With my work schedule in Stamford always so busy, the only downtime I was ever guaranteed was Sundays. It was my sanctuary, my one day off. But when it came to traveling on the road with the talent, especially CM Punk, there were no such things as lazy Sunday afternoons. I was curled up in the middle of my king sized bed watching some special on the National Geographic channel when I heard a knock, or rather a loud bang at my door. I stood and walked over to it, standing on the tips of my toes to peek out the peephole. I saw Punk.

"Hey," I said, opening the door, clearing my throat. "What's going on?"

He looked inside my room at the heap of tangled sheets on the bed.

"You asleep in there?"

"No."

He smirked.

"You got company?"

I blushed and made a horrified face.

"No! No, of course not."

He looked me up in down.

"I was just ribbing you, don't get your panties in a wad."

My face only got redder as CM Punk made reference to my panties.

"I, I won't."

"Anyway, I was on my way to the gym and I was wondering if you wanted to come."

"Okay," I nervously shifted my weight. "I mean, I normally don't work out…"

The gym was not my thing. Honestly I didn't have time for it and even if I had, sweating all over a treadmill was the last way I wanted to spend my free time.

"Well you should."

"Excuse me?"

"Work out. You only get one body. Taking care of it is important."

"I do," I lied.

Well, it wasn't a total lie. I didn't drink or smoke or do drugs or anything deliberately bad and I had been blessed being naturally thin. I totally considered that taking care of myself.

"Anyway, I wasn't asking you to come work out. I mean, you can if you want but I was just seeing if you wanted to get some pictures in. The gym is my home away from home. You're supposed to be documenting the life of the 'real' CM Punk, right? Well, this is a big part of who I am."

I quickly nodded and wasted no time in getting my camera equipment together. Wearing one of those Victoria's Secret Pink jumpsuits, I pinned up my hair and followed him out. The hotel had a gym but he preferred one closer to downtown. The guys traveled so frequently that they had favorite gyms, restaurants, and shopping stores in every city. To my surprise, the place was pretty much empty. I lagged behind while he talked to the woman at the front desk. After a few minutes, he gestured me over. Immediately we headed over to the weights. He took off his hoodie to reveal a Bake and Destroy tee shirt that he had cut the sleeves off of. He wore sneakers and workout shorts. As he began warming up, I started doing my thing.

Punk was in his element and so was I. He was in his own little world as if I did not exist. All that mattered was the routine he was so focused on. I could see the determination in his eyes. I wanted to capture that, to showcase the real essence of CM Punk. I snapped shot after shot and after adjusting my lens, I noticed his biceps. His arms muscles looked a lot bigger when they were flexing and lifting. Compared to some of the other guys in the locker room like Sheamus and Cena, Punk's muscle mass seemed ordinary but up close and personal and seeing his meticulous routine, it was easy to see how all his hard work had paid off. He had a great physique. The sweat poured off his brow and he worked his upper body for a long time. Finally he stopped.

"Punk, that was great," I smiled softly, probably sounding more like a star struck groupie than a professional photographer.

He wiped his face.

"It was alright. The shoulder workout was pretty shitty."

"Wow. If you think that was bad, I'd hate to see what you think is good."

The man had pushed himself to the brink but it was easy to see when it came to his body, he aspired to be a perfectionist.

"I don't know. I don't feel so hot. Not that it's an excuse or anything."

"You coming down with something?" I inquired.

He quickly shrugged it off.

"It doesn't matter. The show goes on. Anyway, did you get your shots or whatever?"

I grinned.

"I did. I got some really cool ones. You know, Punk, you photograph really well."

"Thanks," he said.

"Are we done here?"

He shot me that "yeah right" look.

"Just a break. Gonna guzzle some water."

"Oh. Okay."

He stared at me for a few seconds.

"What about you?" he asked.

"What about me?"

"You want to try it out?"

I realized he was referring to the weights and I shook my head.

"I told you I don't work out."

"Maybe you should. You know, just because you're thin, doesn't mean you're in shape and it certainly doesn't mean that you're healthy."

I felt my face flush again.

"I, I don't know what to do," I stammered.

Great. I was already a klutz. I could imagine trying to pick up the weights and doing something totally embarrassing like falling or dropping them. I wasn't like the girls Punk was used to, girls like Beth. One look at her and you could tell she was queen of the gym. And she probably looked graceful and beautiful and sexy while doing it too.

"What if we switch places?" he suggested.

I frowned, not understanding what he was getting at.

"I don't understand."

"You never work out and you don't know what to do. I've certainly never had all that fancy camera equipment. Why don't we switch? You lift, I'll shoot."

I couldn't help but smile. Just picturing that was a funny scene.

"I don't know…"

"I'll go first," he volunteered, picking up my camera.

I cringed.

"Be careful, Punk."

It was a delicate and expensive piece of equipment.

"There you and your panties go again," he shook his head. "Relax. I won't drop it."

I reached around, my hand kind of shaking.

"Here, let me help you."

"Okay."

I loudly cleared my throat.

"Um, first pick a subject. What do you want to shoot?"

He looked right in my eyes.

"You."

"Me?" I croaked.

"Why not? It's only fair, right? You have this bad boy shoved in my face 24/7. Turnabout is fair play."

"I, I guess."

"Coolness," he said as he raised the camera to his face and pointed it right at me.

It made me laugh.

"No, Punk. You're doing it all wrong."

"Cut me a break. I still have a Kodak instamatic."

"They still make those?" I teased.

"You've got jokes today, huh. Wow. A sense of humor…I knew it was hiding in there somewhere. I'm impressed."

I rolled my eyes and ignored him.

"Okay, if you insist on shooting me, now you have to figure out where you want me to stand and how you want me to pose."

He thought for a few seconds.

"Over there by the mirror. And as you like to tell me all the time, don't pose, just be natural."

"Alright. Now you're going to want lots of light. That is very, very important but remember it can't be direct light."

"Why don't we just use the flash?"

"Because flashes wash out colors and details and they can create shadows. And speaking of, the last thing you want is a blurry photograph so make sure you can hold the camera steady. If not, I have a small tripod in my bag."

"I think I can handle it."

There was the usual hint of sarcasm in his voice but I could tell I had his full attention and I liked that. He was listening to me, he knew that I knew what I was talking about.

"Fine. I am going to go stand where you told me. Just direct and tell me what to do. If you're gonna just start snapping away because you don't want me posed, that's fine but the art in it is for you not to rush. Play around. Take a bunch of different shots. Reposition me, get closer, stand further away."

I walked over to the mirror and Punk got to work. He gave a few instructions, telling me what to do. He was all over the place in both direction and technique but I couldn't help but giggle. Besides it was kind of cute.

"You're doing it all wrong," he complained. "Don't you watch Tyra? Come on. Give me more neck. Give me fierce."

I laughed out loud.

"Why Punk, I think you've found a second niche. You are way too into this."

"It's not too bad and if I do say so myself, I am actually pretty good at it."

"You're okay, novice, but just think of the whole photography thing sort of like a game of odds. The more shots you take, the better chance you have of getting good pictures. And the bad ones we can always delete and in my case, that'll probably be all of them," I chuckled.

"You don't give yourself enough credit."

"Huh?"

He kept shooting.

"You're shy and quiet and uptight as hell but you're a pretty girl."

It came out of the blue and I couldn't believe what I had just heard. Punk thought I was pretty. Hell, I thought he was pretty too and I wanted to tell him as much in that moment right there but my throat was too tight to form a coherent sentence.

"Thanks…so, um, are you all finished?"

"Sure."

I walked around and took the camera from him. We looked into the review screen to check out what Punk had done. A few shots were out of focus and I was off center in some of them but for the most part he had done well.

"Good job," I murmured.

"You weren't so bad yourself."

I didn't know about all that. I hated pictures of myself and was my own biggest critic but there were a couple of them that I…well, I looked kind of cute in them. There was one where I had this gigantic grin on my face, probably because of something silly Punk had said at the time.

"Thank you," I bit my lip, shyly looking up at him.

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"Your turn," he announced.

"Oh. Yeah…"

I walked over to the weight set and removed my hoodie. I had on a plain black tank underneath it.

"Get over here, spaghetti arms. Let me show you how it's done."

He grabbed two free arm weights at 15 pounds a piece. He motioned for me to sit down and handed them to me. He sat behind me and I could feel his breath against my neck.

"These are heavy."

"You'll live. Now listen to me. Dumbbells at your sides, palms facing towards the side of your thighs, arms straight down. I want your feet shoulder width apart, brace your abdominal muscles cause that is what's gonna help you lift. Slowly bring your left arm towards your shoulder and move your arm so that the weight faces upward."

"Like this?" I asked.

"Steady," he lifted his hand up to guide me. "You want your elbow pointed more at the ground like this."

I felt like a mass of quivering, uncoordinated jelly as he touched me. He guided me on the correct way to do the curls, first with my left arm, then with my right and finally with both.

"You're really good at this," I managed to squeak.

"It takes a lot of hard work."

"I just remember what you told me when you took me to Kuma's about how sometimes you still don't like the way you look."

I'd never forget that conversation. It was one of the few times I had seen him vulnerable.

"It is what it is. Most of the time I don't like what I see but that won't stop me from being in that gym every single day busting my ass trying to make it better, you know?"

I looked in the mirror and saw the reflection staring back at me. Me sitting on the bench, Punk behind me, gently guiding my every move. My breath caught in my throat. Yeah, I knew exactly what he meant.