Autumn Awakening (3 page)

A week later, I’ve researched so many workout plans that I’ve lost track. I don’t know why I take such a systematic approach to this new idea, but I do. Sure I could just dive right into the gym equipment, read those little “how to” stickers on the side of each machine and do some kind of workout, but I want to do this correctly.

So I research workouts with high reps and low weights, and low reps and high weighs. Something called HIIT that sounds absolutely horrifying, and fun workouts like yoga or dance fitness. But although the videos I watch on dance fitness sounds like a blast, there is nowhere to do something like that in our gym. At least not without the guys seeing.

Park and Jace have spent every single day in our new gym. They waited no time at all to rip off the plastic protective coverings and dive into the new machines. I, however, have not been as enthusiastic. The idea of using our gym to get fit is such a great one but . . . I just can’t start working out with the guys in there. It’s just . . . weird.

Thanks to some detailed and helpful websites online, I now have a binder full of workout plans that I’ve been dying to try out, and I haven’t got to work out once. Either I get to the gym and Jace is in there working out, or Park is, or they both are. I’ve asked Becca to workout with me so that maybe we could do our own thing and feel awkward together, but she vehemently said no to the idea of being anywhere near Park while she’s covered in sweat. And I can’t blame her, because I have the same problem.

On Monday morning, I bounce into the main building with Jett balanced on my hip. I am wearing yoga pants and a sports bra under my tank top and I am determined to get a start on my new workout. Jace left for work an hour ago, saying he and Park had an early morning meeting with some contractors, so I know he’ll be busy for a while.

It’s finally time to become the person I want to be.

I pull out Jett’s playpen and set it up in front of the treadmill, which I’ve chosen for a warm up. There’s a sound system installed, thanks to Park insisting on it, and I set the radio to an upbeat pop station. Jett smiles and bounces to the music as I climb onto the massive treadmill and figure out how to work it.

I figure I’ll jog for a mile as a warmup. I feel great for thirty seconds—and then I am totally out of breath. I jab at the down arrow on the machine, slowing the pace as quickly as possible as I gasp for air, holding onto the railing in front of me. Damn. I am out of shape.

Ugh.

I reset it to three miles an hour and walk until I’ve caught my breath. Then I bump it up a little and powerwalk for the next fifteen minutes. Baby steps will have to do, I guess.

After the warmup, I’m nice and sweaty and I can feel my blood pumping. I feel great so I do some free-weight arm workouts with the barbells and then head over to the leg machines and do several reps with increasingly heavier weights.

I feel fucking awesome.

By the time I’ve finished every workout in my notebook, I’m worn out and exhausted but feeling like I’ve accomplished a lot. Definitely more than I’ve done since Jett was born twenty one months ago. I’m smiling from ear to ear as I shimmy back toward Jett in his playpen. He’s standing, holding onto the railing as he bounces and giggles to the music, which is blaring one of my favorite songs.

I can’t help it as I burst into a dance, leaning forward to rub Jett’s hair before I make a fake microphone with my fist and sing into it as loud as I can, over still trying to catch my breath from the workout. I sway and twirl, my hands in the air while I sing along and make up my goofy dance. The goofier I get, the more Jett laughs and bounces on the balls of his feet.

We’re having such a blast that I immediately vow to come back and work out every single day. I’ll just have to do it early in the morning when no one else is here. I do one final booty shake as the song comes to a close and then I take a bow for Jett.

The sound of clapping fills the air and all of the blood in my veins runs cold. Oh my god.

I turn around as heat rushes to my cheeks. Jace leans against the doorframe, his grin cockier than I’ve ever seen it, clapping enthusiastically to my little show.

“How long have you been there?” I ask, but it sounds more like an accusation. I am so freaking mortified I want to evaporate into thin air.

He shrugs and walks toward me. “Long enough.”

“Oh my god, I hate you.” I turn and pick up Jett, hoping to use him as a kind of baby shield to hide some of my embarrassment. “You should have told me you were there.”

He slaps me on the butt. “But then I’d miss the show.”

I groan. He kisses me on the cheek and then reaches for Jett, who is going crazy trying to get to his daddy. “It was really cute, babe. No need to be embarrassed.”

“Well I am.”

His gaze travels down to my running shoes and back up again. “Were you working out?”

For some reason, I kind of want to lie. Make it seem like I’m not starting to work on my new goal just because if he knows about the goal and I fail, then he’ll know I’m a failure. I’d rather just be a failure to myself and myself only. But I can’t lie about working out because it’s kind of obvious that I was, so I make him a half-truth and shrug my shoulders. “I guess. It’s no big deal, I just got bored.”

My heart pounds at the confession that I’d just been working out. Is Jace suddenly going to see my body as something that needs working out? Will he start encouraging me to do it more because he secretly wants me to be hotter?

He says, “Cool,” and then blows a raspberry on Jett’s chubby cheek. “I can’t stay, I have a shit ton of work to do.” He hands the baby back to me and then gives me a quick kiss. “I’ll catch up with you once these contractors are gone. Love you.”

“I love you, too,” I say back, watching him as he leaves the gym.

Well, I guess that wasn’t too bad.

#

After my successful workout, I feel like a total badass. For about thirty minutes.

As soon I’m back home, Jett takes a nap and I jump in the shower, reveling in how the hot water soothes my muscles. And then, like some kind of post-gym punishment from hell, the soreness sets in. My legs feel two thousand pounds heavier and weaker all at the same time, probably from how many leg lifts I did on the weight machine. My arms aren’t as bad, probably because months of carrying around Jett has strengthened them somewhat, but they still hurt. I can barely throw a towel over my hair when I climb out of the shower.

Why the hell does my body punish me for trying to do something good to it?

With a groan, I walk into the closet and go to my dresser. I grab a pair of panties and pajama shorts and a shirt, but it’s all so much effort that I don’t feel like putting any of it on when I step out of the closet a moment later.

Instead of getting dressed like a normal human being, I walk straight to the bed with one towel around my body and another one wrapped lazily around my hair, and I lay down.

“Damn!” My eyes flicker open as I hear Jace’s voice and then I see him, one hand resting on the door frame of our bedroom. “Please tell me this is an early birthday present.”

I’m still half asleep and in a daze from whatever dream I’d been having, but I do know enough to know that Jace’s birthday isn’t for months. The only present he’ll be getting from me any time soon is an anniversary present.

The thought of the date quickly approaching makes my blood pressure rise and suddenly I’m wide awake. “It’s not your birthday,” I mumble, rolling over.

And then I realize what he meant. I’m lying naked in our bed. Fully naked now, because the towel must have unraveled while I was sleeping.

“I know,” Jace says, making a puppy face. “But a guy can dream.”

I gaze at him for a minute, taking in his gorgeous tanned skin, the way the muscles in his forearms are taut as he grips the door frame. His T-shirt rises just a bit and I can see the sliver of skin above his jeans. My lips twist into a seductive smile.

I pat the bed next to me. “It’s not your birthday but you’re welcome to come take me anyhow.”

He grins and unbuttons his jeans, pushing them down and kicking them to the floor as he scales the distance to the bed. I sit up on my elbows, looking around to find that even the towel over my hair is gone. I kick both towels onto the floor and scoot up on the bed until my head finds a pillow. Then I lie on my back and watch as Jace takes his sweet freaking time pulling off his shirt. His abs flex as he moves and it makes my toes tingle. He is so freaking hot and I am so freaking lucky, even after three whole years of being with him.

He takes an even longer time to climb on top of me. I pout. “Are you going to make me wait forever?” I say, whining as Jace straddles me on the bed, his eyes grazing over my body.

“I’m just enjoying the sight of you,” he murmurs, leaning forward and taking my breast in his mouth.

“I’d rather enjoy the feel of you,” I say, reaching up and wrapping my arms around his chest.

His tongue flicks over my nipple and I groan. “That’s more like it,” I say as he chuckles and runs his hands up my sides, his mouth still caressing my chest.

Things are just getting good when a familiar screech sounds through the baby monitor on the nightstand. My hands are gripping Jace’s hair while he makes love to me, and the screech comes again and I sigh, letting my hands fall to Jace’s shoulders.

“Someone’s awake,” Jace whispers, his voice cheerful and not gloomy over the fact that we just got interrupted.

I draw in a deep breath and let it out again, staring at the ceiling instead of Jace, trying to get out of this mindset and into mommy mode. “Okay,” I say with a sigh. “You stay here. I’m not done with you.”

Jace kisses my forehead and rolls off of me. “Yes, ma’am.”

The bleachers are installed on the last day of September, and Becca and I are the first people to sit on them. The construction guys had been really good sports when we begged to the be first, and they’d go so far as to only stand on each railing that they installed.

Since the track is for training and practice purposes, we didn’t build a huge set of stadium bleachers like they have at Mixon Motocross Park. Jace only wanted small bleachers about five benches high and he wanted a few of them stationed throughout the park so that riders could be observed from all angles. Park had insisted that we keep them small as well, saying we don’t need too many parents and fan girls hanging around and distracting the students.

Becca had asked if she and I were “fan girls” and Park had insisted that the girlfriends of the riders are the biggest fan girls of all.

“Now I know what Park meant when he called us fan girls,” Becca says while we sit at the top of the short set of bleachers and watch our men play around on the track. “I’ve never liked Park more than when he’s on a dirt bike.”

I nod. The motocross track isn’t fully finished yet—there’s still an entire section of the track without any jumps—but Jace and Park have decided to finish off their day of work by taking a few laps. Jace is so freaking sexy when he’s in his riding gear, his shoulders straight and arms bent as he zooms around the track.

Park and Jace seem to be playing a game with each other because neither one of them stays in front for too long. It’s a friendly ride, not a race.

Becca sighs wistfully. “I am so glad you met Jace.”

“Why’s that?” I ask.

“Because if you ever met him then I’d never have met Park and my life would suck balls right now.”

I laugh. “You don’t know that. Maybe you would have met some hot college guy a you’d be the knocked up one right now, not me.”

“Oh my god, you’re
pregnant
?” Becca screams. Thank god the boys’ bikes are way too loud for them to have heard that.

I roll my eyes. “No. I just meant that I got knocked up after meeting Jace and if I hadn’t, maybe it would have been you with some other guy.”

Her lip curls in disgust. “Hell no. The guys at that college are all blagh.” She makes a gagging sound and sticks out her tongue. “Lawson Community College is seriously just a place for learning. It is
not
a place to find a date.”

I lean forward and rest my chin on my hand. Disappointment settles over me and even watching Jace’s gorgeous ass when he soars over a double jump doesn’t make me feel better.

“What’s wrong?” Becca asks while I’m still deciding if I feel like bringing up the topic right now.

I shrug. “I hate that I’m not in college yet. Lately I’ve been thinking it’d be great to throw myself into the business and not worry about college but . . . I just can’t put it on the backburner that easily. I hate that I’m not in school.”

“You’re really not missing much,” she says, putting a comforting hand on my arm. “It’s boring as hell and the classes are lame.”

“It doesn’t matter how lame they are. I’m tired of feeling like a worthless single teen mom. I’m twenty now and most people we went to high school with are finishing up their second year of college while I’m still just stuck here.”

“Your time will come,” she says. “What’s more important, Bay?” I look over and find her watching me with a serious expression. “Jett’s well-being and happiness, or some stupid piece of paper saying you passed two years’ worth of business classes?”

My lips flatten. The answer I want to say for the sake of my argument isn’t the correct one and she knows it. “Jett,” I say finally, my shoulders slumping.

“Exactly. Take care of your baby and forget about school for now. It’s really not a big deal. You’re a full time mom and a full time business owner now, and that’s way harder than college.”

I can’t help but smile. I guess I am a business owner, in a way. I mean, Jace and Park’s names are on the paperwork, but I’m married to one half of that partnership.

“If you really want some of the college experience, I saw a flier that might interest you.” Becca pauses long enough to watch Park fly by, his bike leaving a trail of dirt in its wake. “They have a mommy and me class in the gym once a week. Want me to get the info for you?”

“Yeah,” I say, even as the idea sends a sliver of anxiety up my spine. “I could do that.”

“Cool,” she says, throwing her long hair over her shoulder. “I think you’ll like it.”

#

Two days later, I’m sitting in my car trying not to cry. Not because I’m parked outside of the LCC gym, about to join my first ever mommy and me crafting class, but because my muscles are so damn sore I think I’m going to die.

Why the hell did I force myself to work out three days in row?

Something is
so
wrong with me.

“You ready, kiddo?” I ask, throwing a goofy grin over my shoulder into the backseat of my car. Jett looks up at me and even though he’s almost two years old, I swear he gives me a look like a teenager who is so over his parent’s dork status.

I sigh. “Too bad. I don’t care if I’m a dork,” I say as I climb out and open the back door to get him out of his car seat. “We’re going to this silly class and you’re going to have fun!”

That gets a smile out of him. My arms are still sore, but I shift Jett over to my hip and grab my purse. Today’s mommy and me class is a craft day. According to the flier Becca brought me, each day has a different activity for moms to do with their children. Crafting should be fun. And yeah, it’s not a real college class, but at least it gets me out of the house and into an atmosphere with other moms.

I regret my enthusiasm the moment I walk into the gym. There are about ten other moms in here, and they’re all in their thirties. Some of them might even be older. And their age isn’t the only thing that makes my stomach uneasy.

These ladies are so much . . .
better
than I am. Dressed in designer clothing, with fancy shoes and a dozen accessories each, these women are all standing around a table filled with finger foods, chatting as if they’re all old friends. They have salon-styled hair and perfectly applied makeup and manicured nails.

I swallow. I’m wearing an old pair of jeans and a black tank top that I’d chosen specifically for crafting because I don’t care if I get paint on it. My Chuck Taylors have seen way better days and my hair is thrown into a ponytail. Makeup? Yeah, I’m not even wearing any.

“Hi,” a woman says. She’s tall and wearing a well-fitted pantsuit. “Are you joining us for mommy and me?”

“Yes,” I say before I can come up with a good excuse to bail on this place. I do not belong here and I’ve never felt more alone in a group of people.

“Excellent! We’re so happy to have you,” she says and all of the other women look my way and don a matching smile. “I’m Evian,” she says, extending her hand to me. “I run the group so if you have any questions, I’m here to help.”

“Thanks,” I say, shaking her hand. “I’m Bayleigh.”

They pass out aprons for the moms and little plastic bibs for the kids. We all take a seat at a table and we make these little hand molds out of a quick drying clay. I have a blast playing with Jett and pressing his tiny little hand into the mold. He watches me as I work with this sort of fascination on his face, and I’m not quite sure if he’s proud of me yet, or if he even recognizes how different his mom is from all of the other moms.

I certainly do. They talk about the most talented freelance photographers and which restaurants have the best catering services. I smile politely as they talk, but I don’t have anything worthwhile to add to the conversation.

Jett finger paints the clay hand mold and I carve his name into it with a toothpick. Some of the other kids start crying and throwing stuff and the moms have to take them off and calm them down. I’m wonderfully proud that my son has a fun time and doesn’t misbehave once.

At the end of the class, everyone is still really nice to me, but I don’t feel like I fit in or anything. Evian tells me I should definitely come back next week and I tell her that I will if I can fit it into my schedule.

It’s only half of a lie. Maybe I could come back. We did have fun, I just felt so ridiculously out of place. Jace calls me as I’m driving home and I recount the day to him, giving every single detail of those women’s appearance and leaving out nothing of their conversation.

He chuckles. “That sounds like a bunch of rich snooty housewives.”

“They were. Rich at least. They were pretty nice to me though, so that’s cool.” I feel a little embarrassed telling Jace all of this, but he’s my best friend so the feelings don’t last very long.

“Honestly, they’re probably all jealous of you,” he says.

“Hardly,” I say with a snort. Who would be jealous of my shitty old clothing when they’re in designer crap from Nordstrom?”

“That designer crap is to make up for how old and stupid they are,” he says confidently. “They’d all kill to look as hot as you do in a pair of old jeans and a tank top. Enjoy it, babe. You’re young and gorgeous and perfect and they’re just old ass mothers.”

I crack up laughing. “I love you, Jace.”

“I love you, Bay.”