The Rival - Preview

[krischief]

THE RIVAL

Adrian Stone has spent years being the skinny, awkward kid nobody takes seriously. After a humiliating encounter with school bullies, he decides to change. The gym becomes his answer.

His mother Jennifer is determined to help.

A devoted widow who has spent more than a decade putting her son first, Jennifer joins him at Ironworks gym expecting little more than better health. Adrian, meanwhile, discovers muscle, confidence, friends, girls—and the thrill of finally becoming one of the guys.

But something unexpected happens. Jennifer begins changing too.

The woman who once hid behind loose clothes and a quiet smile discovers she enjoys lifting. Then she discovers she is good at it. Very good.

As Adrian grows increasingly confident, his pride grows with him. He begins to believe that strength is a man's domain—that women can get fit, but they can never truly compete.

Soon he is ready to claim the modeling world. Then a mysterious rival named Jenner appears. The same man keeps taking the modelling jobs that Adrian wants... and stealing his women. No one knows who Jenner really is. Adrian is about to find out the hard way who The Rival is.

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[krischief]

Excerpt from Chapter 1

Upstairs the television was already running. Harriet settled on the edge of the bed while the Xbox menu music hummed underneath. Within minutes they had fallen into the easy rhythm of years of friendship.
   Harriet played first. She was terrible. After she drove her character into a wall for the sixth time, Adrian took the controller. "Give me that."
"You're just jealous because I'm unpredictable."
"You're not unpredictable. You're incompetent."
"Same thing."
   He laughed despite himself. For a while they traded the controller and talked about everything and nothing. Eventually Harriet stretched out across the bed and stared at the ceiling.
"We need a plan."
"For what?"
"For the rest of High school. We have to survive another year before senior year saves us."
Adrian glanced at her. "What's your plan?"
"We join a gang." His thumb stopped. "What?"
"A gang. Nobody messes with gang members."
"What gang?"
Harriet thought for several seconds. "The Oak Street Dykes."
Adrian stared, then burst out laughing. Harriet joined him.
"We get matching tattoos," she said, pointing at her upper arm. "Huge ones. 'Oak Street Dykes'."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"Exactly. The bullies will be terrified."
"They'll just ask if we're lesbians."
Harriet shrugged. "Then we say yes."
Adrian was laughing hard enough to put the controller down.
"Imagine explaining that to Mom."
Harriet put on a deep voice and mimicked. "'Mom, look. Harriet and I have joined a local street organization.' 'What organization?' 'The Oak Street Dykes.'"
Adrian collapsed against the pillows. "She'd kill us."
"No, she'd ask whether the tattoos wash off."
   They laughed again. It was easy with Harriet. There was no tension, no awkward waiting for anything romantic. She was simply his friend from before everything got complicated.
   Eventually the laughter faded. Adrian picked up the controller again.
"Seriously, though. I need to get better."
"At Xbox?"
"At everything." He gestured at his thin arms and narrow chest. "Physique. Confidence. Social stuff. Whatever."
   Harriet considered him. "Then start with something you can actually control. Your body."
   Adrian's expression sharpened. "That's what I've been thinking. Join a gym. Get seriously good by senior year. Good enough that nobody looks at me and sees a skinny little kid."
Harriet sat up. "Okay. Then make a plan."
"Training. Diet. A proper program."
She watched him for a moment, then smiled. "I could train too."
"Yeah?"
"Why not. You're already going to need someone to complain to."
   Adrian's confidence lifted. "Maybe my growth spurt won't just be my bones getting longer."
---
They carried the conversation downstairs. Jennifer had prepared far more food than three people needed. Adrian complained about the vegetables. Harriet defended them. Jennifer sided with Harriet. "What if we actually make this a proper project?" Harriet asked.
"Exactly," Adrian said.
Jennifer looked between them. "What are you two planning?"
"Getting serious about fitness," Adrian said. "Making a change."
Jennifer smiled. "That's a good idea."
Harriet pointed her fork at him. "Don't get carried away. Fitness. Not turning into some giant freak."
Adrian scoffed. "Why not? Imagine all that bulky muscle on me."
Jennifer's smile stayed gentle. "There's nothing wrong with ambitious goals."
"You're actually agreeing with me? You always tell me not to overdo things."
"I tell you not to hurt yourself. That's different."
   Harriet leaned forward. "Okay, Mrs. Stone. Suppose we really wanted to level up before graduation. What would you suggest?" Jennifer answered easily. "Consistency first. Training, sleep, food. Learn what you're actually doing instead of copying whatever somebody at school tells you."
   Adrian nodded. "That's what I was thinking."
   "Then I'll help. Someone has to drive you around."
   Harriet grinned. "Look at that. We have a chauffeur."
   "I'm not a chauffeur."
   "You could be."
   Jennifer laughed softly. "Let's see how long you two last before you start complaining." Adrian pointed at Harriet. "She's the one who's going to quit." Harriet pointed straight back. "You're the one who needs a gang tattoo because you're scared of the guys at school."
"That was your idea!"
Jennifer nearly choked on her drink. "The what?"
Adrian closed his eyes. "Nothing."
Harriet leaned toward Jennifer, eyes bright. "We were going to join the Oak Street Dykes."
Jennifer stared, then started laughing. Adrian groaned.
"Great. Fantastic. This is my life now."
Jennifer wiped the corner of her eye. "Well, if you're going to do something together, I'd recommend the gym instead."
Harriet raised her glass. "To the gym."
Adrian reluctantly raised his. "To getting better."
Jennifer lifted hers last. "To both of you surprising yourselves."
Adrian didn't think much of that last part. At the time, it sounded like exactly the sort of thing his mother would say.

[krischief]

Excerpt from Chapter 2


She told herself she was being childish. She didn't say anything. Then Luke started paying attention to her. It wasn't flattering for long. She was near the water fountain on Saturday, wiping sweat from her forehead, when Luke sauntered over and leaned his heavy forearm against the wall above her head, trapping her space.
"Hey, little threat," he said, eyes dragging over her gym clothes. "You're not looking too bad over here. We should get out of this place sometime." Harriet crossed her arms and stepped back. "I'm good, Luke."
He chuckled, shifting closer. "Come on. Don't be like that. We can skip the boring dinner stuff, swing by my place, and get right to getting laid. Save us both some time." Her face went hot. "Are you serious? Get out of my face."
"Woah, calm down, feisty." Luke held his hands up mockingly and turned toward the group. "Hey, Adrian! Your little chauffeur's got a temper!"
Harriet's eyes locked on Adrian, waiting for him to say something—anything.
Adrian froze, clutching his shaker bottle. He looked at Luke's smirk, then at Greg and Mark, who were watching with amused expressions. A wave of panic washed over him. His new status, his cool friends, his escape from being the target—it all felt fragile. If he snapped at Luke he risked becoming the outsider again.
So he gave a weak, awkward chuckle and looked away. "Yeah, well... Harriet's pretty serious about her workouts," he mumbled.
Harriet stared at him. The betrayal cut deeper than anything Luke had said. The guy she had crushed on, the guy she drove at five in the morning, had thrown her under the bus to keep three meatheads happy.
She grabbed her bag and walked straight out the heavy doors. Adrian hurried after her. "What happened?" She stopped but didn't turn immediately. When she did, her voice was flat.
"I'm done."
"Done with what?"
"The gym."
"You can't be serious. We started this together."
She looked at him for a long second. "You started something. You've got your thing now."
"They're my friends."
"I know." She adjusted the strap of her bag. "I'm just not interested anymore."
"In what?"
She almost told him. Instead she gave a faint smile. "This experiment."
Then she left.
Adrian watched the doors close. For ten seconds he considered following. Then Greg called his name. "Adrian! You coming?" He looked back. The three of them were waiting. He hesitated, then turned around.
"Yeah."
---
Harriet drove home alone. The next morning Adrian texted.
ADRIAN: GYM? She didn't answer.
ADRIAN: YOU COMING? She deleted the notification.
ADRIAN: DON'T BE WEIRD ABOUT YESTERDAY
She stared at that one longer, then put the phone face-down. She had expected to feel devastated. Instead she felt lighter. She had spent months treating Adrian's confidence like something she needed to help manufacture, imagining them changing together, becoming stronger together, maybe becoming something more. Now she understood: he had never really wanted a partner. He had wanted an audience. Someone to encourage him and make him feel better without demanding much in return. Now he had three guys who could do that.
   Her gym bag sat by the door. She looked at it, then walked past it. For the first time since the whole idea started, Harriet had no desire to pick it up.
But she did eventually pick it up, but it wasn't the same anymore. The silence in Harriet's car grew heavier each morning. The engine hum and the faint glow of the dashboard lights replaced what used to be easy predawn banter.
Adrian, wrapped up in his new identity, remained oblivious. Because she had never directly confronted him about Luke, he assumed everything had blown over. In his mind she was simply tired from the early hours.
Every morning there was less to say. "Morning." "Morning."
Then at the gym. Greg, Mark, and Luke were always there now. They had effectively absorbed him. Harriet watched the transformation from farther and farther away. She began training on the opposite side of the gym. Adrian didn't care.
Then came Thursday morning. As she pulled up to a red light, Adrian turned to her, face bright with naive excitement.
"So Greg was telling me about his cousin, Jason. He lifts over at the university gym. Greg says he's looking for a chill girl to hang out with. I showed him a picture of you and he's down. I figure I can set you guys up this weekend—maybe double-date or something."
Harriet's hands tightened on the steering wheel until her knuckles went white.    It was the final, soul-crushing piece of alienation. He hadn't defended her when Luke made a sleazy pass. Now he was treating her like an inconvenience—pawning her off on some random guy to keep his place in the group. He didn't see her as a friend, let alone someone worth protecting. She was just a problem to manage.
Something inside her simply shut down.
"I can't go to Ironworks anymore," she said. Her voice was flat, calm, completely empty of emotion as the light turned green.

[krischief]

Excerpt from Chapter 3


The next morning at 5:25 AM, the SUV pulled into the gravel lot of Ironworks Gym. The chilly darkness wrapped around the building, its neon sign humming softly against the quiet industrial backdrop.
Adrian grabbed his bag, gave his mother a quick "Thanks, Mom," and hurried inside to meet Greg, Mark, and Luke.
   Jennifer pulled the SUV into a parking spot, adjusted her oversized cardigan over her frumpy, 165-pound frame, and took a deep, steadying breath. Wrapping her coat tightly around herself, she pushed open the car door and walked into the crisp morning air, the faint, sweet scent of her floral perfume trailing behind her.
   She pushed through the heavy glass entrance of Ironworks Gym, instantly greeted by the dull thud of heavy iron plates hitting rubber floors.
   Clutching her purse nervously, she walked up to the front counter to request the refund. Expecting some burly, intimidating meathead behind the desk, Jennifer stopped in her tracks.
   Standing at the reception counter was a stunning female trainer. She was tall, radiant, and possessed an effortlessly toned, sculpted physique that practically glowed under the fluorescent lights. She wore a fitted gym polo that emphasized her posture, her hair pulled back into a neat, stylish ponytail. If anything, standing amid all these fit young people made her suddenly aware of her own body in a way she hadn't expected.
As Jennifer approached, the trainer looked up, her face lighting up with a warm, brilliant, and deeply charming smile.
"Good morning!" the trainer said, her voice warm, energetic, and completely welcoming. "Welcome to Ironworks! How can I help you today?"
   Jennifer blinked, her own meek, timid smile faltering slightly as she stood before the striking woman, clutching the membership receipt in her soft hands. "I need to see if I could maybe get a refund on a membership?", asked Jennifer.
   Melissa, whose nametag read Melissa - Head Trainer, returned a few minutes later holding a crisp printout of the registration contract.
   "I looked into the account for you, Mrs. Stone," Melissa said, her tone dripping with polished, professional warmth. "Unfortunately, our annual plans are strictly non-refundable once activated. However, the contract does allow you to either issue a transferable gift card for the remaining value... or simply transfer the name on the membership to someone else."
   Jennifer's face fell, a blank, bewildered look settling over her soft features. "Oh... a gift card? But I don't... I don't know who else would use it."
   Melissa's sharp, observant eyes took in everything: the oversized cardigan, the frumpy, 165-pound frame, the soft hands clutching the purse, and the way Jennifer's eyes darted nervously toward the heavy doors of the weight room. Sensing an opportunity, Melissa's smile widened into something effortlessly charming.
   "Well, since you're already here waiting for your son everyday, why don't you let me show you around?" Melissa suggested, stepping out from behind the counter. "You've got the time, right? Come on, it'll only take five minutes."
   Before Jennifer could stammer out an polite excuse, Melissa was already leading the way through the double doors.
   Walking behind the trainer, Jennifer couldn't help but stare. Melissa was a walking masterclass in physical fitness—her waist was impossibly tight, her glutes sculpted, and her toned, defined arms moved with effortless grace inside her polo shirt. The contrast was brutal. Standing at five-foot-ten-and-a-half, Jennifer had never felt more clumsy or oversized.
   As Melissa purposefully guided her through the expansive facility, Jennifer looked around at the members. There were men and women of all shapes and sizes, but every single one of them possessed a baseline of fitness, focus, and vitality. They were sweating, pushing through tough reps, and looking alive.
   Melissa spoke directly to Jennifer, her voice soft yet persuasive, addressing every single unspoken fear and inhibition floating in Jennifer's head.
   "A lot of women our age think lifting weights is just for young guys or hardcore athletes," Melissa said smoothly, gesturing to a woman in her late forties crisply performing lat pulldowns. "But really, it's about bone density, boosting your metabolism, and having the energy to glide through your day without feeling exhausted. It completely changes how you feel in your own skin."
   As Melissa talked, Jennifer subconsciously crossed her arms over her chest. Her hand drifted down to her stomach, her fingers lightly pressing into her soft paunch, before sliding up to pinch the loose, flabby skin under her upper arm. She felt intensely self-conscious, a deep, long-dormant awareness of her own physical decline washing over her.
   By the time they looped back to the reception desk, the trap was set—and Jennifer had walked right into it.
   "Instead of letting that money go to waste on a gift card..." Melissa smiled, sliding a pen across the counter, "...why don't we just put your name on the locker key?"
   Jennifer took the pen with trembling, soft fingers and signed her name.
   An hour later, the gym doors swung open and Adrian walked out, sweaty, laughing, and high-fiving Greg one last time before trotting over to the SUV. He hopped into the passenger seat, dumping his gym bag on the floorboards.
   "Alright, Mom, ready to go," Adrian said, wiping his forehead with a towel. "Did you manage to get that refund from the desk?"
   Jennifer started the engine, her hands gripping the leather steering wheel tightly as the sweet, floral scent of her perfume filled the warm cabin.
   "Actually, sweetie..." Jennifer began, her voice hesitant, a nervous flush creeping up her neck. "They don't give refunds on annual memberships. So... I decided to transfer Harriet's file into my name. I'm going to start working out here with you."
   Adrian froze, his head snapping toward her. For a split second, a look of pure, electric relief washed across his face.
He had a ride.
   His gym routine was saved. He wouldn't have to take the bus, wouldn't have to walk in the cold, and wouldn't lose his new clique.
   "Oh! Wow, Mom, that's... that's awesome!" Adrian said, a wide, enthusiastic grin breaking out on his face. How incredibly thoughtful of her! "Honestly, that's great for you. It's about time you got out of the house, you know? Meet some new people, get a little active instead of just staying home all day."

[krischief]

As she folded his laundry one afternoon, staring at a calendar marked with a red circle, an idea took shape. On his eighteenth birthday she invited Harriet over, thinking the gesture might matter. Adrian looked at himself in the kitchen mirror, offered his mother a distracted compliment on her weight loss, then dismissed the idea of Harriet outright.
"Harriet? Come on, Mom. She's a total Plain Jane. I'm eighteen now, hitting the gym hard—I want a girl who actually matches my level. Someone hotter. Harriet's fine as a friend, but that's it."
Jennifer's expression hardened. "Adrian, that's unkind. Harriet is a sweet, genuine girl who has cared about you for years. You shouldn't be so quick to dismiss people who actually stand by you."

Adrian just shrugged, grabbed his keys, and left. "Whatever. Tell her I had places to be. The guys are waiting."
When Harriet arrived with a gift and learned he was gone, the disappointment hit hard. Jennifer pulled her into a hug. Harriet's hands, pressed against Jennifer's back and waist, found firmness instead of the soft yield she expected. She pulled back, eyes wide.
"Wow... Mrs. Stone. You feel really fit. Is that a six-pack under your top?"
Jennifer smoothed her shirt, a faint flush rising. "Adrian thinks it's getting to be a bit much. He told me muscles on a woman might scare people off. Suggested I not overdo it."
Harriet's reaction was immediate and protective. "That's ridiculous! If it makes you happy and makes you feel good, you should absolutely keep working out. You look incredible!"
Jennifer rested her hands on the girl's shoulders. "Then stop chasing a boy who doesn't see what's in front of him. Work on yourself—for you, not for him. Dress up, feel confident. The next time he looks at you I want him to realize what he walked past." Harriet left with her head higher than when she arrived. Jennifer stood in the doorway watching her go, arms crossed.
---
Jennifer stood alone in the locker room one evening after everyone else had left. She looked at herself properly. In twelve months Adrian had added roughly twenty-five pounds and turned into a louder, messier, more self-regarding version of the boy she had driven to the gym. She had lost a similar amount, but the result was different—leaner, tighter, the beginnings of clean athletic lines that could, with more work, look like a model's base. She turned sideways, noted the sharper waist and the quiet strength in her shoulders, and felt no urge to announce any of it.

[krischief]

Leo lay asleep in her bed, still heavy with post-sex drowsiness. Jennifer sat at her computer, scrolling through pictures of professional fitness models and female bodybuilders. Where she had once looked at the dense, heavily muscled female physiques with a polite distance, she now studied them with intense, almost intoxicating admiration.
She glanced down at herself. The heat in her loins was still pulsing. She liked the vascularity spreading across her shoulders. She loved the hard, deep separation in her quads and the broad, tapering strength of her lats. With her body changing so rapidly, the internal shift had taken on a sharper, more focused edge.
She had become acutely aware of her changing intimate anatomy. The elevated androgens had caused her clitoris to enlarge—a direct, undeniable transformation. At first it had been only a slight presence. Lisa had told her, almost casually, "It will get a whole lot bigger." Jennifer had been sceptical. Now it was clearly visible, sensitive, and impossible to ignore.
She loved the heightened, intense sexual pleasure it brought. For a long time the change had made her cautious, keeping private encounters carefully controlled and on her terms. That caution had faded. She had begun to take open pleasure in it.
She walked to the bed and roused Leo. "Come on, stud. Let's go." She made him lie flat, then slowly settled over his face, positioning her clit against his mouth.
"Hnnn... yes, Leo... suck harder. Come on, give me more..."
Leo almost gagged at the pressure of her weight on him but he applied himself to the task. Jennifer closed her eyes in ecstasy. As she rode her orgasmic high, she felt Leo drift back to sleep.
Jennifer rose from the bed and went to wash up. She looked at her phone and saw the message from Laura.
'Stay back after our workout? Maybe catch a drink?'
She stared at it for a second, then went about her day. Twenty years as a concierge had made the work feel light now, almost easy. By mid-afternoon she typed back:
'Sure. Today's arms and abs. Everyone coming?'
The reply came quickly.
'Arms and abs, yes. But it'll just be you and me afterwards.'
Jennifer considered, then sent: 'Ok. Maybe have a refeed while we talk?'
'You are such a nerd. Sure. See you at the gym.'

[krischief]

Jennifer's professional life went from serene to sublime.
She was in the hallway by the coffee machine with her colleagues when Sarah spoke up, eyes fixed on the way Jennifer's sleeves stretched. "Come on, Jennifer, you gotta be as strong as Hartman over there by now. Your sleeves are packed."
As the group turned, one of the men muttered under his breath, loud enough to carry: "Jesus, look at her." Jennifer's longtime boss, Mr. Hale, walked through the open office with a clipboard. "Sarah, Lena, Jennifer. You two as well," he said to the two younger men. "Lobby lounge. Now! The Colman Gala reception starts in under two hours and the movers are late."
As the group moved downstairs, Lena's voice carried just enough.
"She's looking different, really big lately. Look at those shoulders... and her arms."
Hartman gave a short, tight laugh. "Different is one word. She's starting to look like she belongs in a dockyard, not behind a desk. Those traps are ridiculous."
Jennifer heard every word. She kept her mind calm and her posture open. The tailored blouse was already losing the fight—stretched tight across the thick, rounded cannonball caps of her delts, the dense, armored width of her upper back, and the hard, flaring sweep of her lats. Every small movement made the fabric pull and shift, clearly outlining the deep separation between shoulder and tricep, the heavy horseshoe of muscle along the back of her arm, and the thick, corded traps that rose from her collarbones like living cables.
"Thanks," she said to Sarah, calm and low. Then, with a crooked little smile to Lena: "I'll take that as a compliment."
In the lobby the angry client stood with arms crossed, face hard. "How much longer am I supposed to stand here? Mr. Hale, this is unacceptable. I don't pay you the big bucks to be lazy."
Mr. Hale started to explain. Jennifer didn't wait for instruction.
She caught the eyes of the two men, gave a short, authoritative nod toward the heavy console tables, then walked over, set her feet, and lifted. The thick slab of wood and stone rose cleanly in her hands as if it weighed nothing. Her arms—corded, heavily vascular, still carrying a deep post-workout pump—took the load without a single tremor. Thick veins snaked from the peak of her biceps down across her dense forearms like dark ropes under taut skin. The blouse strained hard across her back; her lats flared wide enough to threaten the seams, creating a dramatic V that no amount of tailoring could hide. Her shoulders looked almost brutal under the thin fabric—massive, rounded delts shifting and swelling with every controlled step, the muscle so full it seemed to roll beneath the cloth. She carried the table into position and set it down with precise, effortless power. Then she turned and went straight for the next one.
One of the men, struggling with another table alongside his friend, muttered, "Show-off." The other let out a low, unsettled sound but still grabbed the opposite end.
Mr. Hale stared. The client had gone completely still, eyes locked on the living anatomy moving under Jennifer's clothes—the thick, vascular arms, the wide, dense back, the way her midsection stayed tight, ribbed, and armored even under heavy load. Every contraction was visible: the deep split of her triceps, the hard peak of her biceps pressing against the sleeve, the heavy slabs of muscle that made her look more powerful than any of the men in the room.
"Jennifer," Mr. Hale said, voice rough with surprise. "That was... impressive. I didn't realize you were that strong."
She only nodded and moved to the heavy lounge chairs. Each lift made the muscle in her arms and back swell and tighten in clear, erotic detail. Her biceps peaked hard and high against the stretched fabric. The thick, striated sweep of her shoulders and the deep, shadowed valley of her spinal erectors showed through the thin blouse every time she bent and rose. The dense, powerful glutes and swept hamstrings flexed visibly beneath her fitted trousers with every step. Sarah and Lena finally stepped in, carrying the lighter cases and floral arrangements, both of them glancing repeatedly—almost helplessly—at the dense, overwhelming body directing the room: the vascular arms, the heavy delts, the unmistakable, masculine V-taper that no blouse could contain anymore.
The client never spoke again. He simply watched her—watched the thick, shifting muscle, the calm authority, the quiet flex and release of raw power as she placed every piece exactly where it belonged.
When the real movers finally arrived, the core of the lounge was already finished. Mr. Hale exhaled, openly relieved.
"Excellent work. All of you. Jennifer—especially you. That strength came in handy today." His gaze dropped and lingered, tracing the heavy, swollen shape of her arms, the way her blouse still clung wetly to the dense muscle of her shoulders and back, the obvious, almost aggressive density that had just moved furniture most of the men would have struggled with. "That strength of yours... those muscles... they really made the difference."
Jennifer wiped her hands on a cloth, rolled one thick, vascular shoulder in a slow, deliberate motion that made the muscle rise and shift under the fabric, and gave a small, private smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Just getting it done, Sir."

[krischief]

Belinda smiled faintly. There was something unexpectedly wholesome about that. She reached for the glass jug sitting on the dining table and poured herself a drink.
Just as the water reached the rim of the glass— Thud.
A heavy, solid impact echoed from somewhere beyond the house. Belinda paused. Another scrape.
Then the unmistakable sound of something massive being dragged across stone. Curiosity got the better of her.
Glass in hand, she drifted toward the wide sliding doors overlooking the backyard, intending to call out a quick hello to Jennifer.
She reached the doorway... ...and stopped in her tracks at what she saw.
Instinct took over before thought did.
Belinda ducked back behind the wall beside the sliding doors, her pulse quickening. She waited a heartbeat, and then cautiously leaned out just enough to peer around the corner without being seen.
Someone was in the backyard. A large figure stood with their back to the house, bundled inside an oversized grey tracksuit. Even beneath the loose fabric, the breadth of the shoulders and the thick, a deliberate gait struck her as unmistakably masculine. Whoever it was appeared to be studying something resting near the newly laid stonework.
Belinda narrowed her eyes. It looked like... a giant iron bowl. No... She searched for the word. A fire pit.
One of those enormous cast-iron bowls people mounted into outdoor barbecue pits. She stayed perfectly still, hoping she wasn't discovered yet.
The figure casually dusted off their hands, took a slow breath and stepped closer to it.
Without hesitation, the person sank into a deep, wide squat. Both forearms disappeared beneath the curved underside of the heavy cast-iron bowl as broad palms searched for purchase.
Then came the lift. A low, strained groan escaped the figure as every ounce of effort went into the movement. The fire pit didn't leap into the air. It rose painfully slowly.
The entire body trembled under the impossible weight. Thick legs shook. The broad back tightened beneath the sweatshirt until every movement beneath the fabric became visible.
Belinda found herself holding her breath. The figure strained harder and harder. 'Who... is that?'
Something about the back of the head... The haircut... It felt strangely familiar. The groan deepened. The bowl lifted another inch.
Then— Rrrrip.
The sound cut cleanly across the backyard. The sweatshirt split straight down the middle of the back. For a brief instant Belinda saw sweat-slick skin gleaming through the widening tear as the fabric stretched to its absolute limit.
The figure fought for another second. The bowl shifted... Hovered... Then settled heavily back onto the stone with a dull metallic thud.
The figure stood upright, breathing hard, drawing in huge lungfuls of air before slowly flexing and relaxing tired fingers and forearms.
They reached behind their shoulders. Their fingers found the torn fabric. "Oh great," came the voice with an exasperated sigh.
"Another one this month." As though this happened all the time.
Without another thought, both hands reached overhead, seized the ruined sweatshirt by the shoulders and pulled.
The already-split garment gave way instantly with one powerful motion tearing completely apart, strips of cloth flying loose while stubborn pieces clung briefly to the upper arms before dropping to the ground.
Belinda's eyes widened.