Craving Perfect (2 page)

“Shit, did you see that chubby chick crash to the floor this morning?” Max asked his weight-lifting partner, Devon Frye, as they changed clothes inside the locker room after their workouts.

My body froze. Listening, I approached from behind a set of metal lockers. I caught their reflections in the wall mirror.

“Are you kidding? I think I felt the ground shake.” Devon chuckled. “She really hit it hard.” He ran a towel over his bald black head, flicking a water spray across the mirror that I’d just cleaned. “Wham!” He laughed, pounding the wooden bench between the lockers with his hand. “Who is she, anyway?”

“Hell, I don’t know,” Max said as he reached inside his gym bag. He pulled out a tube of deodorant.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before.”

“Oh, I have.” Max paused long enough to roll his eyes at Devon. “I’ve seen her in the mirrors in the weight room. She’s always staring at me. Hard-core psycho chick.” He made a circle with his forefinger next to his ear. “Potential bunny boiler.”

“Too bad she’s not your type.” Devon grinned, arching an eyebrow. “Plus-sized. That could be fun.”

“No fucking way.” He made a face like he just bit into a lime. “You first.”

“Me?” Devon pointed to his bare chest in mock surprise. “I’ll stick with
da sistas
.”

“Hey, you got an extra towel?” Max glanced toward the doorway.

“No, sorry dude.”

“Where’s José when you need him?” Max padded toward the showers. His bare feet slapped against the wet floor. “Shit!” His voice echoed in the tiled room. “I’m gonna be late for work.”

“That his name?” Devon called after him.

Max stopped and turned. “Who?”

“José?”

“I don’t know.” Max smirked. “Does it matter?”

My fists clenched as I listened to their voices echo. Like most of the members, Max and Devon didn’t know I was around. They only found me when they needed something—towels, water bottles, someone to clean a plugged toilet. Then they tried to talk to me in broken Spanish, even though I spoke perfect English. No one ever remembered my name either, mostly because they never asked. And I never offered.

I was the janitor at Goldie’s Gym. My younger sister Elena and I have managed the gym’s cleaning contract for three painfully long years, although we didn’t waste time complaining. No time. And it would do until we could get started on the rest of our lives. Being janitors forever wasn’t part our long-term plan. I refused to watch Elena grow old hovering over other people’s piles of dirty towels and toilets like our mother did. Like me, Elena had big dreams. Hers was to open a restaurant, and after I graduated from law school next year, I’d make certain that dream got a serious kick-start. Some days dreams were the only thing that kept me going.

If only
Mamá
were still alive. She was always able to lift our spirits right before they threatened to nose-dive, even with just her smile. Pop—well, he hadn’t been the same since she died.

Max saw me. “Hey, José.” He didn’t try very hard to mask the irritation behind his grin. “Clean towels,
por favor?
”

I turned, slightly. I couldn’t smile at him. I was just as tall and strong, probably stronger. And right now I wanted to wipe the annoyed grin off Max’s pretty face with my fist. I’d love to go a few rounds with him in a ring. See if he could fight like a real man, not a pretty boy who could only lift weights in front of a mirror and make fun of girls who fell off stair-climbers.

“Hey,
toalla
, dude,” Max said impatiently, shifting from one foot to the other on the cold tile.

I felt my jaw harden.

“
Toalla?
” Max repeated. Then his expression changed. “Hey, what is your problem?”

Without a word, I hurled a towel at his chest from the cleaning cart as if it was a baseball.

Big-mouthed, smart asses like Kramer got on my nerves. They think everyone should be grateful just because they share the same air. I especially wanted to kick his ass for how he talked about the girl. She could have broken her neck when she fell. If only I’d reached her in time. She might not have hit the floor so hard.

I’d seen her before at the gym. There was something sweet about her face that made the room freeze all around her, like a camera flash, whenever I looked out across the aerobic room and saw her. Worst of all, I couldn’t figure out why she stared so much at Max Kramer. They obviously weren’t friends. What did a nice girl like her see in an asshole like that? Part of me wished she’d look at me with the same turquoise eyes that she wasted on Kramer.

Whenever she got close, like when we passed near the front of the gym, for some reason my heart beat faster and my palms always turned clammy. It was embarrassing. But then I’d remind myself not to get too attached, that I didn’t have time to get involved with anyone, not with graduation finally within my reach, and especially not with someone who for some strange reason thought that Max Kramer was someone special.

But then she had to go and fall today, leaving me no choice but to help her. To touch her.

“
Gracias, amigo
,” Max said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm when he caught the towel.

I blinked.

Without waiting for my response, Max turned back toward Devon. For such a tough guy, he seemed eager to get away.

“I’m not your
amigo
, asshole,” I muttered as I pushed my cart back toward the shower stalls. It was seven o’clock.

Time to clean the bathrooms, and I was just the guy to do it.

“Promise me you’re not giving up on the gym,” Kathryn said as she propped a pillow beneath my feet. Even though my fall probably warranted a hospital emergency room visit, as the sole proprietors of the Desert Java we didn’t have the time, although we did allow ourselves the luxury of a part-time college student every morning so we could squeeze in workouts at the gym. Lucky for us, most of our university customers weren’t exactly early risers.

I loved our café and so did our regulars, many of whom were local college students from Arizona State University. It was also the reason Kathryn and I never had to go out and find “real jobs” after college. Serving up homemade food and strong coffee was the only life we’d ever known.

Kathryn and I—Kathryn, mostly—decorated the Desert Java as an extension of our living room and filled it with overstuffed chairs, square tables that doubled as chess and checker boards, local abstract art, and primary-colored pillows from resale shops. The air always held the faint smell of nutmeg and chocolate chip cookies. At night, especially during the cooler months, we’d open the front doors and set up chairs outside the front windows. Oftentimes music students would bring their instruments and play near the entrance for tips and an occasional free latte. A cool place, I had to say. People lined up every day just to sample my daily pastry, which we advertised on the chalkboard outside the front door as the
pâtisserie du jour
—about the only phrase I remembered from high school French. The coffee and pastries paid our bills, but barely. Most months we squeaked by. But at least we always made it.

So I handled the baking. Kathryn flirted with the customers. She loved that part. The arrangement worked perfectly and had for five years. In truth, we’d been operating this way most of our lives—me in the background and Kathryn opting for front and center. The only difference was that five years ago, Mom and Dad were still alive and back then our family ran a diner, not a coffee shop. Or, as Kathryn preferred to call it now, a
café
.

“The gym is the absolute last place I want to think about right now, Kath,” I said. “My brain is too busy pounding against my skull. Sorry.”

Kathryn frowned at me so I glanced across the room at Charlie.

Wearing his usual green Army jacket, Charlie sat quietly at one of the square tables next to the window reading yesterday’s newspaper, his hair glistening in the sunlight like cinnamon. It was hard not to smile at him. Kathryn and I called him our “honorary” customer because we never accepted his money. He was usually the first customer every morning and the first to leave as soon as it got busy. It’d been this way for years. We thought that he lived next to the Dumpster in the alley behind our building. The Desert Java wouldn’t be the same without him.

“How’d you like the lemon bars today?” I asked him.

A man of few words, Charlie nodded his approval.

“Glad you like them,” I said. “Made them with lemons from an orchard out on Warner Road. Best time of year for citrus.”

Charlie grunted softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling more approval.

Then I considered treating myself to a lemon bar. I was
entitled
to it after all, especially after seeing Max at the gym this morning.

That was the deal.

Max had even touched me, for crying out loud. I should treat myself to
two
lemon bars, not just one. But this hadn’t exactly been a typical morning.

I cringed for the umpteenth time when I pictured how pathetic I must have looked at the gym, sprawled and sweaty on the gray floor. Why couldn’t I have worn my newer running shorts or the longer T-shirt, the one that hid more of my thighs? But I had overheard Max boasting yesterday to one of his weight-lifting buddies that he was going to be on some Colorado River rafting trip for the rest of the week. He was never supposed to be at the gym.

I sighed at my own bad luck.

“Was that Max behind me when you and Eddie helped me stand up?” I called out to Kathryn as she brewed three types of coffee—decaf, caf, and something that smelled like roasted chestnuts. I began to fidget absently with my hands, unsure if I wanted her answer and yet aching for it even more than a second lemon bar.

But Kathryn turned and narrowed her eyes. “Max?”

“Yeah, Max…wasn’t he behind me?”

“No, Gracie.” Her tone was careful. Too careful. “He went back to the weight room. I thought you knew that.”

My stomach sank. “How could I?” Slow desperation crept into my voice. “My head was spinning.”

“Well, it wasn’t Max.”

My eyes widened. “Who was it then?”

“I don’t know his name. He’s the guy who cleans the gym.”

“What guy?”

“You know,
that guy
. The one who always wears the white shirt and the baggy pants, arms covered in tattoos, never smiles.”

I shook my head, confused.

“Well, he’s the one who brings out the towels. Real quiet. I’ve never heard him say a peep till this morning. I think it was his sister who brought over the water bottle. She looks just like him. But without all the arm tattoos.”

I lowered deeper into my chair and groaned. I had so hoped those hands belonged to Max. Squeezing my eyes shut, I forced myself to picture him, his face, his arms, his wide hands cradling my head.
Pretending is always better
, I reminded myself. Next to baking, it was probably my second best skill.

“I’ll tell you one thing, though.”

“Yeah, what’s that? More good news, I hope?” I opened a reluctant eye.

Kathryn pointed a silver spoon at me. Then she smirked. “
No
, smart-ass.”

I looked back at her, eyes opened, and stuck out my tongue.

“You need to thank him. He’s the only one who had a cool head this morning. Eddie and I were a couple of losers.” She sighed and shook her head as she returned to the coffee pots. “You should count your lucky stars that I never became a nurse.”

I turned to Charlie and laughed. Even he chuckled.

Unfortunately, Kathryn didn’t crack a smile and join us as I thought she would. She only sighed, louder, her exhale dragging down her shoulders as if it held up a rain cloud getting ready to burst.

I opened my mouth to say something, to ask her what was wrong. Was she still upset by my fall at the gym? I never meant to embarrass her and Eddie. And moping was totally unlike her. Moping was my department.

But Kathryn turned her back to me as if she preferred that I’d say nothing. So my mouth snapped shut.

It had been seven days since I’d been back to the gym.

In all honesty, I probably could have returned to my early morning exercise routine two days sooner but the stair-climber humiliation still lingered too vividly in my short-term memory. If it weren’t for the possibility of seeing Max Kramer again, I’d probably have cancelled my gym membership. Permanently.

Kathryn thought she was doing me a favor by reminding me of my New Year’s resolution: lose weight before I turned thirty. Last year it was lose weight before I turned twenty-nine. Ditto for twenty-eight. Losing weight had been my New Year’s resolution since my eighteenth birthday but this year I was determined to succeed. And I only had nine months, thirty pounds, and a few dozen fewer pastries to go.

“Why did I have to swear to Kathryn that this would finally be the year?” I muttered to myself as I walked from the parking lot to the Goldie’s Gym front entrance. It was still dark outside. “It’s not like there aren’t one hundred other things about you that would have benefited from a lousy New Year’s resolution.” God knows I could have kept a beauty salon busy for a year.

To ease the pain of returning to the gym, I treated myself to a new pair of black workout shorts and a pastel green tee that Kathryn called
sea moss
. I called it
green
.

“That color is
so
in this season,” she told me, not that it mattered much. The best part of the new tee was that it stretched down to the middle of my thighs and covered my underwear lines. The trendy color was secondary. And it gave Kathryn and me a rare, albeit brief, chance to go shopping. To which Kathryn promptly announced, “We don’t do this nearly enough,” but after which she sulked for the whole car ride home, leaving me confused once again. She knew I hated shopping. Maybe it would become more fun once I got thinner.

I walked through the front door of the gym, wearing sunglasses even though the sun wasn’t exactly shining at six o’clock on a February morning. I held my chin high, although my hands trembled a tiny bit at the mere thought that someone would recognize me as the chronically klutzy girl who was partial to falling off stair-climbers.

I allowed myself a quick inhale as I handed my gym card to the gangly, pimply-faced Front Desk Guy who numbly swiped member badges at the front counter. Just like he did every morning, he never made eye contact or said
hello
like he always did for Alexandra Summers and all the other hotter girls who graced the gym with their toned bodies and expertly made-up faces. I mean, who wears mascara to the gym? And it was as if their bodies were programmed at birth not to sweat. How’d they manage that, I wanted to know.

“Thanks,” I said, just as I always did when Front Desk Guy handed me back my badge. As usual, he kept his eyes focused on anything but me and was always careful to minimize contact with my hand.

I left him staring at his computer screen before walking to the aerobic equipment room. My eyes scanned nonchalantly across the weight room till I found what I was looking for.

And then my eyes landed right on him.

Max…

My breathing quickened simply being in the same room. He was impossible to miss. It’d be like not recognizing buttercream frosting on a plate of cupcakes. With sprinkles.

Max stood before the wall-to-ceiling mirror, the ones I always avoided, a barbell palmed in each hand. With a furrowed brow, he proceeded to curl each barbell into the corner of his elbow. He mouthed each repetition with his wet lips—
one, two, three…

Ten reps per arm. I counted with him. I could watch him lift all day and never tire.

How I’d missed him. It had been seven painfully long days. I realized now, after seeing him, that I’d stayed away way too long. I should have returned sooner, just as Kathryn had insisted.

But then Alexandra Summers had to ruin my good morning vibe by planting herself in front of him, blocking my perfect view. Instead of Max, I had to watch Alexandra with her hands positioned on her fat-free hips. She had on hot pink shorts with the word “Juicy” on her ass. If that wasn’t obnoxious enough, she wore a matching spandex running bra as a shirt so that everyone could see her sculpted abs and butterfly tattoo in the middle of her lower back. The top of the tattoo peeked above her shorts. I secretly envied and hated everything about her, right down to the perfect curve in her spine.

Alexandra also happened to be long and willowy like an exotic feather, and she had the most perfect, delicate, size six feet I’d ever seen. Where was I when God had been handing out tiny feet?

It wasn’t fair!

God had saddled me with eight and a half wide.

If I’d had the nerve, I would have loved to whip my gym bag across the room at her perfect blond head, Frisbee style. But I was a chicken.

Instead, I sighed to myself and then placed my bag next to one of the stationary bicycles, the one where I’d still get a decent view of Max and his delightful muscles and bulging veins just as soon as Alexandra sashayed her boney hips out of the way.

I carefully climbed onto the bicycle and placed my feet into the black plastic stirrups and started peddling on the lowest gear. So far, no one had looked at me as if they recognized me from a week ago. No one, in fact, paid any attention to me, said
hello
, or even blinked in my direction. No one knew I was alive. I might as well have been invisible. In short, everything felt pretty much like normal.

See, Grace?
I chided myself.
It’s not so bad. You worried for nothing.

I smiled and felt my earlier tension fade from my shoulders.

Just as sweat began to trickle down my neck, Alexandra the Perfect finally sauntered away from Max and started chatting up one of the gym’s personal trainers. All she had to do was bat her feathery eyelashes and the guy was adjusting her weights, fetching her one of those enormous balancing balls, and generally wiping down her equipment as though it was the only thing in the whole world he cared to do.

What would that be like?
I wondered.
To have men falling at your feet every day, anticipating your every desire, waiting for the slightest request to leave your mouth?
I’d never experienced that kind of male attention for a single minute in my entire twenty-nine years. Girls like Alexandra Summers got it handed to them every waking moment.

Life sure sucked sometimes.

It probably didn’t help that I’d only had a total of six dates since my twenty-second birthday, three of them being blind dates. None were memorable and god only knows what fiction Kathryn had cooked up before she begged the guys to take me out on a blind date. And
blind
was an understatement.