Page 17 of Beneath the Hood

My foot starts tapping against the tigerwood floor as three guys in black huddle in a circle, not a care in the world, the large slices oozing grease from their hands.

Sierra walks toward me. “Blakely, be ready for glam in fifteen.” I close my eyes and continue breathing deep, a tendril of anxiety wrapping around my insides.

One. Two. Three.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Fine,” I snap. “I’m just… I’m hungry.”

Her eyes widen and she gestures toward the pizza.

Scoffing, I cross my arms, irritation swimming through my chest and pulling it tight. “That’spizza, Sierra. I need food I can eat and not want to die from later on.”

Sierra huffs out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “God, you’re so dramatic. Have a piece of pizza, you’re gonna spend all night in the gym anyway, and we both know it. We don’t have time for one of your prepped mealsorone of your tantrums.”

My jaw clenches tight.Tantrums. Like I can control it. Shame courses through me, my mind waging war against my stomach.

I can have half a slice. Or just a few bites. One time won’t kill me.

Walking to the table, the smell of baked crust and oregano slam against my senses and my mouth waters, urging my hand to snatch up a piece before my brain can talk me out of it.

I take a bite.

Oh, my fucking god.

My eyes close, the flavors exploding on my taste buds in a way that baked tilapia and lettuce with no dressing just can’t replicate. I lose myself in the moment—in the absolute freedom of enjoying every precious bite, and by the time I come back to myself the entire piece is demolished.

“Damn, girl. I’ve never seen someone eat pie that way.”

My head snaps to one of the men in the corner, stomach churning in disgust at both my lack of restraint and my stupidity.Anybodycould have recorded me shoveling pizza in my mouth like a fat ass.

I give a tight smile to the man, not trusting myself to keep from snapping back, and not wanting to give him anything to sell to the tabloids if I do.

Slipping my phone from my pocket, I pull up my calorie tracking app.

One slice of cheese pizza is…

I choke on my inhale.Three hundred and four calories.A burning heat slams through my body, my forehead becoming damp from the sudden shift.

Lennox’s voice draws my attention away, and I turn toward the hallway where he walks in with Jackson beside him. They’re chatting, a smile on both of their faces, and for just a moment, I forget about my failures, too busy wondering how the hell Jackson got through Lennox’s cold exterior in a matter of moments.

Jackson’s gaze scans the room, locking on me and widening slightly.

Why is he looking at me like that?

My eyes bounce between him and the empty plate of my mistake, and I can actuallyfeelmy heart ramming against my chest. My mind races, making me woozy with the need to burn off the calories before they’re able to stick to my cells and turn into fat.

There’s no time. The shoot will last hours and by then it will be too late.

Stupid, Blakely. Pathetic.

Months of hard work and discipline thrown down the drain because of one weak moment. And even if I get to the gym, the damage will be done. Visions of my measuring tape reading higher numbers flash through my mind, thoughts twisting into a spiral.

My lungs wring tight. I close my eyes and try to focus.

Deep breath in. One. Two. Three.

It’s only four hundred calories. The three from the pizza and an extra hundred to make up for my lack of control. I can be on and off the spin bike in thirty minutes.

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