Hot Pickle - J.J. Knight Page 0,12

came close to the love of the work I do with the bodybuilders. Since the circuit only threw my brother out for one competition, he’ll be around to keep trying for his pro card. Watching. Always watching.

So, getting a bodybuilder boyfriend isn’t in the cards.

I shift my attention back to Max. I’ve already run my hands over most of this man’s body. And even though I’ve had male clients before, somehow, it’s different.

Maybe I felt sorry for him with his terrified first-timer’s syndrome.

Or maybe it was the way we locked eyes in a packed registration room like no one else was there.

And he blew off Dahlia.

Nobody blows off Dahlia. When she says come, you come.

But not him.

The crowd murmurs as a burly bald announcer dressed in black takes the stage.

“We will announce the winners of the heavyweight competition in a moment,” he says. “Afterward, we will have the winners in each class return to the stage for a posedown.”

The break won’t be long, so I stay in my seat. The bulk of the judging is done during the morning competition. The evening show is mainly the fundraiser part of the day, when attendees pay for tickets to watch all the oiled bodies at work.

But sometimes, if it’s close, performing well in the second show can make the difference.

And Max was flawless.

The announcer turns off his mic and chats with the heavyweights on stage. Max shows no sign of nervousness. He talks confidently, his smile broad and easy. He looks nothing like the frightened deer he was this morning.

I’m beginning to think my first impression was way off. I saw him anxious about his tanning problem, and then off the charts when he got his wild boner before the judging.

His easy manner on stage tells me he’s much different in ordinary circumstances.

A runner carries a piece of paper up to the announcer. He nods at the men and steps away.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to announce the winners of our heavyweight competition.” He pauses for dramatic effect.

A recorded drum roll begins over the speakers. “In third place, we have Brad Peters.”

A leggy blonde in a tight red dress and outrageous heels steps forward to place a bronze medal over Brad’s head. He gives her a quick nod then strikes his favorite pose. I should feel a pang at the lost opportunity, thanks to my brother, but I don’t.

Max stays on the far right, his hands clasped gently in front. The amount of distance he’s put between himself and the other callouts suggests he doesn’t expect to place. He claps heartily as the second-place medal is given to Jeremy, one of the veterans on the circuit. He was, in fact, expected to win tonight.

Does this mean…

“And our first-place winner tonight might surprise you. It’s our rookie, right here from L.A., Max Pickle.”

Cheers break out, as well as laughter at the name. My breath hitches. Pickle? Is he the Pickle brother who owns the deli on Lucas Street? I’ve been there a time or two, and I was vaguely aware the Pickle brothers use the same last name for the franchise. Franklin never mentioned his training partner was an actual Pickle.

Max seems shocked as the gold medal is lifted over his head by Red Dress Girl. He pays her no mind, his eyes seeming to squint to the crowd. Before I can stop myself, I’m standing and screaming and waving my arms. “Way to go, Max!”

I’m shrieking way above the random crowd. I feel faces turn toward me, and I know I’m showing preferential treatment. But I don’t care. Max is awesome, and he won. None of the other men are my clients, so it won’t cost me too much ill will.

Besides, Max sort of is my client.

Isn’t he?

I pick out my brother’s loud hoots amongst the general noise of the crowd. Having a training partner at this level will be good for him. Franklin didn’t place in his category an hour earlier, but he’s nearly there. His next competition could be the one.

This is a great day for both of us.

Max strikes his pose, then sweeps his arm into a hearty bow, pleasing the crowd. The noise grows deafening, and even if I shrieked again, I wouldn’t be heard.

The announcer nods. “Seems like we have a new favorite here in the Los Angeles bodybuilding circuit. Max Pickle, everyone.”

Red Dress Girl takes the gold medal away from Max, since it’s time for the posedown. Max doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated as the