I Know How to Pick 'Em

I'm happy to report that I've been reuinted with my trainer...he reappeared from obscurity, and we got right back into the swing of things, after I reprimanded him about how his disappearance was both rude as a BFF and extremely unprofessional as my trainer. He apologized. I accepted. We moved on.
Working out with him is fun, and it's motivating me to actually go to the gym, which is great. Whatever it takes. I think he might still be holding a grudge about me cancelling our previously scheduled "date", even though we talked about it and supposedly worked through it...but I think his Irish/Italian/Napoleon complex may still be harboring some resentment....he just seems a bit more...I don't know, reserved, held back. Let's just say that he's not the type to put himself out there again. Just a feeling.
We worked out together 4 times during the week we reunited...even though I told him I could only pay him for two, he didn't seem to mind. As we went over the schedule he suggested...Thursday, Saturday, Monday and Wednesday...I told him I was on to him and knew he just wanted to see me more often:)
We actually trained together...yes, a bit ususual for a client and trainer, but this relationship is a bit unusual, as all of mine are. It works out for both of us- he makes a few extra bucks and I get a bargain priced personal trainer four times in one week. Everyone's happy.
Having time off has been a real luxury...I could definitely live the life of going to the gym and the beach every day. I really think it would take quite a while for that to get old for me....like a lifetime. I'm desperately hoping to win the lotto. But, I digress.
So, we're pumping iron, I'm sweating, grunting, complaining, struggling...and loving every minute of it. I look into his bright green eyes for reassurance, and he grunts, "come on", pushing me through my reps. Then it's his turn. His body is like a machine. No fat. Insanely strong muscles. Cut up. Chiseled. And adorned with just a sampling of tattoos...only 4, two of which I can see. I like it. I always was a sucker for tattooed muscle heads who could pick me up and swing me around. I guess some things never change. Although there has been no picking up or swinging around. Strictly professional. He's definitely one of the strongest guys in the gym, and from what I've seen, the most muscular of the meat heads. Why would I want a scrawny trainer? I've got the one with the biggest muscles.
So, we finish training on Saturday and he walks me outside. I ask him where he parked and he looks at me and says, "Okay, you want to know the truth?" Not knowing what the hell he was talking about I replied, "Sure, the truth would be nice". He then proceeds to tell me that he somewhat recently got out of jail, where he was locked up for almost two years. Somehow, this didn't surprise me in the least. And my lack of surprise had nothing to do with him whatsoever. I didn't even flinch. I started laughing, looked him straight in those bright green eyes and told him, "I sure know how to pick 'em". He laughed with me and agreed whole-heartedly. And he doesn't even know the half of it. Apparently brick-laying didn't pay well enough, so he slung some yeyo on the side. Hmmmm, real estate's not paying very well either...and I'd love to work from the beach...
Does it get any better than having a muscle bound, tattooed, ex-con Pitbull from Philly for a trainer? I'm gonna be so buff.