‘You need to teach me faster!’

‘So you don’t have to take me?’ He puts on his sad face.

‘You know what I mean!’

‘Let’s go fast-tracking at the gym then, best place to up the pace!’

‘Haha, you’re so funny. I am being serious though.’

‘So am I. This is the next lesson. Find out how easy it is to chat somebody up when you’ve got something to focus on.’

‘What?’

‘You don’t need to think up any fancy chat-up lines, or what to talk about, you can get straight in there and talk dumbbells and crunches.’

‘I can?’ What is there to say about somebody rocking about on the floor like an infant who’s forgotten how to stand up?

‘Admire a guy’s rowing technique, ask him if you’re doing it right.’

I glare at him. ‘I don’t need help!’

‘Apologise for taking soooo long to fill up your water bottle, and then accidentally tipping it over them!’

‘You’ve done that, haven’t you?’

He grins. ‘Just chew the fat about the best tracks to pound to on the running machine then.’

‘I’m not a cow!’

He suddenly chuckles. ‘They chew cud not fat, herbivores? Your practical exercise for today is to chat to at least two men you don’t know, and extra marks if they ask for your phone number or share their playlist!’

I groan. ‘Practical exercise? Practical? Aren’t I doing enough exercising on the bloody machines?’

‘That, my dear, is a means to an end. Come on, stop trying to delay the inevitable. No snogging though.’

‘What?’ I squeak. Oh my God, he’s been reading my mind! My cheeks are burning. He’s putting snogging down on the lesson plan, with him?

‘Hands-free encounter in the gym, though you can do this.’ He rests his hand on my forearm and my mouth is suddenly dry. So is my head. I can’t think of anything to say, so I nod dumbly as we stare at each other. It’s weird. How can the lightest touch feel so intimate?

Then he lets go and steps back. ‘Right then. I’m all yours, but only for a couple of hours, so get your skates on.’

He’s not all mine, not all mine, not all mine, I chant as I head up the stairs, doing my best to hold in my quivering tummy muscles.

‘Only me dear!’ I freeze. Rhonda is shouting through the letterbox. ‘You can drop the key off when you get back!’

Wednesday a bit later

‘Buggering, flaming, stop, please stop, stop!’ I let go of the rail for a split second to jab at a button, then grab it again before I fall off the running machine backwards. Just in time as my legs start getting left behind, and my armpits feel the stretch. ‘Shit, shit.’ I put on a sprint so I’m upright again then risk glancing round. ‘No-aaaaaah!’

Okay so this could be partly my own fault. I did insist I knew what I was doing, and that he could go off and do his own thing and leave me alone. I practically pushed him away. But that was because 1. I have been here before and never had a problem; after all how hard can it be to programme a machine like this? and 2. Having his body that close to mine when he is only dressed in gear that clings to his torso and his rather well-toned bum (you’d have noticed too, it was unavoidable) was bringing me out in a sweat before I’d even started any kind of exercise. Panting before you’ve started isn’t a good look.