Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
I was doing everything I could to compete against guys almost half my age. My business was cutthroat, both on and off the internet, and I’d witnessed fitness empires with twice the following I had fall from grace. Granted, most people eventually sold out and began pushing supplements and shakes, anything to make a buck. I hadn’t done any of that. I’d never accepted a sponsorship deal or a collab on Instagram. I wasn’t a goddamn influencer. I was there to preach what I believed in—but I still needed those followers. They spread the word. They signed up for online coaching.
But it was rough out there, even when you didn’t sell out. When everyone was on the same platform, the men and women with decades of training and degrees trying to tell people health offered no shortcuts…well, they eventually faded away, because trying that twenty-two-year-old’s magic pills was much easier, and he had the eight-pack and a million followers to show for it.
When it was his turn to crash and burn over some kind of controversy, two new influencers were ready to take his place and shoot for the stars. Meanwhile, the rest of us, those of us relying on education and science, competed for scraps.
“Are you all right, man?” Darius asked, studying me. “I know I give you a lot of shit, but it’s because I don’t get all these changes. The guy I grew up with didn’t give a flying fuck about…well, pretty much everything you claim to care about today.”
I wasn’t getting into it with him. He wouldn’t understand. But ironically, I wasn’t changing at all. I was trying to cling to a past I’d outgrown. Because while I didn’t sell out and try to make millions off gullible people, I had to look like someone who could sell anything.
On the other hand, Darius might understand the trials and errors of running a business. It wasn’t as if his restaurant had been successful from the beginning.
So, I deflated and drained my beer, resigned to open up a little—yet keep things simple for my caveman of a brother’s sake. If I mentioned social media and PR, he’d spit boomer nonsense about how unnecessary that was. He was only three years older than I was, but mentally and culturally, he was stuck in the Dark Ages.
“My employees think I’m old,” I admitted. “They used to jokingly call me boss but still wanna grab drinks on Friday. Now they make plans when I’m not around, and they call me sir. I’m becoming irrelevant.”
Darius side-eyed me, confused and bewildered, as he flipped the chicken tenders on the grill, and then he gave me his full attention. “Why do you care? I understand that a twenty-five-year-old yoga instructor with a pep in her step and a Colgate smile is good for business, but why do you wanna be friends with those people? Y’all got fuck-all in common.”
That was the kick in the head, wasn’t it? To realize I actually didn’t want to be friends with them. Those were the women I’d dated, the guys I’d tried to keep up with… But it was more than that. It was the reminder that I was falling behind.
“I don’t like being excluded because I happen to be out of my twenties,” I said stiffly.
Thirties too. You’re out of your thirties too.
What-the-fuck-ever.
Darius shook his head, failing to understand, and then he moved on. “So, this new client of yours. She just walked up to you and called you pretentious?”
“No.” I clenched my jaw, knowing I had to fix that mess somehow. It was possible I had tried to convince others what I couldn’t make myself believe in fully. As in this batshit crazy version of perfection I was trying to achieve. “We were talking while she was on the treadmill. I said I was everyone’s type—screw you.” I all but growled the last part as he cracked up. He was trying to hide it behind a few coughs, and I hoped he choked. “Anyway,” I gritted out. “She made a noise and kinda blurted out that not all women are into pretentious gym owners who shave their chests.” Yeah, good luck trying to stop his laughter now. Motherfucker. “And there’s that fucking insult again. It’s the second time this year some woman’s said that.”
I didn’t know what was more difficult, getting Darius to quit laughing or getting likes in the fitness community with a rug on your chest.
It wasn’t like I fucking shaved because I loved it. I would assume women who shaved their legs all the time could empathize.
I flicked a glance toward the cars as a rusty old truck pulled in, and I was about to look away again when I saw the woman who climbed out. What the fuck? It was Natalie. It was fucking Natalie. Where was her turquoise Jeep?