Love at First Set

Contents Cover Title Page Dedication Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author Copyright About the Publisher ii iii v 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 iv Guide Cover Contents Chapter One Dedication To all my fellow disasters working toward their happily ever afters . . . This one’s for you. Chapter One I’ve just finished checking in Mrs. Patel for her silver sneakers water aerobics class, and happily returned to my sketching, when my best friend, James, comes up behind me. He rests his chin on my shoulder, his mop of blond hair flopping into his icy blue eyes, and leans the bulk of his six-foot-something personal-trainer body onto the old, faded black office chair I’m sitting in. The chair squeaks and groans in protest. I try to elbow him off. “No, not there.” He snatches the pencil from my hand and hastily erases the words “cardio machines,” moving them over closer to the windows of the giant square I’ve drawn. “Put them over here near the parking lot so they can at least people watch while they destroy their gains.” Meet James Manderlay, head of personal training at The Fitness Place. Twenty-eight, avidly anti-cardio—as evidenced by the “cardi-no” tank he’s currently sporting—shockingly handsome per half our guests (which is how we refer to the people who slog here in their sweats to work out), and owner of well-defined abs, exactly one dimple, and a bank account full of family money, thanks to his parents and their sketchy business practices. He’s been my best friend since I moved to this godforsaken town five years ago, nineteen and already desperate for a fresh start. I’d wandered into his parents’ gym looking for a job, and found him on the ground behind the desk. When I asked him if he was okay, he explained he had just been dumped and was waiting for the universe to swallow him up. I nudged his leg and asked him for an application. (I don’t have time for sentimentality. Not when a paycheck is on the line.) James had laughed and dragged himself up long enough to scrounge one up. He said he appreciated my tough love. I didn’t bother asking what other kinds there were. The Fitness Place didn’t really need another employee, but James convinced his parents to bring me on and I worked hard to make sure they never regretted it. It took about a year for them to upgrade me from floater—which meant I did everything from stock towels in the locker room to reposition floor heaters on wet or snowy days to cut locks off jammed lockers—to gym attendant, which largely consisted of sitting in the workout areas and assisting people who don’t know how to use the machines (awkward, because the number of people who think they are using a machine correctly when they are not even in the REALM of correctly is staggeringly high). I’d rather pick gum from the gym locks, thank you very much. Still, it was my job to make sure that nobody went viral for trying to use leg machines to work out their necks or for getting thrown off a treadmill because they mistook the speed for the incline setting and hit it up to warp. By then the gym chain had really taken off—five locations and counting—and when the front desk manager left a couple years ago to run one of the new buildings, I got their job. The pay’s decent—maybe most people wouldn’t say so, but it’s the most I’ve ever made—and bonus, it comes with a free gym membership instead of the lousy 15 percent discount they give to other employees. The “manager” title is more for bragging rights than any