Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Seventy-eight hours, or, possibly one hour, later, Zac had me working the leg press and I decided, in that moment, I didn’t want to be friends anymore. Friends didn’t hurt friends, and they especially didn’t derive pleasure from it.
“Do you…think it’s…”
“Come on!” Zac barked. “Ten more!”
“Think it’s…possible…for your muscles…to rip so…ugh!” Damn, talking was difficult when death from exhaustion was only seconds away. “Rip so violently you…bleed to death?”
“Three more!”
I hate you. I hate you. I…hate…you! “Whew! Done.” I let my legs flop to the floor, leaned forward and waited for death to claim me.
“Well done! You aced that,” Zac said, handing me my water, which I took without a smile. “And no. I’m almost certain no one’s ever bled to death on the leg press.”
I looked up at him through the corner of my eye. “Almost?”
“With how pessimistic you’ve been lately, if it’s gonna happen to anyone it’ll be you.”
Ouch. “That obvious, huh?”
He gave me the dreaded pity smile.
“In my defence, my mum just died.”
“You won’t get to play that card forever,” he said, exposing his gigantic, caring heart. “Go get changed. We’ll grab lunch. You’ve earned it.”
“Sure,” I agreed, though I didn’t quite know how I was supposed to get changed given that my legs felt like they’d never move again. “I just need five minutes, maybe years, to recover.”
Laughing at the torment he’d inflicted, Zac threw the towel at my face. “You’re so dramatic. I can’t even deal.”
I didn’t watch him walk away. My body had given up, fallen forwards of its own accord until my lips were inches from my knees. I could’ve kissed them, the knees, a few weeks ago, until a few too many cakes and burgers pumped the tyre under my boobs back up.
Enough. Sitting up, I literally shook the negative thoughts from my head and dragged my bum to the changing rooms. I was beginning to detest my own company. I wasn’t a fan of the whole cancel culture thing but, if I’d been my own friend, I would sure as shit have cancelled me by now.
To the surprise of absolutely no one, my legs worked perfectly fine and managed to carry me through another shower and change of clothes before meeting back with Zac in the gym lobby. I waited for him by the vending machines until he’d finished his conversation with the super-fit blonde behind the desk. He didn’t hurry, despite acknowledging my presence, likely because he was sleeping with her. If he wasn’t, reaching over the desk to grab her arse when he thought no one was looking had been way inappropriate.
Eventually, he jogged over towards me. Jogged. I understood his healthy lifestyle ethos. I’d lived it, lost weight, felt great, but in no universe could I see a reason to exercise at every available opportunity unless you were mentally unstable. “You ready?” he asked.
“Unless I’m taking you away from something tastier?” I glanced over to the welcome desk.
“Who? Shaughna? We’re just friends.”
I raised an eyebrow, smirked.
“With…certain benefits,” he added, gaze sweeping the floor. When he looked up, a satisfied smile had appeared, which he crossed with his index finger.
I nodded. I could keep secrets, especially boring ones. I couldn’t care less who Zac was boning, and it wasn’t like I hung out with all the gym buffs in my spare time. I only knew Zac because of Chrissie.
For lunch, we went to a trendy little diner with bare-brick interiors and rustic tables with individual drop lights. Zac, the more adventurous of the two of us, went for a tuna poke bowl with brown rice and avocado, while I played it safe with poached eggs on sourdough toast. I’d have preferred regular toast, but this place only catered for pretentious folk, it seemed.
“Still afraid of green stuff?” Zac said, staking a chunk of tuna with his fork.
“Not afraid, it just tastes like shit.” My mum always said my taste buds never grew up. If I didn’t eat it as a kid, I didn’t eat it now. Vegetables made me retch, yogurts with bits in gave me the ick, and anything too meaty made me gag if I had to chew for too long. I didn’t drink tea or coffee, never splurged on a nice steak. I was a chicken nuggets and chips kinda gal and I’d lost weight by eating what I enjoyed, just less of it.
Oh, there was alcohol. I’d developed a taste for that in my adult years, or teens, really. Why couldn’t the cool kids do broccoli? At fifteen, I’d have totally forced myself to stuff my face with broccoli to fit in with Rochelle Porter and her ilk. I might not have thrown up all over Mum’s new carpet and got myself grounded for a month then, either.
“Come on, Hel, give it to me. Why are you off plan?”