The Fitness Trial Class That Changed Everything

My husband's gym was celebrating its grand opening, so I grabbed my best friend and headed over under the guise of "checking the place out," armed with a $10 trial class we had snagged from a group deal.

I never once mentioned that I was the owner's wife.

The moment we wrapped up the workout, a female trainer slapped a price sheet into our hands and gave us a look that could cut glass.

"Let me guess, you two came here to milk the freebies? Our private training sessions cost hundreds. They're not here for people like you to exploit."

I let out a disbelieving laugh.

"We bought a perfectly valid trial class. How does that make us freeloaders? Get your manager."

She rolled her eyes, acting like she was the rules.

"Call whoever you want! The owner is my boyfriend, and he can't stand penny-pinchers who show up trying to mooch off his gym."

Then, right in front of us, she called him—voice raised, dramatic, dripping with fake indignation.

"Babe, there are two cheapskates in your gym demanding the manager. Come deal with them for me!"

"Guess what? My boyfriend will be here any minute now," Mabel Scott sneered.

"You two wannabe socialites better think fast. Are you going to apologize properly, or should I toss you out on your ears?"

My bestie, Whitney Larson, shook with fury, her voice rising as she said, "Clean up your act!

"Who are you calling wannabe socialites? We paid for our classes; they weren't freebies. Is this how you talk to your clients? Or is this gym not interested in staying open?"

Mabel snickered behind her hand, her voice dripping with contempt as she said, "Look at this, folks!

"She's been called out, and now she's lashing out in a fit! She's going wild like a shrew!

"Ouch! Did that hit a nerve? With your bargain-bin looks, do you even have 100 bucks to your name?

"Socialites? Please. Real socialites have their heads in the clouds. Who else would tire themselves out over a measly 10-dollar trial class?"

She twisted her mouth in disgust. "Just one look, and it's clear you're desperate, hoping to snap a few flirty pics at this fancy gym to land a rich guy on social media, huh?

"Too bad, your little scheme's a bust! The guys here can spot a cheap knockoff a mile away!"

"You!" Whitney quivered with anger, ready to confront her.

I held her back, my eyes like steel. "Coach, you seem pretty savvy. Surely you're not spending your days trying to snag a rich catch yourself?"

Mabel's voice oozed pride as she said, "Landing a rich catch isn't that easy. You've got to have something to offer. With your plain-Jane looks, no amount of effort will cut it.

"I'm not like you guys; I've got curves in all the right places, and I've already landed myself a real catch of a fiancé. He even opened this gym just for me.

"I've called him already. Just you wait. I'll show you two losers the kind of man I've got."

"Bring it on; let's see this amazing fiancé of yours who's into...whatever you call that," Whitney retorted.

Mabel's face turned stormy, and with a huff, she said, "Jealous much? My man will be here any minute, and you'll both see what a true catch looks like! Then you can kiss your hopes goodbye!"

Whitney yanked her hand away from mine, whipped out her phone, and shoved the screen in Mabel's face.

"Take a good look! Do I look like I need to chase after a rich fiancé? I've got suitors lined up from here to Timbuktu! My husband could run circles around your so-called catches. What are you even yapping about here like a stray?"

The screen displayed Whitney's messenger list, shining with names like Mr. Wallace of the Wallace Group, Director Robinson's heir, and the hotshot movie star, each one more impressive than the last.

Right at the top, with a heart emoji and the name "Honey" next to his picture, was James Baker, the CEO of Riverton City's Baker Group.

Mabel's face twisted with rage, and in a swift motion, she smacked Whitney's phone out of her hand. It hit the ground, and the screen splintered into a web of cracks.

"You've lost your mind!" Whitney shrieked, her eyes blazing with fury.

"Me? Crazy? Looks like you're the ones who've lost it!" Mabel yelled, her voice laced with hysteria. "All this fuss over a silly messenger app nickname? Anyone can change that; it's no big deal!

"And you! Acting all rich and playing with people's hearts, keeping a lineup of backups like you're some kind of player. You've got no shame! A woman like you must have been tossed around so much that you're nothing but damaged goods now!"

The receptionist whipped out her phone and started a live stream, pointing the lens directly at us.

"Hey, guys, check this out! We've got a couple of weirdos in the shop.

"They waltzed in here for the ten-dollar trial class, got caught by Ms. Scott trying to snag a sugar daddy, and now they're throwing punches and losing it. Her phone's always buzzing with backups, and she's basically the queen of the dating game!"

She kept talking, shoving the camera in my and Whitney's faces. "Let's give everyone a good look at who you really are!"

I quickly pulled Whitney behind me and shouted, "You're violating our rights to privacy and our own images!

"Shut that video off! You think I won't call the cops and get a lawyer to shut this place down?"