Yeah…
I scratched the side of my head. “Well, when you put it that way…”
“In addition, are you sure he knows?” she pressed. “While I talk about my darlin’ sister all the time, I wouldn’t bet on my four boys doing so—and they see Ethan much more often than I do.”
Fair point. I actually didn’t know if Ethan realized I was related to Gray. He must’ve considered it since he knew our last name, but perhaps he was waiting for me to bring it up. Or the thought hadn’t even occurred to him! Who knew?
“I guess I’ll talk to him on Monday,” I sighed.
Morning, Natalie. How was your girls’ night? You mentioned on Friday that you might struggle to make healthy choices in social situations. Did you?
I yawned and squinted at the display.
Christ. He’d sent the text at seven in the freaking morning—over an hour ago. It was Sunday! Did he ever rest?
I rolled onto my side and locked the screen so it wouldn’t flip while I responded.
Morning, Coach. It was easier than I thought it would be to limit my wine intake. I didn’t go overboard with the cheese and snacks either, but then my sister put out her strawberry pie. It’s one of my favorites, and I can’t lie, I had two servings. I don’t feel too bad, though. I was enjoying myself, and I decided to take an extra-long walk today.
I sent it off and slipped the phone under my pillow.
It was too early. My eyes felt heavy, and I wanted a lazy morning. I’d earned it.
Just as I was about to doze off, my pillow vibrated, and I groaned. I couldn’t ignore his text.
You shouldn’t feel bad. Taking a longer walk sounds great, and I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I’ll check in with you tonight. Have a good Sunday.
“You don’t make sense, you weirdo,” I whispered to myself. How could he be so kind and still so conceited? Even if these texts were part of the package I paid for, he was the creator of said programs. He had decided to include a texting service, both personal and automated. Once a day, I received helpful reminders to get up and move around, drink my water, and prepare healthy snacks. And some of those texts were so spot-on for my situation that I was certain he occasionally went into whatever software he used and altered the texts to benefit me specifically.
In the end, my curiosities got the best of me, and I replied again.
You seem to work very hard. Do you need someone to remind you to rest? ;) It’s Sunday, Coach!
I hoped the wink was enough to assure him I wasn’t complaining. If anything, I was amazed at his level of energy. Even if I didn’t see him personally every time I was at the gym, I knew he was around. His schedule was public, both printed on the event wall for that day’s classes and available digitally whenever I logged in to their site to record my workouts.
Ethan taught kickboxing, hosted various classes, worked as a personal trainer, offered rehab sessions, and did online coaching in nutrition and physical health. The latter was a service available to anyone in the country, explaining why he benefited from a large following. Plus, he’d shown multiple times that he understood the importance of maintaining good mental health as well, so he must’ve studied a crapload to be who he was.
Last but not least, he managed his business.
As a business owner myself, I knew how much shit was running in the background, all of it requiring attention and maintenance.
He responded shortly after.
Sunday is meal prep day for me. Already went to the grocery store, and the chicken is almost done in the oven. Don’t worry, I get plenty of rest. But it requires a fair bit of work to stay at my level. ;)
Okay, his wink was just weird. Unless I was being judgy again. I wasn’t sure, to be honest. I needed more sleep?—
Oh. He was texting more. The dots were moving.
There. Today’s ab workout has been posted on Insta too. #GettingShitDone
“Oh my God.” I cringed and laughed into my pillow. Who texted hashtags? And was there any other reason to let me know he’d uploaded a photo of himself than wanting me to check it out?
Christ. I was going back to sleep. I’d give him a “Good for you!” later.
“You see that, Natalie? Twelve minutes. Last week, you couldn’t do half of that.”
Yeah, fucking awesome. I panted like a madwoman, hands planted on my thighs, zero composure. My God, kill me. Mondays were horrible. I hated Mondays.
