Out of the Blue

Book 4: A Perfect Fit

by Alison Bliss

Genres: Friendship; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Alison Bliss shares her smart, sexy, contemporary voice in this new rom-com about a curvaceous heroine falling for her personal trainer—perfect for fans of Olivia Dade and Kate Stayman-London.

The course of true love was never supposed to start on a stair climber…
 
Preslee Owens has never worked out in a gym before. Like truly never. Until today. As she struggles to stay upright on the stair climber, she accidentally broadcasts a vlog that lets complete strangers—and even worse, people in her own small town--witness the hilarious start to her fitness journey. To her surprise and mortification, viewers love it.
 
The positive reaction leaves Preslee with no choice but to return—and the discovery that her unrequited crush, Josh, works out in the same gym is a big bonus. It also helps that her new personal trainer is making sure she doesn’t kill herself in the process. In fact, Adam has even offered to pretend to be her boyfriend to help make Josh a little jealous.
 
Having Adam cheering her on brings out a strength and confidence Preslee barely recognizes in herself. And soon she’s enjoying being his fake girlfriend waaay too much. But will her newfound courage allow her to face her biggest fear yet and seize the life she truly wants?    

Release date: February 1, 2022

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 368

Sample

Chapter One

Preslee Owens sat in her green Honda Accord outside the Body Shop, daring herself to go inside. If her vehicle had needed repairs, she wouldn’t have hesitated to stroll through the doors and ask someone for help. But since it was her plus-size figure that needed the overhaul, she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about doing so.

After all, it was like a bad joke. Preslee Owens walks into a gym…

Only she also happened to be the punch line.

At twenty-eight, she had never once set foot inside a gym before. She realized how ridiculous that sounded since most people had probably played sports at some point in their life or, at the very least, taken a physical education class during their school years.

But not Preslee. She’d been homeschooled all of her life and had never had any interest in sports. Not only because she was clumsy but because most sports took place outdoors and she couldn’t fathom the idea of standing out in the Texas heat any longer than necessary. Who in their right mind likes to sweat?

Okay, she guessed some people did. But not her.

The only physical activity she’d participated in on a regular basis as a child consisted of her taking out the trash or washing the dishes. Neither of which had ever gotten her heart rate up high enough to be considered exercise.

Well, unless she counted the time she’d burned a pan of lasagna in the oven until it was completely black. Even after soaking the pan in hot, soapy water overnight, she’d scrubbed it so long and hard the next day that she’d nearly passed out from the effort.

That’s what I get for adding a ridiculous amount of cheese.

Preslee sighed. Clearly, her diet hadn’t helped matters either. She’d always eaten whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. She’d never paid any attention to the number of calories in each serving, much less considered the negative impact that her poor choices might have on her health. Well, until now.

She glanced sullenly at the untouched cream-filled snack cake she’d tossed into her center console on her way to work. Though it was still calling her name, she hadn’t eaten it at lunch like she’d planned. She couldn’t. Not after what her doctor had said when he’d called this morning with her test results.

Last week’s appointment with Dr. Fowler had started out as a routine annual physical. But when he’d noticed that Preslee’s blood pressure was a little high and that she had gained weight, he asked about her family’s medical history with diabetes, high blood pressure, low HDL cholesterol and high triglycerides, and even gestational diabetes. None of which she had an answer for.

At three weeks old, Preslee had been adopted by a childless couple who’d been unable to conceive on their own. Because they weren’t blood relatives, she had zero knowledge of her biological family’s medical history. Therefore, Dr. Fowler’s preliminary screening hadn’t been able to produce any helpful information to adequately gauge her health risks.

So he’d done the only thing he could. He’d ordered some lab tests of her fasting glucose level, oral glucose tolerance level, and A1C. All of which determined whether or not she had impaired glucose levels.

At the time, Preslee hadn’t been concerned. After all, she was young and hadn’t experienced any health issues that would indicate anything was wrong. Sure, she’d gained some extra weight and her blood pressure was a little high, but neither seemed like much to worry about on their own.

Still, the determined Dr. Fowler had refused to take no for an answer. Although she loved having the elderly man as her doctor, the persistent grump glowered when he didn’t get his way. Without a doubt, he would’ve harped on her until the end of time—or at least until his death—if she hadn’t conceded and taken the damn tests.

Maybe that wouldn’t have bothered most people since they probably never ran into their doctors outside of their offices. Unfortunately, Preslee didn’t have that luxury. Her father lived next door to the man. Besides that, Granite, Texas, was a small town, and it wasn’t unusual for her to run into Dr. Fowler several times a week. Often at the post office, occasionally at the grocery store, sometimes in the bakery, and he even knew where she worked. Jeez. Nowhere was safe.

So Preslee had sucked it up and agreed to the tests. She’d stopped eating at eight o’clock the night before and woke up early the next morning to drive herself to the nearest lab in the next town over to have her blood drawn. All the while feeling like she’d been starving for weeks and had sand trickling down her dry, scratchy throat.

Yeah, fasting sucked.

Thank goodness she didn’t know any top-secret government intelligence. If anyone ever wanted to torture her for information, all they’d have to do was refuse her food or water for about twelve hours. She’d tell them everything they ever wanted to know. And probably then some.

Over the past week, however, Preslee had forgotten all about those dang tests and—thankfully—her horrible fasting experience. That was, until the doctor had called this morning to give her the upsetting results. As he spoke, only one word had stood out to her. Prediabetic.

Although the medical term sounded ominous, Dr. Fowler had assured her that it wasn’t the worst thing he could’ve found and it was completely reversible if she took action now. Then he’d urged her to change her crappy diet and become more physically active in order to lose some weight and get her glucose levels back to normal.

Right. Because it was just that simple.

Maybe the optimistic doctor hadn’t realized that he’d just asked her to change her entire lifestyle, but he had. And whether she liked it or not, that was going to take some seriously hard work on her part. But she didn’t have a choice. Her health was at stake, and she wanted—no, needed—to take this seriously. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be long before she dropped the pre and was left with only diabetic.

Preslee cringed and then hauled in a deep breath. “Better go inside and get this over with.”

She waited purposely for two young guys to enter the gym before sliding out of her car and adjusting her tight outfit. She’d purchased her workout attire at a local shop during her lunch hour without trying it on, and the clothing was more fitted to her body than she normally preferred. Like a lot more fitted. But it couldn’t be helped. She’d bought the items in the largest size available and had hoped for the best. It wasn’t like small towns had many options when it came to clothing stores. Especially for a plus-size woman.

She was only a respectable C cup at best, so at least the blue sports bra kept her boobs in place. Even if the straps dug uncomfortably into her shoulders. And the black calf-length leggings? Yeah, those had gifted her with an unpleasant wedgie that constantly needed to be picked.

Still, the workout clothes seemed somehow necessary…though she’d hidden both articles under a loose, oversize T-shirt. The idea was that looking—or rather feeling—the part would help motivate her. Or, at the very least, keep her from standing out in the gym like a brick in a pile of pennies.

Yeah, right. Good luck with that. She’d been sitting outside in her car for almost thirty minutes, and everyone she’d seen entering or leaving the gym had all been way more physically fit than her. Some of her workout clothes may have matched theirs, but the shape of her full-figured body didn’t.

Preslee glanced back at the gym doors, and nervous energy raced through her veins once more. She swiped the back of her hand over her brow. God, she was already sweating profusely, and she hadn’t even started working out yet. Maybe she could just do that for a daily workout instead. Park outside the gym and panic for half an hour at the terrifying thought of going inside.

Hell, at that rate, I’d be skinny by the end of the month.

Preslee fought back a grin at the silly thought and then shook her head. Okay, enough. She couldn’t allow herself to stall any longer. She was going through those gym doors, whether she liked it or not. Woman the hell up.

With another frustrated sigh, she heaved herself in the direction of the Body Shop’s entrance, her sheer determination forcing one foot in front of the other.

Too bad she didn’t get far.

Preslee had been so focused on the doors and talking herself into walking through them that she misjudged the curb and caught the toe of her sneaker on the edge of it. She tripped, stumbling forward with arms flailing, before landing on all fours onto the hard concrete sidewalk. Pain ripped through her as the metal car keys in her right hand stabbed into her palm and rough cement scraped both knees.

Ouch! Dang it.

Wincing, she rolled over to sit on her butt and checked her palm first. A purplish indention marred her right hand, and while it hurt a little, at least the skin wasn’t broken. So she dusted off her dirty palms and then rolled up her leggings to check her knees. Angry red patches glared back at her where the concrete had skinned them, and a small cut marked her left knee where a sharp rock must’ve bitten into the skin.

She was bleeding too. Great.

As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough, a truck chose that moment to rumble into the parking lot and pull into a nearby space. The last thing she wanted was for someone to walk up and find her sitting on the ground looking like an idiot. So Preslee quickly hobbled to her feet and limped toward the gym’s entrance. She probably should’ve gone home to clean her bleeding knee, but dang it, there was no way she was going to give herself an out. If she did, she had no doubt that she would take it and never come back.

Uh-uh. No way. She was going to do this even if it killed her. And, at this rate, chances were good that it probably would…since she hadn’t even made it into the building without hurting herself.

She shook her head. Gym, one. Preslee, zero.

As she opened the glass door and stepped inside, a rush of cool air wafted over her, and she let out a contented sigh. Thank God. She hadn’t been entirely sure whether the gym would have air-conditioning or not. But now that she thought about it, any building that wasn’t climate-controlled in the South Texas heat would probably be a death trap for everyone inside.

Preslee glanced around and took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The large one-room space was of substantial size and had a warehouse feel with high ceilings and black rubber floors. Mirrors lined the back wall, and there were rows of machines and other equipment available for use toward the front of the gym. While the place wasn’t exactly packed, there were a dozen or so people scattered throughout.

Her gaze landed on the check-in desk to her left, and she moved toward it, trying not to limp. A blond male stood behind the counter. He looked to be in maybe his late twenties or early thirties, and his large biceps bulged against the tight sleeves of his black T-shirt that sported a white Body Shop logo.

He glanced up from a clipboard as she approached, and surprise registered in his eyes before he managed to mask it with a good-natured smile and a friendly hello. She might’ve been insulted if it hadn’t been for the fact that she was just as surprised as he was that she was inside a gym. “Uh, hi. Is this where I sign up for a new membership?”

He nodded and leaned on the counter with one hand. “Yes, ma’am. Are you looking for monthly or yearly?”

“Um, monthly, I guess.” Jeez. That almost sounded like a question.

His smile widened. “All right,” he said, reaching for a paper and sliding it across the counter with a pen. “Here’s a form you’ll need to fill out. The monthly rates are at the bottom, and the gym rules and other helpful information are on the back. But feel free to let me know if you have any questions. My name’s Kurt, and I’m the manager.”

Preslee nodded. “Great, thanks. By the way, you don’t happen to have a Band-Aid back there, do you?” She held up her knee to show the small amount of blood oozing from it. “I scuffed it in the parking lot on my way in.”

“Let me check.” He pulled a first aid kit from beneath the counter, popped it open, and rifled through the contents. “Hmm, we should probably restock this kit. Looks like this is the only thing we have left,” he said, holding up a long white bandage. Then he shrugged. “It might work.”

She accepted it. “It’ll do. Thank you.”

After applying the bandage to the small cut, she realized she couldn’t cover it with her leggings without the stretchy fabric pulling tight across her sore knee. And that hurt too much. So instead she left her legging up over her kneecap and hoped that no one would notice how dumb it looked.

She glanced back up at Kurt, who wore an amused grin on his face. Well, no one else anyway.

The gym manager continued to smile as she moved off to the side and read over the information on the form he’d given her. She couldn’t really blame him. Although he didn’t say as much, she looked like she was wearing a panty liner on her knee.

When she was done filling out the form, she slid it back across the counter along with his pen. He asked for photo identification, which she provided, and then she paid him her first monthly fee.

Once they completed the entire transaction, Kurt handed her a black, plastic membership card with the Body Shop logo on it. “You’re all set. Any questions?”

Yes, but she was too embarrassed to ask them. “Nope.”

His smile weakened, and his voice softened, as if he knew she was lying. “All right. Well, I’m here if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.” Preslee gave the good-looking man a polite smile and then walked away from the check-in desk, although she wasn’t really sure in which direction to go. How did anyone know where to start?

She traipsed up and down each aisle, looking for a machine labeled for beginners, but apparently they didn’t make those. The more she glanced over the equipment, the more uncertain and self-conscious she started to feel. Especially when her slow progression around the room began drawing unwanted attention.

Two buff guys lifting and clanging weights on the other side of the room both wore smirks as they followed her movements with their eyes. Maybe they were fascinated by her inability to choose a machine due to her lack of knowledge. Or maybe they weren’t used to seeing a newcomer who didn’t know what the hell she was doing. Or maybe they were just riveted by the fact that a plus-size girl was going to actually work out. Who knew? But it only made being inside the gym that much more intimidating.

Determined to ignore their beady eyes staring her down, Preslee glanced to the next row over and spotted a stair-climbing machine. Oh, that one looked simple enough. Who couldn’t climb stairs? And she’d probably be great at it given how she ran up and down a set of stairs at work all the time. Her dad’s antique shop had only one storeroom, and it just so happened to be located in the basement. Lucky her.

Excited that she’d finally found a machine to try out, one that even looked like fun, she hustled down the aisle toward it. But just as she careened around the corner, a man stepped out of a doorway and landed directly in her path. She tried to skid to a stop but pitched too far forward and barreled face-first into him, her cheek smacking into a rock-hard chest.

Two strong hands shot up and grasped her shoulders, holding her with a firm yet gentle grip until she steadied herself. “Whoa. You okay, miss?”

Dazed, she shook her head to clear her blurry vision and then nodded. Sure, she was okay. She’d only collided with a brick wall like one of those crash-test dummies from the TV commercials. No biggie.

Man. Now her face hurt. Gym, two. Preslee, zero.

She rubbed at her sore cheek. “Um, yeah, I’m good,” she said, her gaze lifting to his. “Sorry about…”

Preslee’s mouth went dry, and the ability to form words vanished from her tongue as quickly and as quietly as disappearing ink dries on paper.

His unblinking, deep-set brown eyes, the color of warm bourbon, swept lazily over her face and sent an involuntary shiver spiraling through her. His dark brown hair stood on end in different directions, giving him a tousled, bed-head look, and his broad, powerful body towered over her by at least six inches. Yet he appeared relaxed and unimposing, confidence oozing from him in spades.

Even through his tight black athletic shirt, Preslee could plainly see huge biceps and a thick ridge of hard muscle that rode his wide shoulders. And that only made her wonder what he looked like without his shirt on. No doubt more of that smooth, tanned skin and, if she had to guess, perfect pecs and a chiseled set of abs.

He cleared his throat, and her eyes lifted back to his face. And what a handsome face it was. In fact, he was one of the most striking men she’d ever seen. Not in a GQ model kind of way though. Rather in more of a rugged, manly, I would screw you until you scream my name kind of way. And she couldn’t imagine many women disagreeing with her. Scratch that. Any women disagreeing with her.

He gently released her shoulders. “Sorry. I should’ve watched where I was going.”

Preslee swayed. “I, uh…” What the hell was he talking about? It had been her fault that they’d bumped into each other. Okay, fine, crashed into each other. Whatever. Either way, the sly smile spreading across his face told her that he knew but was polite enough not to point it out. “Um, sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize.” He charmed her with a wink. “I work here. Can I help you find anything?”

Yeah, her breath. Because he’d taken it the moment she’d glanced up at him. Gosh, he was pretty to look at. And he worked at the gym? Had she known that earlier, she might’ve come in sooner or at the very least signed up for the yearly membership. “No. I’m good. Thank you though.”

“All right,” he said, stepping aside and sweeping one arm out. “Ladies first.”

Preslee couldn’t help but smile. He’d probably only done that so there was zero chance of her mowing him down for a second time, but she strolled past him without another word. Once she moved farther away, she glanced over her shoulder to see if he was still standing there and blew out a relieved breath that he’d continued on his way in the opposite direction.

So she did the same. And tripped over air, her feet stumbling a little before she caught herself. Oh man. Thankfully, he hadn’t seen that. Sadly, it was a common, everyday occurrence for her, one her clumsy self had grown accustomed to. Unfazed, she carried on her way.

Reaching the huge, black stair-climbing machine, she stepped up onto it and climbed the several steps to the top. She gazed at the machine’s buttons for a second before finding a green quick-start button and pressing it. The stairs slowly began to move, descending beneath her, and she stepped up onto the next step. She alternated each foot as she gradually climbed each step. Right. Left. Right. Left.

Yep, definitely easy.

Actually, probably too easy. Because it didn’t take long for the routine stepping to become boring. She walked faster than this through the grocery store, for goodness’ sake. Shouldn’t it be more of a challenge?

As she continued to idly climb the stairs, she let her mind wander, going over her long day at work. She recalled how busy she’d been taking inventory, how many orders she’d received, and how the phone hadn’t stopped ringing. Then she remembered something else that had her groaning. She had promised to do an update for her followers on her antiquing vlog before leaving work—something she’d failed to do. Crap.

Preslee wasn’t all that great at social media. Sadly, the antique shop’s online presence consisted only of a fairly basic website and an Instagram account with a small number of followers. Still, Preslee hated disappointing anyone, especially when it came to the loyal customers who were supporting her father’s store. When she made them a promise, she always did her best to keep it. But with the upsetting phone call from the doctor this morning, the rush to find workout clothes at lunchtime, and the angst that came along with joining the gym, she’d forgotten all about it.

Maybe she could do a short video update from here. After all, it was just some information she was sharing about some new antique pieces that would be arriving next week. And lots of other vloggers made videos while doing mundane things, such as driving, shopping, or cooking. Why couldn’t she? It would be…very twenty-first century of her.

So Preslee propped her phone on the stair-climber’s dashboard to stabilize it and began making a short video via a live feed, keeping her voice low so as to not disturb the other patrons. Within minutes, she’d finished her quick update. But as she reached to end the livestream, her hand accidentally brushed across a random button on the stair-climber…and the machine instantly sped up.

Oh crap.

*  *  *

Adam Caldwell rounded the counter at the check-in desk and clapped Kurt on the back. “Hey, buddy. How are things today?”

Kurt shrugged. “Same as always. Where have you been? You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

“Sorry. Got tied up. My dad called…again.”

Kurt’s brow rose slightly. “Are they still lecturing you about quitting medical school? Man. That was forever ago. Get over it.”

Adam ran a frustrated hand through his unruly hair. “Tell me about it. But I guess me quitting school to open a gym is apparently always going to be a sore spot between us. I can thank Michael for that.”

“Your older brother? Why?”

“He followed in my parents’ footsteps and got a medical degree, that’s why. If he hadn’t become a doctor like both of them, then they probably wouldn’t be so persistent about me going back to med school. But it’s never going to happen. Whether they like it or not, I am exactly where I want to be.”

Kurt nodded. “You would think they’d be happy that you found your dream job. Especially while you’re still in your early thirties. Not everyone does.”

“They don’t care that this is something I enjoy. To them, it’s the equivalent of working in a fast-food restaurant.”

Kurt shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with working in a fast-food place.”

“I agree,” he said with a nod. “But that’s not the way they see it. As far as they’re concerned, if I don’t become a doctor like them, then I’m wasting my life.”

“I’m sorry, but your parents are pretentious assholes.”

Adam grinned with amusement. “Maybe so. But I don’t think the gym manager is supposed to say something like that to his boss.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “You’re not my boss, moron. You’re my best friend. I’ve known you and your family for years. Hell, as close as we are, they’re practically like family to me now. I can call them whatever I want.” He leaned back against the counter and crossed one sneaker over the other. “And just because I work here and you sign my checks doesn’t mean I’m going to let you order me around. You should know that by now.”

Adam gave a one-shoulder, noncommittal shrug. “I could always fire you, ya know?”

“Yeah, you could. But then you’d have to run the place yourself, and I know how much you hate paperwork.” Kurt chuckled, clearly amused by the idea of Adam running the gym himself. “Besides that, it wouldn’t leave you any time to train your clients. And like you said, it’s your dream job. You wouldn’t want to give that up for anything. It’s why you hired me to begin with.”

“Doesn’t mean I still won’t fire you.”

A slow smile stretched Kurt’s mouth. He obviously wasn’t the least bit worried about Adam’s threat. “That road runs both ways, buddy. I could just as easily up and quit on you too.”

Laughing, Adam shook his head. “Give me a break. You threaten to quit on me at least once a week. We both know you’re not going anywhere. You love working here as much as I do.”

“Yeah, maybe. But that’s only because I get to work out for free.”

It was Adam’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah, right. You had a free membership even before you started working here. The perks of being best friends with the owner.”

Kurt grinned. “I know.”

“Okay, now that we’ve established that neither of us is going anywhere, we still need to solve our biggest problem. If we don’t figure out how to bring in some new gym members, both of us will be out of a job…whether we like it or not.”

Kurt tapped a pen on the counter. “Speaking of which, I signed up a new member just before you arrived. A woman by the name of”—he glanced at a form lying on the desk—“Preslee Owens. She apparently lives here in Granite. Do you know her?”

“No, why? Did she ask for me personally?”

“Nope, I was just wondering. She didn’t list anyone as a referral on the form so I was trying to figure out how she’d heard about us. Thought it might be a good way to determine where to put our advertising dollars.”

“What advertising dollars?” Adam asked seriously. “It’s not like we have much in reserve to spend on marketing. Besides, everyone knows the best form of advertising is word of mouth. And that’s all we can afford right now.”

“True. But this woman found us and she wasn’t referred to us by anyone in particular. Or at least not anyone she wanted to admit to knowing. That’s why I figured she must know you.” Kurt offered him another grin.

Adam laughed. “She could’ve seen the sign out front as she drove past. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that we’re a gym and not an auto shop with the two huge dumbbells on the logo.”

Kurt shrugged. “Yeah, probably.”

Adam glanced in the direction he’d come from. Wait a minute. Were they talking about the pretty woman with the bright blue eyes who had just plowed into him? “Is that her over there on the stair-climber?”

Kurt nodded. “Yep. She came in alone.”

“What did you say her name was?”

“Preslee. Why? Does she look familiar?”

“Not really.” Adam watched her for a moment before his gaze lowered to her leg. He blinked. “Uh, why does she have a woman. . .