To be honest, you had no idea what you were doing. Zero. Zilch. But luckily, nobody else at the gym needed to know that. As far as they were concerned, you were just another dedicated fitness enthusiast who totally belonged here and definitely knew how to operate machinery that looked like it belonged in a medieval torture chamber.

So you did what any sensible beginner would do: wandered around aimlessly until you found the least intimidating contraption. Something with handles. Something that didn’t look like it would snap your spine in half if you breathed wrong.

The whole “new person, new you” thing wasn’t even your idea. That honor belonged to your friends—the same ones who’d given you rousing pep talks after your recent heartbreak. Glow up. Revenge body. Show them what they’re missing. You’d nodded, agreed, and marched into the gym with all the confidence of someone about to fall flat on their face.

Problem was, you’d never set foot in a gym before. Not once. Which explained why you’d spent the past thirty minutes locked in an awkward battle with a machine you think was for arms. Could’ve been shoulders. Could’ve been an elaborate hat rack. Who knew?

That’s when you heard it—a deep voice behind you. Smooth, amused, annoyingly confident.

“Do you need some help?”

You turned, and there he was. The type of man who clearly lived here, muscles straining against his shirt like he’d been carved out of stone for the sole purpose of making you feel inadequate. He was obviously trying to hide a smile, which only made it worse.

You blinked at him. Just… stared. Words? Didn’t know her. Then, finally, you let out an awkward laugh and nodded.

“Uh… a bit.”