Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Okay, maybe I am attracted to the male physique after all. Maybe Mason’s right and I need to look at other guys. He’s certainly not going to start looking at me differently merely because he knows I have feelings for him. Had. Had feelings. I can’t be thinking in present tense lest anything slip out.
But sitting here on my rowing machine, not rowing, my gaze is stuck on him. His new body turns me on even more than the skinny version of him. Am I attracted to it because it’s Mason, or is it his actual body doing it for me? If he was some random guy in a random gym, would I be looking this fiercely?
His eyes catch mine in the mirror in front of him. Oops. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re in pain.”
So much pain. Sexually frustrated and confused pain.
He stops his machine. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“No. Not hurt. I … uh … I think I’m done for the day? I’m all … sweaty.” And horny. When was the last time I had sex?
“Okay. I’m almost done. I want to do one more set of weights and then a cooldown on the treadmill.”
I don’t like the way he’s determined to lose weight. He sounds like an exec from our old label when Harley gained weight.
“No one wants to be known as the fat one.” The guy said that with a pointed glare in Harley’s direction.
I understand Mason’s need to feel good about himself before going out in public, but at the same time, Hollywood’s standard of beauty is so hard to maintain. I started drinking liquor straight because it’s less calories than drinking whiskey with Coke. This coming from me, who’s never had weight issues. That type of thinking is ingrained in Hollywood life. Plus, if I did drink sugary soda with my alcohol, I’d probably weigh more than Mason.
I hate what the media is doing to him. This story is going to be what he’s known for now that Eleven is over unless he loses the weight and reappears like his old self.
“You don’t have to push this hard. You shouldn’t push this hard. You’re doing this for an industry who, in your words, thinks you’re expendable.”
He climbs off the machine. “I know, but …”
“But what?”
“I used my weight as a disguise on purpose. When I realized I’d put on so much and my beard kind of hid my identity, I made sure that I didn’t lose any weight. I kept going down that path because I felt like my true self for once, not some label-manufactured pop star. But now … now that the media has caught wind of my great method of staying incognito, it no longer feels like a disguise but a target.”
“A target?”
“Something they can exploit and use against me.” He pants from pushing himself too hard. “If Eleven gets back together while I’m still …” He gestures to his body. “And say we’re as successful as we once were, and then, I lose some weight. What is the number one question I’m going to be asked in interviews?”
“How you lost all the weight,” I mutter. Of course it will be.
“There’s a photo of it out there already. It might even still be too late to turn it around. But—”
“You want to try. I get it. I do. I just don’t like seeing you like this.”
“Red-faced, splotchy, and almost vomiting? That’s a good thing, right? It’s hard to be attracted to someone who’s about to vomit. Don’t want those old feelings being dredged up.”
Too late.
“Here’s the call sheet and the schedule for the film crews to be at your house next week.” The production assistant shoves papers in front of me. “You’ll also be emailed a copy.”
“Wait, what?”
“Did your manager not tell you? The contestants left on your team by the end of this week will come to stay with you for three nights for mentoring.”
My head hurts. It’s been another long day, and what he’s saying makes absolutely no sense.
“Why is it at my house? That wasn’t in the contract.” Was it?
The PA holds up his hand. “Please don’t shoot the messenger.”
This can’t happen. It can’t.
Mason and I are finally being friendly again. He’s even welcomed me home each night this week, and we’ve hung out. I’ve woken up twice on the couch with a blanket over me and Mason gone to his bed.
It’s literally like old times.
My attraction still burns hotter than ever, and the longing stings, but I’ve missed my friend. I’ve missed him fussing over me. I just got that back.
If I go home now and tell him film crews are coming, he’s going to bail. Maybe he’ll go back to Montana already. I was hoping our reconciliation would give the Eleven reunion a higher chance of happening, but we have so far to go yet. This detour might derail any progress we’ve made to get back to normal. Well, our brand of normal.