Page 13 of D.I.E.T. (Did I Eat That?)

“You mean booty camp,” Dion said, snickering. Sinjin smiled, snickering, too. “Boy, I don’t think you need bootcamp, seriously. Though I don’t think our beautiful Geet needs it, either. If I liked female curves…” Then Dion turned a pointed gaze to me, lips pursed and all.

“Please,” I said to Dion. “You just love me. Everyone here can see I’m squishy and lack the endurance to make it to the top of Albatross monument.”

Sinjin leaned into one arm resting on the table, while not visible to Dion and Henri, he squeezed my knee under the table and said, “That’s what I’m here for. To help with your endurance.” I gripped my chair and bit my bottom lip because I really wanted to punch him or touch him. It was a coin toss at this point.

My phone buzzed with a text, and purposely avoiding anything to do with Sinjin touching me, I reached into my clutch to fish it out. A text from Dion. This had to be good. I glanced up at my friend to see him waiting with his eyebrow cocked and his pursed lips triggered. Quickly, I looked back to my phone. I felt hot. Did they turn up the heat in here?

Dion:Innuendo so thick you could spread it on crackers.

Me:I want to punch him.

Dion:You spelled ‘jump him’ wrong.

Me:Put your phone away.

Dion:Brigeeta Posch, you owe me details.

Without answering, I slipped my phone back inside my clutch to show Dion without a doubt that this conversation was O.V.E.R.—over.

“How’s the drink?” Sinjin broke into my murderous thoughts by asking.

Okay, so he could be thoughtful. I mean, he figured out a bootcamp-approved adult beverage, so he couldn’t be all bad, right? “I haven’t had a chance to try it yet,” I answered, pulling the glass up to my lips and sipping. My eyes practically rolled back in my head it tasted that good. “Ohmygosh… Try it.” I shoved the drink at him. “It’s delicious.”

No, it didn’t even occur to me until I watched him lift the condensation-slicked glass to his mouth that I offered something as personal as sharing my drink. It seemed so natural to offer. I needed my head examined. Didn’t I?

The waitress came to take our orders. Dion decided on the lobster mac and cheese, while Henri chose the shepherd’s pie. Trevor couldn’t have asked for a better pupil when she got to me and my baked salmon, no sauce, plain broccoli, and a side salad sans dressing. What didSinjinorder? Carbonara. At Gastro, that meant spaghetti, pancetta, shaved parmesan, and this sauce that was like a hollandaise. I went up a pant size just thinking about it.

After the waitress left, Henri took a sip of his martini and asked, “How are you eating carbonara while in bootcamp with Geet?”

Good question. I’d love to hear his answer.

In an easy move, Sinjin sat back in his chair, sliding his arm along the back of mine, not touching me, but I felt it the entire time. “Well…” he started. “Everyone can stand to get in shape time to time, I suppose. But I’m really only doing it because I’ve never done one before. I saw some hot women walking in one day when I was next door picking up a pizza. I figured, why not? It’d be a good way to ensure I made it to the gym once in a while. So I signed up. Gaining Geet here as an accountability partner was just a bonus.”

“You—what?” Then I looked to Dion and Henri. “Did he say he signed up for the fatpocalypse because he saw some hot women?”

“Yes,” Dion said, snickering, at the same time Henri answered, “I believe he did.”

Oh, Sinjin was going to die before these six weeks ended because my hands itched for his blood. And his penis. That is, my body itched for his penis. Although, my hands could give him a good workup. Oh crap, my mind was a mess.

How many weeks were left?

Five:

Sunday night. Dinner with my sister at her apartment. Usually a fun time, though tonight, I wasn’t feeling it. I wore my comfy clothing anyway because having Mondays off and Lu working from home, I typically spent the night. At least I had before bootcamp. I’d been at this thing for a few weeks now and that severely cut into my sister time. I decided to skip tomorrow to regroup and go back at it hardcore come Tuesday. I shot off Sinjin a quick text because I knew the man would blow up my phone otherwise. Lu went through the trouble of making these wonderful Cobb salads, mine sans bacon and blue cheese, yet I just picked at the lettuce, leaving the chicken, avocado, egg, and tomatoes.

“What’s going on?” she asked, fork suspended midair. Her coffee brown eyes narrowed on me. Aside from our eyes, we looked nothing alike. I took after my mom’s family and both Pia and Lu looked like Grams with their highly Germanic features. Light complexion. Blonde hair.

“Sorry—what?”

“Geet.” She pointed at my plate. “Why are you only eating lettuce? Are you sick?”

“No.” I sighed. “It’s Sinjin.”

Her eyebrow shot up. “Oh, really…? Do tell.” I’d whined to her on several occasions since the gorgeous, pushy man and I met that he was, well, a gorgeous, pushy man.

“Not like that.” I bit a leaf and chewed. “The first week we lost the same amount—and you should see the way he eats. Now two weeks in a row, he’s lost more than me.More. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

She plucked my fork from my hand to push the chicken and avocado on my plate closer to me then shoved the fork back in my hand. “Geet, you know men lose weight differently than women and muscle weighs more than fat. Not that I thought you were fat, but now you’re gaining muscle. I can totally see it. Now eat.”

---