Page 24 of Bewitch

“That sounds perfect,” I say.

“Definitely.” Brooke beams.

Yeah, things are definitely falling into place.

So why is there a voice in the back of my head warning me that things might still fall apart because I’m me?

* * *

When I head to the gym later that day, I swear I start to sweat already. I just want to curl up into a ball, and getting out of bed this morning had required far too much effort. I literally had to roll out of bed because sitting up hurt too much. I guess I’ve been utilizing my core more than I thought.

“How do you feel today?” Lucas asks with a smirk. I hate that he can smirk and look hot still.

“Like I hate your stinkin’ guts,” I mumble.

He chuckles. “Good. That’s healthy.”

“Sure it is.”

“It means I’m doing something right.”

“Or very wrong.”

“How was your eggs this morning?”

I eye him. This morning, Brooke and I figured out my calories for the day. I did eat eggs this morning, but with cheese. For lunch, I’ll have a sandwich—carved turkey meet and more cheese and low-fat mayo—with a bag of potato chips. Yes, I can make it fit. I also have that banana on the agenda as well as a few other snack, and dinner will be chicken parm. My snacks, outside of the banana, all require protein, and I think a tuna sandwich might be a good idea—

“You didn’t have eggs, did you?” he asks. He clucks his tongue. “Already cheating on the diet, huh?”

“The eggs were just fine,” I tell him. “A little runny. I prefer creamy juices.”

“Creamy juices?” He eyes me curiously.

I give him the once-over and lift my gaze back up to his eyes after pointedly staring at his groin a longer moment than was strictly necessary. Not that gazing at his groin for even one second is necessary to begin with.

He just stares at me.

“Is it true what they say?” I ask.

“What?”

“That it has a lot of protein.”

“What does?” he asks.

I smirk at him and tilt my head to the side. “Don’t pretend to be so angelic, Lucas. We both know you aren’t a virgin.”

“If you want to swallow—”

“I do,” I assure him.

He clears his throat. “It might have protein, yeah. Let’s get to it.”

Immediately, I feel ashamed. I shouldn’t be talking to him like this. It’s borderline sexual harassment. I don’t know why he brings out the worst in me.

“You look a bit sore and ginger this afternoon,” he says. “Maybe we should start with triceps first and work out way back to chest.”

“Sure.”

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