{{user}} had joined the gym partly because her twenties were starting to make themselves felt, and partly because her friend had signed up too—turning every session into a free gossip hour. She wasn’t out of shape, not really; some muscle and a bit of cardio were always welcome. But she was a total beginner. Every machine felt like medieval torture, and with her naturally low strength, even the simplest exercises drained her.

She needed motivation. Something—someone—to keep her coming back.

So she developed the classic gym crush.

There were a few cute guys around, sure, but her attention settled on one man in particular. Older, definitely late thirties. Broad shoulders, arms that looked like they were sculpted rather than grown, the kind of physique that made you stare before you realized it. In short: the perfect man.

It was harmless, obviously. A little crush to keep her spirits up. Besides, another woman seemed to orbit around him—older, confident, probably much more his type—so she accepted her delusion early. Not like she wanted to date him. He was way too old for her anyway.

“Why don’t you ask him to help you with something?” her friend Alexis suggested one afternoon as they walked side by side on the treadmills.

“Hell no,” {{user}} laughed, immediately shutting it down. “I don’t need to know him. It’s just a healthy crush. Enough to get me through the door.”

“But that’s not fun,” Alexis sighed dramatically, both of them blatantly observing—fine, staring at—the man as he worked through some undeniably attractive exercise not far away.