They Call Her Love | ✔️

5: They Call Her LoverGirl

Remember how I said CrunchTime is hell on earth? I proudly take it back.

I can't get over how many unbelievably hot guys are members to CrunchTime.

I have been planted in a leather swivel chair since four o'clock, my head just a few inches above the circular reception desk that stood before the front entrance. Every time the glass doors swing open, an attractive muscular male will walk in, and before I can even muster up the breath to greet him into the gym, he's already swiped a membership card through the slot next to my computer and enters the locker rooms. I've lost track of the amount of times I've blushed from guys that slyly wink at me as they saunter past, but I know the number is well over ten just in the past two hours.

Above me, the sounds of the latest pop hits are playing, accompanied by dumbbells clanging against each other, the buzzing from cardio equipment, and the annoying grunting that only results from weightlifting. Surprisingly, it didn't smell like a drop of sweat. My parents had done an exceptional job of maintaining the facilities, so much that the entire place constantly kept that fresh soap scent.

"Love, what did I tell you about greeting people?" My mom's ice cold voice causes me to jump. I spin around to find her drenched in sweat, dark spots marking her tank top and beads dripping down the sides of her body. Her entire face is bright pink but scorning at me. "I'm not paying you to sit around and stare at everyone."

"You're not paying me at all," I mutter under my breath.

"What?" She crosses her arms.

"Sorry," I shrug, innocently. "I can't help but gawk at these hot guys. I should have signed up for a membership here years ago."

She all but rolls her eyes. "That's what would get you to workout?"

I snicker, leaning back into the soft chair and resting my sneakers on top of the desk, "I said it would get me to sign up, not workout."

"What would it take for you to look alive?"

"Getting out of here."

"Not gonna happen," She shuts me down. "You are the face of CrunchTime as long as your butt is in that chair. You're the first person people see when they walk through those doors, so please for our sake, look presentable."

"I think I'm doing a great job," I rest both hands behind my head.

"Whatever you do reflects us," She continues the lecture. "Don't make us seem like idiots."

I arch a brow. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

She doesn't answer this, but instead reaches over and pushes my feet off, causing me to jerk forward. "Do your job."

"Fine," I grumble.

So, I do. My 'job' consists of greeting members, answering their questions, and helping with account information. For the next hour, I smile so hard my cheeks are numb and give every single soul that enters a jolly 'Welcome to CrunchTime!'. Jagger would have been proud.

It slows down around seven and it causes me to browse online. One thing I learned as a receptionist is that when no one's walking through that door or the phone isn't ringing, there isn't a job to do. I'm nearly about to click on an article about Britney Spears when I hear the unmistakable beep from the doors that indicate someone has entered.

As if by instinct, my lips curve upwards and I throw a very loud, "Welcome to CrunchTime!"

"Love?"

My vision focuses to the person that's strolled in and I realize it's Caleb. He's in a loose gray workout tank and jersey shorts. He strides with a sloppy grin but holds his shoulders high. I haven't seen him since our incident and how quickly had I forgotten how heart-stopping that smile is.