Call To Engage. Tawny Weber

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      “Let’s step it up, folks,” she called out as she assessed the progress of thirty people finishing their warm-up. “Knees high, backs straight. Double time.”

      “How much longer?” gasped one already sweating guy with an enviable tan, tight body and pathetic muscle tone.

      “Warm-up? Another two minutes.” She flashed a wicked smile. “Then the fun starts.”

      The groans filling the room warmed her heart. She figured if they weren’t moaning, she wasn’t doing her job. And that job was to build the best bodies. Through exercise classes, through training, through bodywork and massage.

      It didn’t matter what shape they were in when she started, she had no doubt that if the person was willing, they’d end up with a better body in the end.

      Ava firmly believed that with hard work, if you just gave it long enough, anything could change. She was proof positive of that.

      Heavy on results, light on believing in anything that relied on others. The complete opposite of how she’d once lived—with her eye always on that fabled happily-ever-after so dependent on Prince Charming. Now she took one day at a time.

      Today included hitch kicks, butt lifts and, oh yes, the dreaded burpees.

      “Okay, people, let’s rock and roll.” Already warmed after her morning run and a round of intense circuit training, she took her students through their first set. “Grab your medium weight and begin with bicep curls. Squat on the curl, side kick on the release.”

      After a brief demonstration, including modifications, she gestured for them to join in and began the count. Twelve reps, rest, three times.

      By the time they’d hit the three-quarters mark, the heavy beat of rock and roll couldn’t disguise the heavy breathing and pained grunts of exertion sounding through the room. No matter how cool the air-conditioning was set, it didn’t prevent the sweat streaming off the bodies doing that panting and grunting.

      Ava prized every bitch, moan and aching groan as a sign of success. Her own breath might be a little short, but her voice was clear as she called out instructions.

      “Come on, ladies, lift those butts,” she called out, fully aware that half her class was men. But she’d learned that some things better motivated women—encouragement, commiseration, results. And some things motivated men—insults and questioning their virility. “Nobody walks out of here comfortably. I want you moaning, groaning, huffing and puffing. I want those muscles screaming because you pushed them to the max. Lift, release. Lift, release.”

      She finished with a series of stretches.

      “Arch, higher, higher, people. Stretch those muscles. Release the burn, let it go. You don’t want those babies locking up. At least not before you all make it to your cars.”

      That snared a round of breathless laughter. Ava rode it out pulling them through the rest of the cooldown, ending with a little light meditation and a few body affirmations.

      “Breathe, people. Pull that cooling air into your belly. Let it fill your body with soothing light. Repeat after me. I’m strong. I’m capable. I kicked butt today. I’ll kick butt tomorrow.”

      And with that, she pushed to her feet. Ignoring the sweat that drizzled down her collarbone into the wicking fabric of her turquoise tank, she clapped her hands.

      “Great job. You all kicked butt today.”

      As always, Ava moved through the room making contact with students. A form correct here, a congratulations there. There were enough newbies in the class that she didn’t know everyone’s name, but thanks to years of what she called extreme socialite training, she was able to make everyone feel as if they were a friend.

      “Ava, you’re the best.”

      “So are you, Terri. You’re really mastering those burpees.” She patted the red-faced woman’s arm, smiling as she noted the developing muscle tone. “By the end of this course, I’ll bet you’re in that pair of jeans you bought.”

      Like a lot of people who hit the gym, Terri had come with a goal to lose weight for an event—in her case, a high school reunion. Once she’d hit that goal, Ava encouraged her to reach for another one, so the woman was now fixated on fitting into a size-nine jeans.

      Some people worked out for the love of it. But Ava knew the other 95 percent of the world needed incentive. She figured tapping into that was as much a part of her job as modifying a workout to fit a variety of needs.

      “Thanks to you and this class, I bet I’m in them two months ahead of schedule,” Terri said, patting her hip as she headed out the door.

      “You are the kick-ass woman, aren’t you,” rumbled a voice as big as the man framed in the doorway. As always, Ava smiled a little as she noted that Mack had to duck to get through without banging his shaved head. You’d think the guy would have built taller doors given that it was his gym.

      “There’s a reason the phrase no pain, no gain is popular,” she pointed out, taking the towel he offered. Mack Prescott was a man the size of a bulldozer with a face to match, with the personality on par with a bear. Grumbly and gruff with most, but cuddly sweet with some.

      “If the whining moans from your students are anything to go by, they’re gaining more than they bargained for.”

      “Too much?”

      “They sing your praises right along with those moans,” Mack said with a shrug as he moved through the room. She could see him doing a mental check of the inventory, assessing the state of the mats, the chill of the A/C and the quality of the speakers still beating with music. “You’ve got a way about you, Ava—that’s for sure.”

      “I plan to make the world stronger, one hard body at a time.” Ava dabbed the towel at her throat, sopping up the beads of sweat still pooling there. “Resistance makes strength, my friend. You know that as well as I do.”

      “I do, indeed. From the looks of it, all those resisting students are going to be in a whole lot of pain later,” Mack observed with a smirk. “Pretty smart, actually. First you pummel them in workout class so they’re so sore their muscles are crying. Then you lure them in for a massage so you can pummel them on the table, work the knots out of those muscles so they’re ready for your next workout class.”

      “Perfect, right?” Ava laughed. “I even have Chloe handing out massage flyers at the door.”

      She was only half joking. Chloe James, the receptionist for the gym, was perched at her desk right outside the door. And she did have flyers advertising Ava’s massage services. But she wasn’t waving them in the air.

      Ava slanted a look through the glass walls and smiled.

      Probably because the bubbly woman was otherwise occupied.

      “Have you thought about my little proposition?” Mack asked as he straddled one of the workout benches lining the wall.

      “You know, the propositions I get usually involve booty calls, naked workouts and offers to show off a guy’s most impressive muscle.”

      Mack snorted.

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