Page 75 of Bewitch

“Yes, for journalism.”

“Start a fitness foodie blog,” she says. “Try to build up a following. Maybe you could work for fitness magazines.”

“I… I hadn’t thought about that,” I admit.

“It was just an idea,” she says, turning a bit shy.

“No! Not a bad idea. Just one I hadn’t thought of. I want to go into investigative journalism, but… who knows? Maybe I could do this in my spare time.”

She laughs. “I swear, the more time I devote to fitness, the less free time I have. I’m either trying to learn new moves or try new classes or buying new workout gear.” She bites her lower lip. “I have a new challenge now.”

“Challenge for what?”

She removes her gloves. Did she wear them during yoga? Her fingers look a little better from being all red and inflamed the last time she showed them to me.

“I’ve been testing and trying out so many different remedies to get my fingers to heal, but I basically have to put moisturizer on them and then gloves on overnight and even wear fashion gloves out to try to let them heal. It’s… a challenge, but now… I’m not sure why, but my hair has been falling out some.”

“Oh no! Do you think it might be related to hormones?”

“You think that could be it?” She wrinkles her nose. “I thought it might be from stress.”

“Go see your doctor,” I urge.

“I’ll call on Monday.”

“Call now and leave a message.” I loop my arm around hers. “You can call on the drive.”

“Drive to where?”

“The grocery store and then to my one friend’s house so I can make the protein bars. Then, we’ll come back here.”

As we start to leave the gym, the guy she was eyeing walks in.

I wait until we’re in the parking lot to turn to her. “When we get back, if he’s still there—”

“I introduced myself to him the other day. I needed a spotter, so I asked.”

“And?”

“And that was it, but it’s a start, right?”

“Damn straight.” I grin at her. “Look at you. Taking charge and shit.’

“And shit is right,” she says with a laugh.

“My life isn’t perfect either.”

“No, but your balls are apparently da bomb, so there’s that.”

I laugh. “Yes, I have my balls going for me. Aren’t I lucky?”

We giggle, and we have a blast with the protein balls. That guy she’s eyeing—Marcus—is still there, so I force her to go over to him and give him one, and they start to talk, and I leave the balls at the welcome desk. Pamela isn’t there, for once, and when I leave the gym, I’m back to feeling like maybe I can do whatever it is that I want to.

Maybe I can be in charge of my life.

Maybe things can be better.

I can be better.

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