When My Hot Trainer Caught Me Doing Squats Wrong

"Your form is completely wrong," Jack's warm breath tickled my ear as he stood behind me in the empty locker room. His hands rested on my waist, supposedly adjusting my posture.

I froze. This wasn't supposed to happen. As a rookie trainer at Elite Fitness, I should've known better than to practice squats alone at midnight. But here I was, with the legendary Jack Harrison — voted "Hottest Trainer Alive" three years running — pressing against my back.

"Anna, you need to keep your core tight," he whispered, his fingers pressing into my abs. I could smell his mint breath and expensive cologne.

"I know how to do squats," I muttered, trying to maintain my professional dignity while my heart raced like I'd just done a HIIT session.

"Really?" He chuckled. "Is that why you were wobbling like a drunk penguin?"

Before I could defend my penguin impression, the locker room door burst open. In walked James, our new Brazilian dance instructor, wearing nothing but a towel and a shocked expression.

"Oops! Sorry to interrupt the private lesson!" James wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

I jumped away from Jack like he was on fire. "This isn't- We weren't-"

"Just helping with form," Jack said smoothly, but I noticed his ears turning red.

"Sure, sure," James grinned. "That's why you're both in the men's locker room at midnight?"

My stomach dropped. Men's locker room? I looked around properly for the first time. The room was identical to the women's, except for the distinct lack of motivational quotes about "goddess energy" and the overwhelming scent of testosterone.

"Oh god," I squeaked, spotting a urinal in the corner. "Oh god, oh god."

"Rookie mistake," Jack smirked. "The women's locker room is the one with the pink door handle."

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" I hissed at him.

"And miss this entertainment? Never." His blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

James cleared his throat. "Should I come back later? Or maybe get some popcorn?"

"No need," I said quickly, edging toward the door. "I was just leaving. To die of embarrassment. Somewhere else."

"Wait," Jack called out. "Don't forget your phone."

I turned back to see him holding my phone, which I'd left on the bench. As I reached for it, he pulled it away playfully.

"Give it back!" I jumped for it, but he held it higher, using his unfair height advantage.

"What's the magic word?"

"Now, before I knee you where it hurts?"

James burst out laughing. "She's feisty, Jack. I like her."

Just then, my phone started ringing — with my extremely embarrassing ringtone of "I'm Too Sexy" blasting through the locker room.

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "Interesting choice of ringtone for a professional trainer."

"It's… ironic," I mumbled, finally snatching my phone. It was a text from Sarah, our receptionist and resident gossip queen.

"OMG!!! Emergency!!! Check the gym's Instagram!!!"

I opened Instagram, and my heart stopped. Someone had posted a video of me earlier that day, attempting to demonstrate a new dance workout to a client. Instead of the sexy salsa moves I thought I was doing, I looked like a malfunctioning robot having a seizure.

The caption read: "When you lie on your resume about being a dance instructor 😂 #GymFail #HiringStandards?"

The video already had thousands of views and comments.

"Is that you?" James peered over my shoulder. "Ay caramba! That's not salsa, that's… I don't know what that is!"

"Delete it!" I demanded, shoving my phone at Jack. "You're the social media manager, delete it now!"

"Can't," he shrugged. "It's not on our official account. Someone posted it from a personal account."

"Then find out who did it!"

"Oh, I know who did it," Jack's smile turned wicked. "It was me."

I stared at him in horror. "You… what?"

"Consider it payback for last week when you 'accidentally' set the treadmill to maximum speed while I was showing off to the new clients."

"That was an accident!"

"Sure it was," he winked. "Just like you 'accidentally' walked into the men's locker room tonight?"

James looked between us like he was watching a tennis match. "The sexual tension here is thicker than my protein shake."

"There is no tension!" We both shouted at the same time.

"Right," James adjusted his towel. "And I'm not devastatingly handsome. Keep telling yourselves that."

I pointed at Jack. "This means war, Harrison."

"Bring it on, Roberts," he grinned. "But remember, I have more embarrassing videos of you. Like that time you got stuck in the foam roller…"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

Just then, Sarah burst into the locker room, her eyes wild. "Anna! There you are! We have a huge problem!"

"Bigger than me being in the men's locker room?"

"Way bigger! Remember that celebrity client you're supposed to start training tomorrow?"

"Yeah, the mysterious one who booked under a fake name?"

Sarah nodded frantically. "Well, I just found out who it is. It's Jack's ex-girlfriend. The famous Instagram model."

The room went silent. Jack's playful smile vanished.

"The one who dumped you on live television?" James whistled. "Damn."

I looked at Jack, then at my phone with the embarrassing video, then back at Jack.

"Delete the video," I said slowly, "and I'll switch clients with you."

"No," Jack's eyes narrowed. "I have a better idea. You're going to train her… and I'm going to help you make her regret every squat."

Sarah squealed. "This is better than my telenovelas!"

I should've said no. I should've maintained professional boundaries. I should've remembered the gym's strict policy about trainer relationships.

Instead, I heard myself say, "Deal."

James slow-clapped. "Magnificent! Now, can everyone please leave? I actually need to shower."

As we filed out of the locker room, Jack caught my arm. "By the way, your squat form really was terrible."

"Your face is terrible," I retorted maturely.

"That's not what you wrote in your diary."

I froze. "What diary?"

"The one you left in the staff room last week. 'Dear Diary, Jack's arms are like sculpted marble…'"

"I never wrote that!"

"No," he grinned. "But your face just confirmed what I suspected."

I opened my mouth to respond, but Sarah interrupted again.

"Anna! One more thing! The celebrity client? She's bringing her camera crew. They're filming a reality show called 'Gym Romance: Training in Love.'"

Jack and I looked at each other in horror.

"Still want to make her regret every squat?" I asked weakly.

"Oh, now more than ever," he smirked. "Hope you're ready to be famous, Roberts."

Famous for what, I was afraid to ask. But something told me I was about to find out.

"And we're rolling in three, two, one…" The director waved his hand dramatically.

I stood in the middle of Elite Fitness, surrounded by cameras and lights, trying not to sweat through my new moisture-wicking top. Jack's ex-girlfriend, Victoria "Call me Vicky" Stone, posed on the treadmill like it was a Paris runway.

"So, Anna," Vicky flipped her perfect hair, "Jack tells me you're his best trainer."

I shot Jack a look. He stood behind the cameras, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Actually-" I started.

"Cut!" The director, a tiny man named Boris with a megaphone bigger than his head, shouted. "More drama! More tension! I want to feel the rivalry!"

"There is no rivalry," I said.

"Darling," Boris sighed, "There's always rivalry when a gorgeous ex-girlfriend meets the new… trainer." He winked at Jack.

"We're not-" Jack and I spoke simultaneously, then stopped.

"Perfect!" Boris clapped. "That sexual tension! Keep it! Rolling again!"

Vicky adjusted her designer workout gear. "Let's start with something simple. I usually do advanced pole dancing, but we can begin with basic squats."

"Great idea," I smiled sweetly. "Jack mentioned you're excellent at squats. Especially the time you fell off the platform in front of those fashion photographers."

Jack choked on his protein shake.

Vicky's perfect smile tightened. "That video was deleted."

"Oh, really?" I pulled out my phone. "Because someone sent me this interesting compilation…"

"Cut!" Boris jumped between us. "Save it for the camera! Now, let's see some actual training!"

I guided Vicky to the squat rack, very aware of the cameras following our every move. Jack had positioned himself directly in my line of sight, making faces every time I tried to demonstrate proper form.

"Remember to keep your core tight," I said, trying to ignore him.

"Like this?" Vicky stuck out her bottom in a pose that belonged in a music video.

"No, like-" I demonstrated the correct form.

"Oh honey," Vicky laughed, "You're doing it all wrong. Let me show you how a professional does it."

She grabbed a 20kg barbell — without warming up — and attempted a squat. The bar wobbled dangerously.

"Careful!" I stepped forward.

Too late. Vicky lost her balance, the barbell tipped, and she stumbled backward — right into the cable machine where James was filming his new workout video.

"My beautiful face!" James dived out of the way.

The weights crashed down like dominoes. The cable machine swung wildly, catching one of the camera crew's boom microphones. The microphone flew across the gym, knocking over Sarah's precious protein shake collection at the front desk.

"My limited edition flavors!" Sarah screamed.

The protein powder created a multicolored cloud that set off the gym's fire sprinklers.

"My hair!" Vicky shrieked as the sprinklers drenched everyone.

"My equipment!" Boris wailed, trying to cover his cameras.

Through the chaos, I spotted Jack doubled over with laughter, his phone recording everything.

"Don't you dare post that!" I shouted.

"Too late!" He waved his phone. "It's already live on our Instagram!"

"Cut! Cut! Cut!" Boris was jumping up and down. "This is perfect! The drama! The chaos! The sexual tension!"

"There is no sexual tension!" Vicky, Jack, and I yelled simultaneously.

"That's what makes it perfect!" Boris hugged his megaphone. "We're changing the show's format. Forget 'Training in Love' — this is now 'Gym Wars: Battle of the Trainers'!"

"What?" I wiped protein powder from my face.

"Yes!" Boris was practically dancing. "Each episode, two trainers compete for clients! The loser has to do a forfeit! It's brilliant!"

"I didn't sign up for this," I protested.

"Actually," Sarah piped up, still mourning her protein shakes, "You did. Remember that stack of papers you signed yesterday?"

"I thought those were equipment requisition forms!"

"Always read the fine print, Roberts," Jack smirked.

"You knew about this?" I accused.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "Maybe I also knew about Vicky's terrible balance and the faulty cable machine."

"You planned this?"

"Revenge is a dish best served with protein powder."

Vicky stood up, dripping wet and multicolored. "Jack Harrison, you are the most immature, unprofessional-"

"Save it for the camera!" Boris interrupted. "In fact, let's film the first challenge right now! Jack versus Anna in a trainer-off!"

"A what?" I asked.

"Simple! You each get one hour to transform a complete gym newbie into a fitness pro! Winner gets the prime training slot and loser…" Boris grinned evilly, "has to clean the men's locker room. With a toothbrush."

"I'm not doing that," I said firmly.

"The winner also gets to delete any embarrassing videos of their choice from the gym's social media," Jack added.

I thought about my robot dance video, still circulating online. "Fine. Bring it on."

"Excellent!" Boris clapped. "Oh, and one more thing — your gym newbies are here!"

The gym doors opened. My jaw dropped.

"No way," Jack whispered.

Walking in were two identical twins, both wearing matching neon spandex and carrying identical pink dumbbells.

"Meet Tiffany and Brittany!" Boris announced. "They're social media influencers specializing in… interpretive yoga!"

"What's interpretive yoga?" I asked weakly.

The twins immediately dropped into synchronized splits while making bird noises.

"That's interpretive yoga," Jack said. "Good luck, Roberts."

"Wait," I grabbed his arm. "How do we decide who trains who?"

"Oh, that's the best part!" Boris pulled out a giant wheel of fortune. "They'll spin for their trainer!"

As the twins approached the wheel, giggling and still making bird noises, I noticed something else — they were wearing t-shirts with Jack's face on them.

"Is that merchandise from your fitness app?" I hissed at Jack.

"Maybe," he grinned. "Did I mention they're my biggest fans?"

The wheel began to spin. I watched my dignity and social media reputation hang in the balance, all while covered in protein powder and standing in a puddle.

"This means war, Harrison," I muttered.

"Bring it, Roberts," he whispered back. "By the way, you've got some protein powder on your…"

He reached out and wiped a spot off my nose. The cameras immediately swung toward us, and Boris squealed with delight.

"The tension! The romance! The protein-covered passion!"

"There is no romance!" We shouted together.

The wheel slowly came to a stop. The twins squealed in perfect harmony.

And that's when the gym's front window shattered as a massive billboard from the construction site next door came crashing through, carrying a very familiar message:

"COMING SOON: JACK HARRISON'S NEW RIVAL GYM — DIRECTLY OPPOSITE ELITE FITNESS"

The silence was broken only by Boris's ecstatic whisper: "This is going to be ratings gold!"

The wheel's pointer landed exactly between the twins' names.

"Plot twist!" Boris screamed into his megaphone. "You'll have to train them together!"

"That's not fair!" I protested, still picking glass from the broken window out of my hair.

"Life isn't fair, darling," Jack smirked, then turned to the twins. "Ladies, shall we begin?"

"Oh. My. God." Tiffany (or was it Brittany?) squealed. "He spoke to us!"

"I'm literally dying!" The other twin fanned herself with a pink dumbbell.

"Please don't," I muttered. "The paperwork would be horrible."

Boris bounced around like a caffeinated chihuahua. "Perfect! The challenge starts now! One hour to transform these lovely ladies into fitness pros!"

"Wait," I grabbed Jack's arm. "What about your new gym announcement?"

"Oh, that?" He glanced at the fallen billboard. "Just a small side project."

"Small? It's literally across the street!"

"Exactly. I'll be able to watch you fail at squats from my office window."

Before I could respond, the twins launched into their interpretive yoga routine — which apparently involved pretending to be flamingos having an existential crisis.

"Focus!" Boris shouted. "Show us your training techniques!"

Jack immediately went into his signature charm mode. "Ladies, let's start with some basic stretches."

"Everything you do is basic," I couldn't help saying.

"Unlike your dance moves?" He shot back.

The twins gasped in perfect synchronization. "Are you two flirting?"

"No!" We shouted together.

"They totally are," Sarah stage-whispered to James, who was still filming everything on his phone.

"First," I announced loudly, "we need to assess your fitness levels. Show me a proper push-up."

The twins looked at each other, then dropped to the floor — still in perfect sync — and began doing what looked like a cross between a push-up and a contemporary dance routine.

"What are they doing?" James asked, zooming in with his camera.

"That's our signature move!" Tiffany (probably) explained. "The Butterfly-Emerging-From-Cocoon Push-up!"

"We have 2 million views on TikTok!" Brittany (maybe) added.

Jack caught my eye. "Still feeling confident about winning?"

"Watch and learn, Harrison." I turned to the twins. "Girls, let's try something different. Basic squats."

"Oh, we don't do basic," they said in unison. "We only do interpretive exercises."

"What's an interpretive squat?" I asked, immediately regretting the question.

They demonstrated — a move that involved spinning in circles while slowly bending their knees and making whale noises.

"This is going great," Jack whispered in my ear. "Really professional."

"Shut up," I hissed back. "At least they're moving."

"Moving? They look like drunk ballerinas at an aquarium."

Boris was practically dancing with joy. "The tension! The competition! The… what are those noises?"

The twins had progressed to their "Advanced Moon Goddess Lunge Sequence," which involved even more animal sounds.

"Okay, new plan!" I clapped my hands. "Let's try the weight machines!"

"Wait," Jack grabbed my shoulder. "Remember what happened last time someone untrained used the cable machine?"

We both looked at the protein powder-covered disaster zone where Vicky had fallen earlier.

"Fine," I conceded. "What's your brilliant idea?"

Jack turned to the twins with his award-winning smile. "Ladies, how about we create a new workout? Something that combines your… unique style with proper form?"

The twins squealed so high that the remaining windows rattled.

"He wants to create a workout with us!" 

"This is better than our crystal healing yoga session!"

"I'm literally dying again!"

"Nobody is dying in my gym!" Sarah shouted from behind her ruined protein shake display.

For the next forty-five minutes, we attempted to teach the twins actual exercises while they insisted on adding their "artistic interpretation" to everything.

Jumping jacks became "Butterflies Migration to the Moon."

Lunges turned into "Mermaids Learning to Walk."

And burpees… well, I still don't know what they were trying to channel with those noises.

"Time check!" Boris announced. "Fifteen minutes left!"

"They haven't done a single proper exercise," I whispered to Jack.

"No," he agreed, "but they've given us enough content for a whole season of blooper reels."

Suddenly, one of the twins gasped. "Oh no! We forgot our pre-workout ritual!"

"The Crystal Energy Alignment!" the other twin cried.

Before anyone could stop them, they pulled out massive crystals from their gym bags and began placing them in a circle.

"What are they doing?" I asked Jack.

"Creating a sacred fitness space," he replied, trying not to laugh. "Obviously."

The twins started chanting and dancing around their crystal circle, their matching neon spandex creating a strobe effect under the gym lights.

"This is gold!" Boris was practically crying with joy. "Pure reality TV gold!"

That's when things went wrong. Really wrong.

The twins' dance became more energetic, their circles wider. They spun closer and closer to Sarah's rebuilt protein shake display.

"Watch out for the-" I started.

Too late. They crashed into the display, sending protein powder flying everywhere again. But this time, something was different.

"My eyes!" James screamed. "It burns!"

"What kind of protein powder is this?" Jack grabbed a fallen container.

Sarah snatched it away. "It's not protein powder! It's my secret pre-workout formula! I've been developing it in the staff room!"

"You've been making illegal supplements in our break room?" I stared at her.

"Not illegal! Just… unauthorized. And slightly explosive when mixed with sweat."

The twins, covered in the powder, began to glow. Actually glow.

"Oh my god," they said in unison. "We're becoming one with the universe!"

"Cut! Cut! Cut!" Boris was ecstatic. "This is even better than the rivalry plot!"

Jack turned to me. "So, who wins the challenge?"

"Seriously? That's what you're worried about?"

"Well, someone has to clean the men's locker room with a toothbrush."

Before I could respond, the gym's front door opened. A man in an expensive suit walked in, surveying the chaos — the glowing twins, the crystal circle, the protein powder destruction, and the broken window.

"Mr. Chen!" Sarah squeaked. "The gym owner! He's back early from his meditation retreat!"

Mr. Chen looked at the disaster zone that was his gym, then at the billboard advertising Jack's rival gym, then at the twins who were now attempting to commune with their crystals while glowing like radioactive flamingos.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by another crash. The construction workers next door had accidentally sent a second billboard through our remaining windows.

This one read: "ELITE FITNESS IS BEING CONVERTED INTO A CAT CAFE — COMING SOON!"

"Surprise?" Sarah said weakly.

Mr. Chen smiled. Actually smiled. "Perfect timing! I was just coming to tell you all about my new business venture. I'm selling the gym… to become a professional cat yoga instructor."

The twins stopped glowing long enough to gasp. "Cat yoga is our specialty!"

Jack and I looked at each other, then at the chaos around us, then at our possibly insane boss.

"So," Jack said slowly, "about that rival gym…"

"Don't even think about it, Harrison," I grabbed his arm. "We're in this mess together."

"Does this mean you'll help me clean the men's locker room?"

"Not a chance."

Boris's voice cut through the chaos: "This is perfect! Season two: Battle of the Cat Cafes!"

"Welcome to the first-ever Fitness vs Felines Championship!" Boris's voice boomed through his beloved megaphone.

Elite Fitness had been transformed overnight. Half the gym was still covered in protein powder and broken glass, while the other half had become a makeshift cat paradise, complete with climbing frames and scratching posts.

"This is ridiculous," I muttered, watching Mr. Chen arrange crystal healing stones around a particularly fat orange tabby.

"More ridiculous than the twins' interpretive burpees?" Jack asked, dodging a flying yoga mat as the twins warmed up with their "Cosmic Cat Connection" routine.

"Speaking of ridiculous," I turned to him, "your rival gym billboard just fell on someone's luxury car."

"That's because it was a fake," Jack grinned. "I just wanted to see your reaction."

"You what?"

"Got you good, didn't I?"

Before I could strangle him with a resistance band, Sarah rushed over, still glowing slightly from her experimental pre-workout powder.

"Guys! Emergency! The cats are high on my protein formula!"

We turned to see several cats doing perfect human push-ups while meowing the theme from Rocky.

"That's… actually impressive," Jack admitted.

"Forget the cats!" Boris danced around with his camera crew. "Look at the ratings! We're trending worldwide!"

The twins, now wearing cat-ear headbands and LED-embedded leggings, cartwheeled past us. "The universe has aligned! We're going to perform our ultimate routine!"

"Ultimate what?" I asked.

"The Feline Fitness Fusion!" They spoke in unison, their neon outfits nearly blinding me. "A combination of interpretive yoga, cat meditation, and CrossFit!"

Mr. Chen clapped his hands. "Perfect! This will be the grand finale! The winner gets to decide the fate of Elite Fitness!"

"But what about-" I started.

"Quiet!" Boris shushed everyone. "We're live in three, two, one…"

The twins began their routine. It started normally enough (by their standards) — just some light levitating and whale sounds. Then they brought out the props.

"Are those… laser pointers?" Jack whispered.

The twins pointed the lasers at the walls, sending twenty highly caffeinated cats into a frenzy. The cats, still under the influence of Sarah's formula, began performing perfect gymnastics routines.

"This is amazing!" Boris was crying tears of joy. "The drama! The athleticism! The… wait, why are the cats glowing?"

Sarah's experimental powder had created a domino effect. The cats, now literally glowing in the dark, were teaching the twins new yoga poses. The twins, in turn, were teaching the cats interpretive dance.

"Should we stop this?" I asked Jack.

"Are you kidding? This is the best entertainment I've seen since your robot dance video!"

Suddenly, Vicky burst through the door, followed by her own camera crew.

"Stop everything! I have an announcement!"

"Not now!" Boris waved her away. "We're in the middle of a cat-fitness revolution!"

"But I'm pregnant!" Vicky declared dramatically.

Everyone froze. Even the glowing cats stopped mid-backflip.

"And the father," she pointed at Jack, "is…"

"Please don't say it's me," Jack muttered.

"…my new yoga instructor, who I met at a silent disco meditation retreat!"

The collective sigh of relief was interrupted by Mr. Chen's excited squeal.

"Silent disco meditation? That's my other passion project!"

The twins immediately dropped their laser pointers. "We love silent disco!"

The cats, seizing their opportunity, grabbed the laser pointers with their paws and began conducting an impromptu light show.

"This is even better than cat yoga!" Mr. Chen was ecstatic. "We'll combine everything! A silent disco cat yoga meditation fitness center!"

"With interpretive CrossFit!" The twins added.

"And my special supplements!" Sarah chimed in, still glowing.

Boris was practically hyperventilating with joy. "This is the greatest plot twist in reality TV history!"

"So," Jack turned to me, "no more rival gym."

"No more cat café either," I nodded.

"Just a completely insane hybrid fitness center."

"With glowing cats."

"And interpretive yoga."

"And silent disco meditation."

We looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"You know," Jack said, "I only planned the rival gym thing because I wanted to ask you something."

"If it's about cleaning the men's locker room, the answer is still no."

"Actually," he pulled out a small box, "I wanted to ask if you'd be my partner."

"In what? Another crazy competition?"

"No," he opened the box to reveal… a protein shaker. "In running this madhouse. I bought Mr. Chen's shares last week."

"You own Elite Fitness?"

"Half of it. The other half is yours, if you want it. I figured we could turn this place into something special. Something…"

"Completely insane?" I suggested.

"Exactly."

The cats had now formed a synchronized swimming team in the pool, still glowing and performing to silent disco music only they could hear.

"So," Jack held out the protein shaker, "partners?"

I took the shaker, then pulled him close and kissed him. The twins squealed, the cats meowed in harmony, and Boris's camera crew caught everything.

"Is that a yes?" Jack asked, slightly dazed.

"On one condition," I smiled. "We're hiring the cats as full-time trainers."

"Deal. But the twins have to teach them proper squats."

"PERFECT!" Boris shouted. "Season finale: 'Love in the Time of Cat Yoga'!"

Mr. Chen emerged from a meditation pod, wearing cat ears and LED pants. "Let's celebrate! Sarah, break out your special pre-workout formula!"

"Actually," Sarah looked embarrassed, "that wasn't pre-workout. It was my attempt at making glowing bubble tea."

The cats, now performing a perfect rendition of Swan Lake in the pool, seemed to approve.

"To Elite Fitness," Jack raised his protein shaker. "The world's first silent disco interpretive cat yoga CrossFit meditation center with glowing bubble tea."

"That's a horrible business model," I laughed.

"Maybe," he pulled me closer, "but it's our horrible business model."

The twins started their victory dance, the cats joined in with a laser light show, and Boris's camera crew captured every bizarre moment.

And that's how Elite Fitness became the most successful (and strangest) fitness center in history. We even franchised the glowing cats.

"By the way," Jack whispered in my ear during the celebration, "you still have to clean the men's locker room."

I pushed him into the pool.

The cats, now experts in aquatic dance, immediately incorporated him into their routine.

Just another day at Elite Fitness.