Because of Haven Beach

41 | gorgonize

gorgonize (v.)

to have a paralyzing or mesmerizing effect on someone

* * *

AFTER begging me for weeks, Eli ultimately convinced me to tag along on one of his gym trips.

I secretly wanted to go all along, but refused in fear of embarrassing myself. I hadn't ever set foot in a gym, whereas Eli went to the gym four days a week. He did a lot of weightlifting and endurance training, which would make me look like an unathletic wimp next to him.

I already knew I was an unathletic wimp, but he didn't need to know that.

Although, a large part of me was extremely excited to see him work out. I nearly salivated over the thought of a shirtless and sweaty Eli doing push ups and lifting weights. The prospect of observing rivulets of sweat drip down his muscles as they flexed and strained seemed so attractive.

"Uh, can I just watch today?" I asked when we walked into the near-full gym.

When he invited me, I got the impression that the gym wouldn't be very crowded. I wasn't naive enough to expect it to be empty per se, but I didn't think there would be thirty or forty people here.

My already low self-esteem had no desire to embarrass myself in front of all these strangers. I knew Eli wouldn't judge me—out loud at least—but my lack of strength was fair game for everyone else. And looking around, the majority of the people using the machines were much, much stronger than me.

"You'll be fine." Before I could argue, he grasped my hand and led me to the corner with the treadmills. "We can start with a light jog. A good warmup to get the blood flowing."

"I hate running," I grumbled.

"You'll love it in no time—" that's debatable "—and you don't have to go all that fast."

I begrudgingly got on the treadmill next to him and started our fifteen-minute run. By the end, my muscles were twitching and felt heavy, as if my veins had lead running through them.

I was in for a rude awakening if this was considered an easy warmup.

"What's... next?" I gasped, trying to get the oxygen my lungs were selfishly demanding.

He took a gulp of water before handing the bottle to me. "I usually bench over there." He nodded to the weight benches a few feet from where we were standing.

"Do I have to?" I asked, trying (and failing) to keep the whine out of my voice.

"No, but you should try," he said, eyes glittering with amusement. "It's not that hard."

"But I'm weak." I dragged my feet behind him, dreading the torture he was going to put me through. "I might strain a muscle. Or drop the bar thingy on my chest. Do you want me to get hurt? I know I will. It'll be all your fault. Maybe I'll sue."

"I'll help you. There's absolutely nothing to worry about, babe." He gave me a quick kiss before taking most of the weights off the bar. "Does this look like enough?"

I bit my lip. It looked like way too much. "How much is it?"

"Seventy pounds."

"Seventy? How much do you do?"

"Two hundred, give or take a few pounds."

I swallowed thickly. "Can I just do like thirty?"

"The bar weighs forty-five," he said, trying his hardest not to laugh at me. "Can you handle forty-five?"