Putting on seven pounds in the past month was a huge blow; obviously, I cried, because all I do these days is cry it seems, but Nate was quick to point out it’s muscle. I’m leaner and I’m beating all my personal bests every workout as I get stronger. I’m fueling my body properly for the first time in so long, and as hard as it is, I’m trying to forget about the numbers. I never realized before how toxic my view of food was, but I’m trying to be better every day, feeding my body what it needs, not what I think it needs.
JJ finally looks up from his phone as I put the last naan on the plate. “Are you two moving in here?” he asks bluntly.
“Where’s your filter, Johal? Didn’t wanna ease into it?” Brin laughs.
“I’m a busy man, Brinny. Gotta cut to the chase.”
“I don’t know what we’re doing.” I sigh. “We’re going to talk about it when I get home from Colorado.”
“Well, I’m sure Hawkins has given you a full speech and promised to lay down his life for you or whatever, but so you know, I’m cool with you both living here. My instincts about men are impeccable and I’m telling you, Aaron is a walking, talking red flag.”
“If your instincts are so good, why are you single? Where’s your boyfriend?” Sabrina teases, joining us in front of the food to inspect our handiwork.
JJ snorts, tilting his phone so we can see how many people he’s texting. “Have you met the men on this campus? The ones in this house are an anomaly. It’s carnage out there.”
“We’re aware,” Brin and I say together.
“I think it’s unfair of me to tie myself to one person when there is such a wide range of people to spend time with.”
“How did you manage to make you being a manwhore sound sweet?” Sabrina shouts, throwing her head back, laughing.
“I’m a sweet guy.” He smirks, winking at the both of us.
The front door opens, and the guys come in, all looking sweaty and tired. “God, that smells good,” Robbie praises, rolling into the kitchen and immediately reaching for a naan.
I swat his hand away before he even gets to the plate. “Patience.”
After what feels like forever slapping hands away of hungry boys trying to sneak a taste, I finally plate up the food and make everyone sit at the table.
“This looks good, Stassie,” Henry says, not even one hint of something backhanded coming my way.
“I’m so proud of you,” Nate says, leaning over to kiss my temple. “It smells amazing.”
Fuck you, calorie app.
THIRTY-FOUR | NATHAN
Am I surprised my girlfriend—yes,I’m allowed to call her that now—is the most annoying person to travel with, ever? No.
She’s so fucking awake right now that it’s knocking me a little sick. We’re getting the first flight to Washington, meaning it’s not even light, yet she’s bouncing around the place.
On the one hand, it’s so good to see her happy after the post-Aaron slump she’s been in. On the other hand, we wake up together every day, and I’ve never seen her act like this before lunchtime, so I’m freaking confused. I’m currently sipping my second coffee, and I still have the nauseous feeling you get when you wake up too early.
It isn’t flying to Seattle she’s happy about, we could be going anywhere. She likes getting organized to travel, it turns out. Bossy Anastasia is my favorite; she’s determined and sassy, fucking hilarious when I don’t listen, and she starts scowling. In bed when she takes control,Jesus,I’m a lucky man. I would happily deal with bossy Anastasia every day.
Travel Anastasia is the worst. Lists. So many fucking lists. Nothing I do is trusted; all the bags had to be rechecked by her because my checks aren’t as good as her checks.
Travel Anastasia forced me to use packing cubes, meaning I spent an hour playing freakingTetriswith my case. When I was on my third go of making it all fit, failing once again, I launched the pointless cubes across the room. Sensing I was feeling a little frustrated, she sank to her knees in front of me, reached for my belt, and showed me how much she loves traveling. It was the only thing that stopped me from canceling the flights.
Downing the last of my coffee, I lean back in the rickety airport seat, immediately feeling eyes on me. “You’re a grumpy gills this morning,” she chirps, tucking into the fruit salad she paid about fifteen bucks for in the airport shop.
“Early. Tired,” I grunt.
“Poor baby,” she says sarcastically, giggling and pinching at my cheek. “Want to sleep on my boobs on the plane?”
“I obviously wanna sleep on your boobs,” I mumble, leaning to steal the piece of pineapple on her fork. “How are you so awake? And happy?”
“I love airports. People watching, organizing, shopping and stuff, it’s great. Plus, I’m about to spend nearly two weeks with your undivided attention, how can I not be happy?”