Cookie Cutter (9 page)

I linger as he pulls his truck out of the parking lot, thinking over everything that has just transpired between us. Clearly I’ve misjudged the man. Maybe he isn’t the soul sucking, house flipper from hell who’s just out to make a buck. Maybe he’s the opposite.

And maybe I enjoy his easy smile and bright eyes a little more than I care to admit.

Maybe Carter Blackwood isn’t so
bad, after all.

Chapter 8. Carter

After the unexpected truce and official declaration of friendship that happened between us earlier this week, I kind of expected to see Iris more, not less.  Surprisingly, though, I spend the next few days holed up on the house, getting all kinds of projects completed. And Iris, well, I haven’t seen much of her at all.

So far this week, when I’m outside, she’s inside and when I do see her, she’s leaving for somewhere else, unaware of anything that might be going on around her. I figure I’ll at least get my early morning wave from her on Thursday but by the time I take the trash out, Iris’s car is already gone. It shouldn’t bother me. It’s not like I’m out to have some sort of, I don’t know,
fling
with anyone. I’m not ready for that – especially after Cheryl. Plus, I’ve got a job to do and that’s what I need to concentrate on. Still, that smile Iris shot me the other night lingers in the back of my mind and if I let myself think on it too long, I’ll end up camping outside her front door until she gets home, so I throw myself into getting some walls up today.

By late afternoon, I’ve got drywall hung in two of the three bedrooms and I can either keep going until midnight, or I can stop here. I’d really
like to stop for a while. I love tearing things down and rebuilding them – I do, but I need a break somewhere in the middle of all of it.  I learned that during my first ever habitat for humanity experience.

It was toward the end of my third year of undergrad and I needed some volunteer hours. When I’d seen the flyer for HH I jumped on it. I would have jumped at any chance to do some construction work. The fact that it was after Hurricane Katrina had hit New Orleans was a bonus.  I’d been wanting to do something for the victims there. It was the first time in a long time I’d felt completely passionate about anything.  The first time since meeting Cheryl that I’d gone on a trip without her. It was also the first time I learned about Spencer.

I feel the sides of my mouth pull upward when I think of the kid that changed my life and I stop working long enough to write a check before I forget.

Note to self. Grab stamps later on.

After that, I crack my neck and stretch and come up with exactly what I want to do instead of work.

I haven’t been to the gym in ages, and I probably should want to do anything
but work out right now but something about pushing myself at the gym is different than working my ass off on a renovation. It helps to clear my head. It’ll probably help me to stop thinking about Iris Alden so much, too. Bonus. I Google and find the perfect place that’s only going to cost me ten bucks a month for as long as I need it.  After I change like lightning, I drive over, hoping to avoid the rush hour of after-work-before-dinner gym goers.

As much as I try to explain to the sales guy that I don’t need a tour, I’ve had gym memberships for as long as I could afford them, and know how they work, he indeed gives me one anyway. An hour
after that, I’m signing a month to month agreement and am ready to get a workout in before I head home. As I round the corner to hit up the free weights, I nearly run smack into the woman I haven’t seen since three nights and one fantastic smile ago. We both jerk to a halt, practically tripping over each other with shock and awe spread across our faces.

“Iris.”

Automatically, I grin. It’s like a habit now. And even though I knew I’d be glad to see her before I knew she was here, it catches me off guard, the way my heart rate speeds up at the sight of her.

“Carter?” Her eyelids flutter in that way they do when she’s all frustrated with no idea what to say. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “I was just checking out the weight program.” I let my eyes gaze around the entire gym.  I’m looking everywhere but at her because she is wearing this top that gives me waaaaay too much to look at, if I don’t.

“I wanna get into shape.” I flex my biceps. Not because I want to show them off, more because my entire body is tense right now. I didn’t expect my next run in with Iris to be like this. I expected it to be, I don’t know – fun.

I finally let myself look at her, and I realize, I’m overthinking the situation. She’s staring up at me with a blank look on her face and now I’m stumped. Surely she knows about weights. This is a gym.

“What?”

Iris leans in and narrows her eyes just so.  “It’s just that you don’t seem like the type to work out, you’re more like those naturally built guys who eat crap all day and drink beer all night and still look . . .” She waves her hand at me and I can’t hide the smile now because, see what I mean?

Fun.

“What? Say it.”

“What? Say what?” She is genuinely awkward now as she wrings her hands and the blinking begins.

“And still look . . .?” I egg her on to finish her thought. Iris is never finishing her thoughts. And I’m dying to know the end of this one.

She looks up at me like I’m crazy.

“Come on Iris, say it.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because your ego is already the size of the Empire State building, Carter. I, for one, refuse to feed it any more than it already is.”

She does this eye roll thing, like she’s got better things to do than stand around bantering with me. I laugh it off and as she walks away, I stop her. I can’t let it end like this.

“I’m hurt.”

She turns and laughs.

“No, really, and by the way, you’re one to talk, you know.”

She stops and tilts her head with a furrowed brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, why are you here, Iris? I’m pretty sure it’s not to bring cookies to the staff.”  I eye them and then her, and I wait.  It’s not completely out of the question. I wouldn’t put it past her. But when Iris huffs out and shakes her head, I know I’ve hit the nail on the bull’s eye.  

“Tell me I’m wrong.” I mentally double dog dare her and she looks away momentarily before deciding to rebut her case.

“I’m here to spin, actually,” she says, like it’s some sort of exception to the phrase working out.  I know better though and I point at her animatedly to make my point.

“HA! I knew it,” I announce, triumphantly. Then I wonder . . . “What’s spinning?”

She rolls her eyes as she starts to leave.  “You couldn’t handle it.”

“And you know this because . . . ?” I chase after her.

I’m always chasing after her.  

Iris turns just enough so I can see the smugness spread across her lips. “Like I said, I don’t think you even work out.”

She’s either getting more comfortable with me, or she’s getting more comfortable with flirting with me. Either way, I stop and watch her step inside one of the classrooms. It’s filled with stationary bikes and Iris apparently knows everyone. Not that this surprises me.  The woman knows everyone in Spangler and then some. Just not every
thing
. For some reason, I need to prove a point to this woman.
I nod at a few people I don’t know from squat and some of the ladies in here give me a second – in some case a third look as I follow Iris to some empty bikes in the front.

“I don’t know.” I stretch my arm out across my chest, a little. “I think I could handle
it.”

And it’s only now that she realizes I’m still there. “What are you doing?”

“I getting my spin on, what’s it look like I’m doing?” I stop at the bike right next to the one she chooses.

I inspect the stationary vehicle. I’ve never ridden a bike that stands still before.

“Do you want some help setting your bike up?  Because --”

I raise a hand. “No, no, I’ve got this.”

I don’t have this but I’ll be damned if I’m going to give her the satisfaction.  Besides, I’m a quick learner.  I covertly glance around at the other “Spinners” and figure out how to raise my seat and handlebars, then I swing a leg over the seat and cringe.

“Not a whole lotta padding on these bad boys is there?” I joke with the woman sitting to my right.

She sucks in some air and tilts her head giving me a sympathetic nod. “That’s why you should get a seat cover.”

That’s why you should get a seat cover,
I mock her inside my head as Iris puts her own cushion onto her seat. I’m getting the hang of it when Iris removes the long, light jacket from her shoulders and reveals that not only is her top super revealing, but so is the bottom half of her outfit. And I use the term
outfit
loosely here. It looks more like a one piece thong type bathing suit with tights if you ask me. Not that I’m complaining.

My foot misses the pedal and I nearly fall off the damn bike before I’m even on it as she bends over to get some things out of her bag.

Iris stands and whips around. “You okay there, champ?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I assure her. I choose to look straight ahead for a while. We start pedaling more. “This isn’t so bad.”

Iris smiles but refuses to look over at me.  A friend on the other side of her whispers something to her and she nods.  I want to ask her what the woman said that’s making her silently giggle so hard but the instructor is turning the music up now, and she’s instructing us to breathe.

“Innnnn through the nose . . .” she sings and then does this herself. “Ouuuuut through the mouth.”

All the women that surround me do as their told while I assert my masculinity and simply chill.

“Just like riding a bike,” I joke but no one laughs. Iris is intense, focused and looking straight ahead like she’s gearing up for something big. I want to laugh. Bicycling in the dark with air conditioning and music playing softly does not equate a work out.  This is like the spa day of workouts, with the small time stretches and the mellow state I’m in right now. I can’t believe she insinuated I couldn’t handle this.

The class instructor turns the music up and tells everyone, “Okay, ladies!” then, “and gentleman,” in my direction. “Let’s get out of those seats!”

“What?” I turn, slightly panicked, toward Iris. “What does that mean?”

She’s standing now, sort of, but still pedaling, which gives me a clue – and I think, okay, I’m an idiot. I copy what everyone else is doing.
This isn’t half bad.

The woman in charge yells, “Now turn it up!”

Music blares. I take a look around to see what that means and see everyone pushing the stick in front of their bike’s screen upward so I do the same and I will just say this.

Ouch.

Pedal . . . pedal . . . pedal.

Suddenly it becomes very difficult to
spin
.

“Holy shit!” I push hard with my legs but this shit is . . .
How in the hell are they still going?

Iris laughs, beside me but she doesn’t look in my direction. There is no way I’m giving her the satisfaction of knowing this stationary bike I’m riding is kicking my ass already, so I suck it up like I do when I’m in my fifth mile of running. I push through it.

But seriously.
Ow. Push . . . push . . . push.

You’d think it would get easier after that but it doesn’t, it gets harder. In fact, for the next forty-five minutes the instructor has us sit, sprint, climb,
jump,
which is stand pedaling also, and several combinations of all of the above. I struggle to keep my legs moving at all. I’m sweating like goddamn sponge that’s just been wrung out and I don’t think I can keep up my charade much longer when I hear the instructor tells us, “Okay, ready for your last climb of the day?”

“Jesus,”
I whisper with a grunt, hoping to hear her tell us she’s just kidding but alas, she doesn’t. So I push myself up and out of my seat once again.

Luckily, we’re not standing for long when she says, “Okay, we’re going to take it back down now and do some cool downs.”  

I breathe out a sigh of utter relief that this is almost over when I hear her add, “Oh, wait,” and just then, I notice Iris, next to me, waving an arm over her head like she’s got an imaginary lasso in her hand.

“What are you doing?” I whisper-yell at her but she pays me no mind.  No mind at all.

“Iris says to keep going so we’re going to keep going.  Let’s turn up the resistance ladies,” the instructor says.  She gives me an amused look and adds, “and gentleman.”

Turn up the resistance?  Is she kidding me?

“She’s kidding right?” I ask Iris, who ignores me with nothing but a slight grin on her lips as she stares forward.

I watch her push her resistance bar upward to its maximum and I think, hell if she’s going to win this battle so I turn mine up and immediately, my calves are burning.  My thighs too. And everything else for that matter.

“Let’s speed up those legs now!” we’re told.

My first thought here is, why does she have to look so damn happy about all this? My second thought is, s
hit.  What have I done? I can’t turn it back down now, she’ll see me.
This is basically like riding your bike through the mud at the fastest pace humanly possible. It doesn’t get you very far in the real world. What makes these people think it will here? I’m pushing hard and I can feel my face heating up. In fact I can also feel myself getting a
little
bit lightheaded but I ignore it, figuring we’ve got five, six minutes tops left to this class.
I can do this.