with the physical world.
His voice alone makes me shiver. I watch the cords in his forearms flex and shake. He grunts as he loses restraint, reaching to place his hand over mine. I have no idea what he’s about to do, but I’m fully on board with a first-class, one-way ticket.
Eyes locked to mine, he moves my own finger in and out of me at a tantalizingly slow pace.
“Aren’t you breaking the rules?” I manage teasingly, stifling a moan.
“Partially.”
I’m unable to come up with a word to describe the sight of him pleasuring me with my own hand. We’ve broken our no touching rule, but he’s still semi-abiding by avoiding kissing my lips and not touching me anywhere else except to guide my hand, which is maddening in itself. He leans in to press a slow kiss to my temple, our breath blending together as he moves another one of my fingers in, his own hand grazing my warmth in the process.
“Oh god,” I gasp, clenching around myself as the jolt of pleasure hits me. I’m numb to anything and everything except what he’s doing to me.
He pumps my fingers faster and harder, holding on to the base of my neck with his other hand. A bloom of heat shoots from the base of my spine, rocketing to all the forgotten places of my body. My inner walls pulsate, closing in around my fingers, faster and faster as the tension builds to an unmanageable level.
“Let go for me.” His low, raspy voice in my ear is all it takes for the knot to finally untangle.
A blinding shock wave rips through me, fast and unexpected. I’m shaking as I clasp his hair in my fingers, desperate to anchor myself to him as the tidal wave hits me, over and over, slamming me home. I never want this to end. I never want to forget how it feels to have Scott look at me the way he’s looking at me right now, his eye contact unbreaking as he watches me unravel in front of him.
He lets out a strangled moan, pressing his lips to my forehead, threading his fingers through my hair, cradling me as I struggle to catch my breath. “Christ. I want you so badly right now.”
“How badly?” I eye him, still riding the residual waves of my high.
He lets out an exaggerated sigh before grasping his hands on the sides of the tub. “Bad enough that we need to get out of here. Now.”
I flash him a wicked smile, nodding toward the very strained zipper of his jeans. “You already broke the rules. Why not let me help you out? It’s only fair.”
His teeth are clenched as he pauses, hanging his head. “We can’t. I’m two seconds away from breaking all rules and shoving you onto that counter.”
My cheeks flush. “I’m not opposed.”
“You’re killing me.” He lets out a muffled groan as he steps out of the tub, his excitement very prominent, at eye level.
I’m immobile for a few beats, just staring at it, mouth open, wishing he didn’t have a superhuman level of discipline.
“Hey, my eyes are up here.” He smirks at me, obviously pleased with himself. Then he turns, making his way out of the en suite, whistling, as if nothing happened.
When I don’t follow immediately, he pokes his head back in. “All good?”
I give a wild nod, drastically failing to remain unfazed by his soul-rocking smile. Yup. Cool. Just pretending I wasn’t about to jump your bones and ravage you in return for the best orgasm of my life. Kindly fetch me a straitjacket, because I’m incapable of practicing basic self-control.