Page 95 of Bewitch

“I’ve been lifting weights,” I say. “Aiming for three sets with as heavy weights as I can manage with perfect form. Six to eight moves. Er, reps.”

“Which part of your body is on the docket for today?”

I release an exhale. Yesterday’s couple workout threw the normal schedule out the window.

“Total body,” I mumble.

“Let’s get to it.”

Instead of letting me stretch however I like, Craig even coaches me through that. I don’t like that he doesn’t let me hold certain poses for as long as I normally would, but I just let him do his thing and dictate what I need to do.

By the time we’re done stretching—well, by the time I’ve finished doing the stretches he told me to do—I don’t feel any more flexible than after my own stretches. Oh, well. Let’s see how this goes, I guess.

I’m not sure if it’s my attitude or if it’s Craig or if it’s guilt or something else entirely, but honestly, I hate every bit of the workout. It’s not that Craig isn’t a capable trainer. He’s just very hands off and professional. I guess I can understand how some people might like that, probably more women than men because wouldn’t guys be all about wanting to push each other on and ribbing them?

But there’s a difference between ribbing and insulting. Calling me Fattie multiple times before he even had a chance to know me, trying to get me to quick so he wouldn’t be wasting his time… Who’s the one here now? And how’s the one at home?

The sour taste in my mouth just won’t go away, and I try to clear my head and concentrate.

“For the most part, your form is decent,” Craig says.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I guess my head’s just not in it today.”

“Why not?”

“I just… I…”

“I don’t need to know why,” he says. “So long as you do. When you come to the my, you need to focus on the weights. That’s it. Anything else needs to be forgotten. When you leave, then you can focus on all of that again.”

“Yeah,” I mumble.

Easier said than done, especially because I have so many memories of Lucas here. And right over there was where we did that one move… he one that made us both so hot and bothered…

That I didn’t even freak out when he told me to jump and worry about whether or not I could get my legs around him, that I could hook my ankles behind him… talk about a major mom-scale victory.

But… last night… let’s just say it hadn’t been a good night at all. I thought about bingeing.

I didn’t.

But I did overeat.

Just not to the extent of most other times when I would uncontrollably eat but definitely more than I should’ve.

Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t drink often because I’m sure that if I had access to alcohol, I would’ve gotten drunk off my ass and into major trouble.

Do people that binge eat have addictive personalities? Do they just fixate on something else and obsess over that and overindulge in that thing?

Because maybe I shifted over from food to Lucas.

Like it or not, he had become my center, and without it, it’s as if my world has become tilted, off balance, everything fall off. Yes, I’m starting to make some progress on the Carl Fetto angle, but I’m still not entirely ready to make a move against him. I’m not even ready to start writing anything about him.

I’m stuck in so many ways.

“Dawn?” Craig says in a tone that suggests he’s been calling my name a few times now.

“Yes.”

“You want to keep going?” he asks. “Or do you want to call I quits?”

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