Page 59 of Ripped & Shipped
“I got on. Okay? And I saw the comments.”
“People love you, Soldier. You could even start an account. Do fitness stuff. Film yourself working out. Share some tips. You’d get so many followers.”
“Not a goal of mine.”
I take a sip of coffee, trying to buy myself some time and figure out how to broach this subject with her.
I set my cup back down. “Lots of guys say things to you.”
“They do.”
She looks the opposite of rattled.
“They all comment about your looks, and say they want to go out with you …”
“Does that bother you?”
“Why would it bother me?”
“Just asking. I mean, you seem bothered.”
“I’m not. But there’s one guy I wanted to ask you about.”
She looks at me and raises one eyebrow in another dare.
I plow forward. “That guy, beefitupfitnessdude. He’s pretty out of line.”
“Says you.”
“Yeah. Says me. I noticed he’s ramping it up over time. What do you usually do about guys like that?”
“I might block them—I try not to. They’re good for gathering comments and a little drama, which never hurts.”
Drama never hurts? I’d beg to differ on that one.
“Why haven’t you blocked him?”
“I’m actually thinking about it. He’s been a little extra. You know? Like he wants to rub my feet—which face it, from the right guy would be amazeballs, but from a creepy guy I never met … no thanks. He’s said things that would be sweet if we knew one another. But we don’t. So, I told Meg I’d block him. I will.”
“Go ahead.”
“What?”
“Go ahead and block him.”
“Bossy much?”
“I’m just concerned, Ella Mae. I’m trained to look for danger. This guy gives me all the warning signals. You need to block him.”
Ella Mae leans forward, so her face is halfway across the table. She lifts her well-manicured hand and points at me.
“You don’t get to tell me who to block on my account. Just because we ate a meal together doesn’t make you my guardian angel or personal bodyguard. I’ve been doing this for years. You don’t think I’ve had creepy guys along for the ride the whole time? I have. I know how to handle this. I don’t need some overgrown, hot, muscly guy acting like he’s my new wall of defense.”
Her finger remains pointed at my face.
Hot? She thinks I’m hot?
Not important.
