Accident Prone |h.s|

Chapter 12: Bankrupt

March 2020

I'm never letting Harry convince me into working out with him again. Whoever came up with Hiit training is psycho.

I think this is how I die.

Yup. This is it.

I'm literally three steps behind everyone else in the class as we punch and squat and do things I haven't actually executed well in years.

He said it would be fun for us to work out together. Like a bonding experience or something. Sorry, but my red faced and dripping sweat is not what I would call "fun".

Harry is, of course, crushing it. He's barely out of breath where as I'm sure the whole class can hear me gasping in the corner. Damn him for being good at everything.

I have tripped twice over my own feet and somehow managed to punch my own leg.

When the class is finally over, he walks over to my corner where I'm sitting down leaning my head against a wall.

"That wasn't too terrible, right?" He says trying not to laugh at my obvious exhaustion.

"Yeah, I'm not going to be doing that again. But thank you for making me participate in an hour of torture." I say with my eyes closed. My breath not fully returned.

He extends a large hand towards me to help me stand. I only slightly falter as he easily pulls me towards him. My legs feel like they're made out of jello.

With his sweaty arm around my shoulder, we walk into the lobby. I can tell he's trying really hard not to laugh at how wobbly I am as he hold his mouth in a tight line.

Damn I should really do more squats or something if this is my body's natural reaction to physical activity.

Harry's arm drops quickly from my shoulder as a flash of a camera catches our attention. Through the window of the gym, the paparazzi are manic as they frantically take photos of Harry.

I am red faced and sweaty and wearing my dads old tee shirt. Great.

Harry hurries forward calling over his shoulder to me. "I'll call you later B, they'll follow me if I leave first."

K. Cool. I'm gonna go hide in the bathroom.

What a fun Sunday. I really hope they didn't get actual photos of me. I learned pretty quickly after meeting up with Harry multiple times in public, that if I keep my head down they don't usually pay attention to me.

I give myself a few more moments in the bathroom, trying to make myself more presentable. After I think they're probably gone, I head outside to my car. Thankfully, they seemed to have all left by the time I leave the building.

One more reason to never work out. Photos of me looking like this on the internet. Yeah, I'd say that's a safe reason to stay away from the gym forever.

I'm home now and fully showered with multiple ibuprofen in my system. As I rewatch my favorite episode of Friends, I hear my phone buzz. Thinking it's Harry calling my I quickly grab it as I chew a mouthful of pretzels.

But it's not Harry. It's Lane.

That's so weird. She usually doesn't call me on the weekends unless I'm working.

Crap, I hope I didn't forget to do something.

Quickly swallowing and taking a calming breath, I answer.

"Hey Lane! How are you?" I say trying to act as casual as my anxious self can muster.

"Hi. I'm not doing too great, actually. Did you see the news this morning?" Her usual peppy excited voice has turned slow and distraught.