Page 24 of Wild Abandon

“Nate.” She nods the back of her head toward the bar.

I know exactly who Nate is.

Nate.

Laurie turns around, and I look back at Dallas. I pick up a fry, and he looks at me with disgust.

“Did you know the word gluten is derived from the word glue? Just think about what that will do to your insides,” he states. “Two blocks of protein, two blocks of carbs, and a block of fat, plus one hundred micrograms of fish oil—that’s the way to eat. If you just tried it for a week, I promise, you’d be hooked.”

“What do you do for fun around here?” I ask, smothering my next fry in a glob of melted cheese.

He looks like he’s going to vomit. “CrossFit.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of that. What’s up with all the handstands? And why does everyone have to be naked?”

He blinks at me a few times, as if not understanding my question.

Dallas’s body is cut and lean, so much so that every muscle is molded against his shirt, begging to get out. He kind of looks like Bruce Banner before he morphs into The Incredible Hulk.

“Seven days a week. If you don’t show up, the family comes to your house and makes you get to the box.”

“The family?”

“The CrossFit family,” he states like I should have known this. His eyes drift to the side, and then he laughs, clearly recalling some sort of memory. “Man, me, Sally Up, and Fran were killing it today. Check out my hands. Ripping doesn’t matter. It’s all about making that time.”

“Sounds like a cult,” I say jokingly.

From the look on his face, he does not think I’m funny.

“So, do you play any sports?” I ask.

“You’re kidding me, right?” And this is when he starts talking in code—from WOD to AMRAP to keeping in his box, snatches, and hanging something or others.

I blink at him a few times, taking it all in. When he is done, his closed smile is ear to ear. He’s smug and proud of whatever it is he just said.

Then, he adds, “CrossFit is the ultimate fucking sport. You have to be an athlete in order to do what we do.”

And then he shows me a burpee. If you don’t know what one is, let me explain. Dallas stands up from the table and steps about two feet away, pushing someone over with his shoulder. With his hands in the air, I think he’s going to start doing jumping jacks. But no. Instead, he falls to the ground, causing a few patrons to jump back from where they were standing. He brings his chest and thighs to the floor. He looks like he’s doing a push-up, but then he hops back up into the air and repeats.

Again.

And again.

And again.

I am sitting here, mortified, hoping people can see this is a blind date gone wrong.

When Dallas has completed enough burpees to satisfy whatever mental requirement he had, he takes his seat and gives me a look, as if wondering if I’m as impressed with what he just did as he is.

I look at the bar, and Nate is nowhere to be found.

Why am I even looking over there anyway? I don’t need to be rescued. That said, I should have arranged a backup plan, like having Naomi call me with an emergency or using one of those get-me-out-of-a-bad-date apps.

“CrossFit would help you lose those ten pounds.”

My eyes nearly bug out of my head at his words.

“You could trim your waist down and tighten up those arms in no time. Just a little Paleo and CrossFit. Trust me, you’d be a knockout.”