Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Frida,” Eddie repeated.
“My dog,” Siana said, reaching for her purse to produce her fancy new camera, then showing Eddie a picture.
“Shit, girl, that looks like a professional took it.”
I thought the same thing when she’d shown it to me. It was the kind of picture someone would pay someone else to take of their pet. She really had a knack for that.
I wondered if maybe she would be interested in pursuing that, if it had ever crossed her mind to make a living by continuing to take pictures, but of things other than her feet once her five-year plan was up.
Maybe I’d mention it.
“Oh, look at you,” she said, turning toward the macaw who was eyeing her from the top of his cage as she raised the camera to her face.
“Fuck you, Benny,” Mackie said, making Siana whip around to face me, lips parted comically.
“Yeah, he says that a lot. Almost exclusively, actually. Our best guess is his first owner really, really hated someone named Benny.”
“He’s so pretty.”
“Don’t let the pretty fool ya,” another voice said, coming in behind her. “He’ll bite the shit out of you, given the chance. Like a pretty woman that way,” Coast added, moving past Siana to snag an open, warm beer off the counter.
“Siana, this is Coast. Coast, Siana.”
“Sup?” he said, chugging the beer, then tossing it into the recycling bin before going to the fridge to grab a bottle of juice, pouring some into a sip cup, then filling the rest of it with water, before putting on the cap, and handing it to the baby.
“Is that his baby?” Siana asked in a whisper.
“The weird thing is… no,” I told her as Coast made his way out back, likely to take a dip in the pool.
“Weird, right, man?” Eddie asked, shaking his head as he strained the pasta. “Thinks vodka is a breakfast beverage, but somehow knows to dilute the baby’s juice. Alright, let’s eat,” he said, grabbing plates, then piling on food for Siana and I.
I noticed that he gave me significantly less pasta, and was reminded once again how much my eating had been off if Eddie wasn’t giving me a serving big enough to feed a small family, like he did for everyone else.
Eddie himself didn’t immediately join us, taking a moment to cut up pasta and chicken for the baby as Siana plowed through her food, letting out little moaning noises as she did so.
I was suddenly mad at myself for giving up my bedroom, because I wanted to pull her up there, and make her make those noises all over again.
But for me, not food.
“Why did you move out of here?” she asked afterward as I carried the gun case and led her toward the range. “The food alone is a reason to stay.”
“Want the truth?” I asked, making her look over, brows raised.
“Always.”
“I decided to move out when I started making content for PatronSinners. I knew that the guys would… have shit to say about it, so I could never film here. I wanted privacy.”
“Can I ask you something?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why did you join? If you didn’t need the money? Which I’m assuming you didn’t, since you bought a house before joining,” she clarified.
“Honestly? I was looking for the attention,” I admitted, cringing at how shallow that sounded. “I think some part of me felt lost after leaving dancing behind. It seems like I got a little too obsessed with my intake and exercise, but I wasn’t getting the validation I guess I was seeking from it.”
She watched me for a second before saying, “But… you dated, right? Was the attention from the club women not enough?”
“Honestly, at some point, I guess I really just backed away from that too. When everyone was partying, I was killing myself in the gym.”
“Like maybe you’ve been dealing with some disordered eating?” she asked. “Or exercise addiction?”
“Both, I think,” I admitted. “I didn’t really see how small I’d gotten until I started trying to film content. Cut, yes, but small. Too small, really.”
“I did notice that you look like you’ve put on some… bulk. But in a good way,” she said. “Should I be more… mindful about what you like to eat when we order?” she asked.
“No, baby,” I said, shaking my head. “If anything, I think you’ve been good for me. We get to talking, and it shuts up the inner monologue that would normally be cataloging macros and shit like that. It’s a good thing.”
Sure, I cared about how I looked. And I didn’t think there was anything wrong with that. But it was important to let my life have balance. Enjoy some cheesy, greasy food without overthinking it, then make sure I had something healthier the next time. Go to the gym because it made me feel and look good, but not fucking live there.