Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“That’s fantastic.” I turn on the heated seat. “Sponsorships rock, don’t they? Uncle Will always gets free stuff.”
“I wasn’t expecting it,” he says, shaking his head as he heads down the driveway and through the gate. “I mean, I knew that it was possible, but I didn’t expect it so soon.”
“From what I’ve read and heard, you’re excellent,” I reply. “Very talented, well-liked, and you’re handsome. It doesn’t surprise me at all that you were offered things right away.”
“So, you think I’m handsome.”
I smirk. “Yeah, yeah, you know you’re good-looking.”
He laughs and pulls into Salty’s parking lot, and once he’s parked, he holds up a hand.
“Stay put.”
No man has ever made sure I stayed where I am so he can circle around and open my door for me.
It’s kind of nice. And it reminds me of my own parents, and that makes me a little sentimental.
Ike opens my door and offers his hand to help me out of the truck, then locks the vehicle as we walk to the door of the restaurant, and he opens that one for me, too.
“There are two of us,” he tells the host, who consults something on his podium, then grabs a couple of menus and shows us to a table against the windows that face the water and the skyline of Seattle.
The sun is just starting to set, casting the water and the buildings in pink.
“That’s beautiful,” I murmur.
“Gorgeous.”
I glance over and find him looking at me rather than the view, and I wrinkle my nose at him.
“Do you come here a lot?” I ask as I sip some water.
“A couple of times a month,” he replies. “Not too often. How about you?”
“I like to cook,” I reply, and we’re interrupted by the waitress, who takes our orders and then walks away, even though it’s clear by the look on her face that she knows who Ike is.
She doesn’t make a fuss.
It’s just one more reason why I love this place.
“So, you like to cook,” he prompts me.
“I do. I cook a lot for my job, and I usually eat the leftovers from that.”
“You said you’re a nutritionist?” He drinks his own water. He didn’t order any alcohol with his dinner. I don’t know if that’s because I didn’t or if he just doesn’t drink.
“Yeah, I’m all about eating healthy but also sensibly. So many fad diets just aren’t sustainable, but if I can teach people how to make good choices with everyday foods, that’s what really helps. I also share my shopping lists and even do some videos in the store so I can show how to choose your food.”
“That’s actually really awesome. I’ve never thought of grocery shopping like that.”
“Have you always been lean?”
“Sure.” He nods thoughtfully. “I’ve always attributed that to being so active and having a killer metabolism. Genetics, too, I guess.”
I lean in, enjoying this conversation. “Many of us weren’t as lucky. And there are just far too many people out there with body dysmorphia, who may also have eating disorders, and that can be deadly. I know all too well.”
His eyes narrow on me. “Tell me how you know.”
I love the way he watches me with those killer brown eyes. The way he listens. He’s not just placating me, having a surface conversation so he can get in my pants later.
He’s interested in what I’m saying.
And, in my experience, that doesn’t happen often. It’s sexy as hell.
“I had a best friend in middle school who was just a tiny little thing. Super skinny and petite. And I was in such a horrible phase with my body. Hormones were kicking in on overdrive. I was changing, and you know how some kids get that, well, chubby look to them? I don’t mean that in a mean way, I’m just—”
“I get it,” he says with a nod and butters a hot roll that was just delivered, then offers it to me.
I bite in and sigh in happiness.
“Anyway, that was me. And I thought I’d be like that forever, and I was not happy with it. I told Steph about how I was feeling, and she said, Oh, that’s easy. And proceeded to coach me on throwing up what I ate, like she did.”
“Oh, shit,” he whispers.
“Yeah, oh, shit. I don’t know how long she’d been doing that, but I suspect a long while. I did it for a couple of months, and the two of us had a sort of new club. We were excited. We kept a journal, and we had the best buddy system ever.
“Until she died. She was thirteen, and her heart gave out from lack of potassium, which I now know is common in those who suffer from bulimia. I went to college to learn about nutrition and eating disorders, and I knew that I wanted to help people who suffered from them. I’ve never intentionally thrown up since then. And yes, I’m naturally curvy, but I’m also tall. I’m not built to be small, and I’m totally okay with that.”