After another 20 pounds added Irene was in the zone. She watched herself in the massive mirror, keeping her body firm and tight as she lowered down the 240 extra pounds. It was getting harder, her legs and glutes screaming in protest as she stood back up. She grit her teeth and dropped once more, then again, and again. Ignore the pain, always fight through. Push and push until you can’t go anymore then do one more. Three more to twenty and she could take a brief rest. That’s when she noticed someone staring nearby, catching the massive form in the mirror. The fuck did he want?<br/><br/>Two to go and she saw his mouth move. With her music blaring in her ears she couldn’t hear what he said as she lowered for another squat. Her eyes were on the newcomer, not her form and she felt it. It was off. With a grunting huff she stood back up and slammed the bar onto the rack behind her, shoulder height. She reached up and ripped the left bud from her ear, letting it dangle over her shoulder still connected to the right, and turned to him just as he opened his mouth about wanting some plates and a cheesy lines. The twinge of an accent pinging her ears as violently as active sonar.<br/><br/>Irene turned to the large, muscled kid. He was younger, that much she could tell. Her eyes flicked down to his shoes and back up. The look was cold and assessing. She’d seen her fair share of meatheads, had beaten down her fair share of them too. Slow she turned, pivoting only on her left foot. Green eyes narrowed up at the kid. Well he was definitely prettier than most of the meatheads she’d dealt with. For the time she stared at him it might seem like she was prepping the right words to tell him off with. No woman liked to be bothered by a dude in the gym. Scratch that. No woman who was at the gym with the intent to work out; there were plenty of girls who went in their skimpy little sports bras and booty shorts who went so they could get their fragile little egos rubbed.<br/><br/>“Look pretty boy if you’re gonna stand there and stare you’re gonna be useful,” she said as she moved to remove the two ten pound plates from either side of the bar. “I’ve been plateauing at 240. I don’t use smith machines but I’m not about to break my back going for 270 without a spot. Two reps, spot me, and the plates are yours, deal?”<br/><br/>Irene didn’t even wait for him to agree. She nabbed the precious few plates he had managed to snag and popped them onto her bar. Six of them total, 270lbs. A bit of a jump from 240 but either she could do it or would need the assist. With the plates secured with clips she moved back into position, pressing her shoulders to the cool bar.<br/><br/>“So what’s your name sport? What brings a Canuck to Florida? And if you say just ‘school’ I’m dropping this on your foot.” She asked her questions as she hefted the bar up to balance on her shoulders. Oh mama it was way more than she expected. No giving up. With a before hissing breathes between gritted teeth she lowered herself down, fully expecting the Canadian to know how to spot someone doing squats. With those muscles he had to know what he was doing in the gym.<br/><br/>She got the 90 degree bend in her knees but up was going to be much harder. Her face went red as she fought to stand back up. It was a struggle but she made it up, careful not to lock her knees. A few huffs and back down to break that 90. Up again but she halted just over half way, that familiar twinge raced through her legs which gave an ominous wobble before she got them back under control. “Ok…little help,” she grunted, struggling to just keep the weight aloft let alone stand back up. Just a little pressure on the bar would be enough to get her back to standing. The bar slammed onto the hooks and she released a heaving breath, draping her arms backwards over the bar. “Fuck man….” She leaned her head back to look at him upside down. “Thanks…plates are yours.”