First Assessment

Yvette pulled into the parking lot of Apex Fitness and killed the engine, staring at the sleek glass doors. Her hands stayed on the wheel a moment longer than necessary. The modest black leggings and loose tank top she had chosen suddenly felt all wrong, like they screamed amateur next to the confident women she had seen through the windows on her way in. She tugged at the hem of her tank, wishing it covered more of her hips, then forced herself out of the car before she could change her mind.

Inside, the gym smelled of lemon cleaner and rubber mats. Mirrors lined every wall, and the low thump of bass-heavy music made her pulse jump. Yvette kept her shoulders rounded as she approached the front desk, clutching the folder with her intake forms.

A tall man in a fitted black polo stepped out from behind the counter. He was bigger than she had expected from the website photo, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, forearms corded with muscle. His dark olive skin looked warm under the lights, and his short black hair was neatly trimmed. Intense brown eyes met hers without hesitation.

“Yvette Prescott?” His voice was low, steady, the kind that expected an answer.

“Yes. Dominic Abbott?”

He extended a hand. His grip was firm, warm, and lingered half a second longer than a simple handshake. “Right on time. Follow me. We’ll start with the assessment in the private room.”

She trailed him down a short hallway, watching the way his fitted athletic pants moved with each step. The private room was smaller, quieter, with one mirrored wall and a padded table along the back. A clipboard and measuring tape waited on a small shelf.

“Go ahead and set your bag down,” Dominic said, closing the door behind them. “First thing is the contract. Standard agreement for twelve weeks, three sessions a week. You pay monthly, and we track progress at the end of each block. Sound good?”

Yvette nodded, though her stomach fluttered. She signed where he pointed, her name looping across the line in quick strokes. Dominic countersigned without comment, then set the clipboard aside.

“Anniversary goal, right? You mentioned that on the intake form.”

She cleared her throat. “Ten years with my husband. I want to feel… better in my skin. Not just lose weight, but actually look like I take care of myself.”

Dominic studied her for a beat, then gave a single nod. “We can do that. Discipline first. Results follow. I’ll design the plan around what your body can handle now and what it will handle later. No shortcuts.”

He picked up the measuring tape. “Stand here, feet shoulder-width. Arms out to the sides.”

Yvette obeyed. The tape whispered against her skin as he measured her bust, then her waist. His fingers brushed the underside of her breast when he adjusted the tape, professional but not quick. Heat crept up her neck. She kept her eyes on the mirror, watching his focused expression.

“Good posture,” he murmured, moving lower. The tape circled her hips, then her thighs. Each placement was precise, yet his touch stayed a fraction longer than necessary, warm through the thin fabric of her leggings. When he knelt to measure her calves, his breath ghosted across her knee. Yvette’s pulse kicked harder.

“You’re carrying most of your softness here,” he said, tapping her hip lightly with two fingers. “We’ll tighten that up. Glutes and core will change the most. You’ll notice it in how clothes fit first.”

She swallowed. “Okay.”

Dominic stood again, close enough that she could smell the clean scent of his soap. “Arms down. Let’s get your weight and body-fat reading.”

The scale beeped under her feet. He recorded the numbers, then stepped back. “We’ll remeasure every four weeks. You’ll see the difference on paper and in the mirror. That’s the point of tracking.”

He walked her through the custom plan next, leaning against the table while he explained the split. Upper body twice a week, lower body twice, one full-body finisher. Nutrition notes followed, simple and strict. Yvette listened, nodding at the right moments, but her attention kept drifting to the way his forearms flexed when he gestured.

“Discipline is everything,” Dominic said, voice dropping a little. “You show up, you do the work, you don’t make excuses. I’ll push you. You’ll thank me later.”

The words landed heavier than simple encouragement. Yvette felt a small spark low in her stomach, unexpected and sharp. She managed a polite smile. “I’m ready to work.”

“Good.” He set the clipboard down. “Light workout now so I can see your movement patterns. We’ll keep it basic.”

They moved to the open space in front of the mirror. Dominic demonstrated a body-weight squat, his form perfect, hips sinking low and controlled. Yvette copied him. His hands hovered near her hips without quite touching at first.

“Knees track over toes,” he instructed. “Sit back like you’re reaching for a chair.”

On the next rep his palms settled lightly on her outer thighs, guiding her depth. The contact sent a warm current up her legs. She straightened, breathing a little faster than the effort required.

“Better,” he said. “Again.”

They moved through lunges, then a simple push-up variation against the wall. Every correction came with that same steady touch, never inappropriate, yet never hurried away either. Yvette’s skin felt alive under the modest fabric, aware in a way it hadn’t been in months.

After the last set he handed her a towel. “You move well when you stop overthinking it. That’s going to help.”

She wiped her face, cheeks flushed from more than exertion. “Thanks. I… I didn’t expect the assessment to be so hands-on.”

Dominic’s mouth curved, not quite a smile, but something knowing. “I like to know exactly what I’m working with. Makes the plan better.” He held her gaze a moment longer than polite. “Same time Thursday?”

Yvette nodded, already calculating how she would rearrange her week around these sessions. “I’ll be here.”

“Wear something that lets you move,” he added, voice low again. “You’ll be working harder than today.”

She gathered her bag, signed the final copy of the plan he printed, and left the room with her pulse still elevated. In the car she sat for a minute, staring at the contract signature on the passenger seat. The lingering warmth of his hands on her hips stayed with her all the way home.