“Why would there be any question?” he joked.
Lourdes frowned. “I don’t care for what she wrote in her profile. There’s something superficial about it. She goes on and on about bodybuilding and focuses too heavily on meeting someone who’s as ‘active’ as she is, which I interpret as a euphemism for saying she expects whoever she dates to be completely dedicated to the gym.”
She waited for Kyle to read the profile himself.
“I don’t frequent a gym, but I run most days,” he said. “And I lift three times a week. You don’t think that’ll be enough for her?”
“It’s more your approach.” She’d seen the weights in the extra room. She could tell he used them. But he didn’t seem obsessed with his body. “You’re more practical about fitness than she seems to be. I’m guessing you work out to live a healthier life.”
His expression indicated that he found her statement odd. “Is there any other reason?”
“Yes. Working out is her life. That body is a badge of honor.”
“You never know,” he said. “She might be okay. Most people want to look good, especially if they’re single and their photos are going up on a site like this.”
“That’s generous, but I’m guessing she comes with all kinds of dietary restrictions. A woman doesn’t get as muscular as a man without making some sacrifices—or taking steroids.”
“That’s more of a city thing,” he mused. “I haven’t seen a lot of women who are into weight lifting out here.”
“I’ve seen plenty of it in my line of work. It gets old.”
“Do you lift? Or do any other kind of exercise?”
“When I’m at home, I go to the gym every day. I have to, if I want to keep up with the competition.” Crystal was gorgeous. “But I resent the pressure to achieve physical perfection.”
“Who’s keeping track? I mean, are you sure you’re not the one putting yourself under pressure?”
“The tabloids are keeping track, for starters. You must’ve seen what they’ve said about people like Kirstie Alley, Wynonna Judd, Garth Brooks and Kelly Clarkson.” Derrick threw those names up to her all the time—whenever she ate something she shouldn’t, or when she hadn’t made it to the gym. He told her if she wasn’t careful she’d wind up the next pathetic fat girl on the cover of National Enquirer and she’d be eclipsed in popularity, since so much of a female singer’s success depended on her beauty. “Name one artist who’s fat and ugly,” he’d say whenever she’d try to suggest that her fame was based on her talent. And she couldn’t—unless that artist had started years and years ago, when she looked better. Lourdes could come up with plenty of male singers who weren’t in top physical form, but there seemed to be more forgiveness in the industry for men.
Still, Derrick’s reminders were irritating, especially since he didn’t work out himself. “I’m not in the public eye,” he’d say.
“It’s all part of show business,” she told Kyle. “Anyway, I say we pass on this Barbie. We’re talking about finding you a mate—not a woman who’s primarily interested in the way she looks.”
He shrugged. “I’m fine with seeing how it goes with these other women first. We can always come back to her later.”
Lourdes liked that he seemed to understand what she was saying. “Do you have a picture of Olivia?” she asked.
He glanced up from her computer screen, where he’d been reading about another candidate named Mandy Suffolk.
“Why do you want to see her?”
“I’m curious.”
After a slight pause, he pulled his phone from his pocket and showed her a wedding photo.
“What? You were in your stepbrother’s line when he married the woman you love?” she said.
“Olivia was in Noelle’s line when Noelle married me, too. That was probably worse, since what I’d done was so fresh.”
“What you and Noelle both did,” she corrected, but he ignored it.