Romantically Challenged Read Online Free PDF Page B

for the rain to let up.
    “That way,” he said, pointing towards the end of the street, “but I figured we’d walk.”
    “In the rain?” It was obvious John was new to Los Angeles. Los Angelenos don’t walk. Anywhere. Ever. Especially not in the rain.
    He pulled his car keys out of his pocket and said, “C’mon, I have an umbrella in the trunk.”
    “Do you have two?” I asked.
    “It’s a big one,” he said. “We can both fit. It’ll be romantic.”
    I could imagine strolling through an unexpected tropical rain shower, hand in hand with a gorgeous guy. My hair would be mussed, but my makeup would still be perfect, and my floral sun dress would be clinging to me in all the right places. The guy would only be wearing Bermuda shorts. His muscular upper body would be glistening with a mixture of sweat and raindrops. He would be holding his soaking wet T-shirt over our heads in an ineffectual yet gentlemanly attempt to keep us dry. That would be romantic. Walking six blocks to the gym in a cold downpour with John the Annoying Cheapskate was not going to be romantic.
    * * *
    John held the umbrella at an angle in his left hand. This succeeded in keeping the wind from blowing the rain directly into our faces, but also meant that he was the only one actually under the umbrella. By the time we reached the gym my fingers were numb and the right side of my body was completely soaked. Except for a few wet spots at the bottom of his sweatpants, John was completely dry.
    Luckily, the woman at the reception desk remembered me from the years when I had been a regular. She let me borrow shorts and a T-shirt from the lost and found box while she ran my clothes through the towel dryer.
    I found John upstairs on a treadmill. He’d already started a slow jog.
    I stepped onto the treadmill next to him. “I’ve never seen it this empty before. When I used to come here there were always at least five people ahead of me on the waiting list and tonight there’s not even a line.”
    “Isn’t it great?” he said. “I love to work out on Friday nights.”
    I just nodded. On the rare occasions when I’d even considered working out on a Friday night, Scumbag had always talked me out of it. He told me only losers without friends went to the gym on Friday nights. I decided to be nice and keep this opinion to myself. Instead, I asked John how his week had been and he started telling me about his job in marketing for a petrochemical company. I asked questions and nodded dutifully on the off chance that my initial impression of him had been wrong and that he was actually a good catch. We were forty-five minutes into the date and so far he hadn’t said or done anything to change my mind.
    Abruptly, John asked, “Are you going to walk the whole time?”
    I looked down at the timer on my treadmill. I’d only been trotting for three and a half minutes. “I’m warming up,” I said. “I haven’t worked out in a while.”
    “There’s no point in working out if you’re not going to raise your heart rate. If you’re just going to walk at that pace, you might as well not even bother.”
    I increased the speed on my treadmill from 3.3 to 3.6 and immediately started to sweat. John seemed satisfied and went back to talking about himself. A few minutes later John pronounced that we’d warmed up enough and it was time to run.
    “John, I haven’t worked out in almost a year. I’m not running.”
    “Coward.”
    I should’ve bailed on him right then, but I took the bait. “I’m not a coward. I just don’t want to hurt myself.”
    “You won’t hurt yourself with a slow jog. It’s the same as walking fast, only you burn more calories.”
    I was about to ask if he was implying that I looked like I needed to burn more calories, but stopped myself. I was afraid he might answer truthfully.
    “C’mon,” John said. “We’ll only run for ten minutes, then we’ll take a break and move on to the free weights.”
    Free weights? “I’ll