Everyone in the room nods begrudgingly.
“Don’t forget who that Dimple belongs to,” I mutter to him.
He wraps an arm around me, pulling me closer to drop a kiss on my temple. “It’s yours. I’m all yours.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Elias
Today isthe day I’m going to talk to Mia about our situation. The thing that’s happening between us. We’re going to talk like mature lifelong friends, like maybe lifelong-sex-friends.
It’s going to happen in the morning, but we get distracted.
Then I’m going to bring it up around lunch, but we get distracted again.
Mia bites down.
“How do you not have any social media accounts for your gym yet?” she asks around a mouthful of baby carrot and hummus.
I shrug, dipping a tiny piece of carrot deep into the hummus, so that I end up taking a bite that’s a centimeter of carrot and a tablespoon of hummus. “I’ve really only ever operated by word of mouth.”
She fiddles around on her phone. “I guess that’s really impressive. But I feel like you could definitely take it over the top by having social media. It’s like its own form of marketing.”
“It’s just too much. Running and operating the gym, training clients… I don’t even have time to check my phone for texts all week, much less run a social media account.”
She nods. “That makes sense. But I can help you now. Let’s at least get one up and running. And then maybe you can carve out like, one hour a week when you’re not actively working and do a post or something.”
“Okay,” I say, knowing I would both agree and trust anything that comes out of this woman’s mouth. Including her choice of snacks at the grocery store when she loaded our cart full of fruit and vegetables. Like baby carrots. I hate baby carrots.
“What’s your gym name again?”
“Miller’s,” I say, wishing I had at least a pita chip to dip into this hummus.
She smiles. “Cute.” She thinks for a moment. “What do you think aboutmillerspersonaltrainingas your username? All one word?”
“Too long,” I say. “How aboutmillersgym?”
She types into her phone. “It’s not taken. We can use it. That what you want?”
“Yep.”
“Actually, let me do this from your phone. That way, the app will recommend people you already know. So you can get a bunch of follows from your existing contact list.”
I hand it over.
She fiddles around on it, downloading the app.
I go into the kitchen to hunt for something with a little more trans fat.
“I’m going into your photos to look for a gym photo for your profile pic,” she yells from the living room.
I freeze in the middle of reaching into a cabinet, doing some mental calculations, thinking of the last—fuck.
Oh no. Oh boy.
You stupid fucking idiot.
I drag my feet back into the living room in dread.Shit.
