Just One Look
Copyright© 2025 by DB86
Chapter 7
Friday, I survived another day at the gym and then went to work. I visited some clients and inspected the job my crew had done. Honestly, they’d nailed it—clean, efficient, even a few touches I hadn’t asked for. They didn’t need me hovering over them every second.
By the end of the day, I noticed something strange— I wasn’t as sore as I’d been earlier in the week.
Don’t get me wrong, it still hurt like hell. But it was a manageable, dull ache instead of the all-consuming, muscles-on-fire kind of pain.
That evening, I didn’t have the energy to do much more than heat up some grilled chicken and salad, and try to pretend it didn’t taste like cardboard. I ate in silence, wishing it were a greasy, cheesy pizza instead.
Feeling the weight of the empty apartment pressing in, I pulled out my phone. I scrolled past missed calls and texts until I landed on Rachel. My thumb hovered over her name. I still wasn’t sure about her. Too much cheer, too much interest for someone who’d just met me at the store. I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she was part of some well-meaning setup.
Still, I wasn’t ready to push her away. Not without proof. Not when she was one of the few people actually cheering me on.
So, I hit ‘Call’.
She picked up on the second ring. Her voice was bright as ever. “Hey, you! How did you sleep?”
“Like the dead,” I said, with a groan. “I didn’t move once, I think.”
“Sounds like progress! How’s the body today?”
“Still sore, but tolerable. I didn’t need a crane to get out of bed, so I’m calling that a win.”
She laughed. “Good! Did you eat something nice?”
“Grilled chicken and salad,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “Thrilling, I know.”
“Mmm, gourmet.”
“It was edible. Barely. But I’m sticking to the plan.”
“I’m proud of you, Pete,” she said. “Really.”
There was a beat of silence. Then she added, “Hey, I heard good things about that restaurant on Main Square. The Jammed. Do you want to check it out?”
I raised an eyebrow at my phone. “The Jammed? Yeah, I’ve eaten there before. The chef had made a name for himself in the culinary world. Their pasta is amazing. And their desserts are to die for. Not exactly a weight-loss-friendly zone.”
“We could order fish,” she offered quickly. “Or salad. You know, be good and still have a night out. What do you say? Tomorrow at six?”
I hesitated. It felt like a test. Or maybe I was the one doing the testing.
“Rachel,” I said slowly. “Just so I’m clear ... what are we talking about here? Is this, like, a date?”
There was a pause. Not long, but enough for my stomach to twist.
“Oh, no,” she said quickly, almost too quickly. “No, of course not. Just two friends meeting to support each other in our weight-loss journey.”
There it was.
My heart dropped, even though I’d expected it. I knew it. I’d been right all along. Sometimes, being perceptive felt like a curse.
Still, I tried to keep my voice even. “Got it.”
“Pete?” she asked, maybe hearing something in my tone. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “Tomorrow at six works for me. See you there.”
“Okay. Great!”
I hung up before I could second-guess myself.
The next day at work, I decided to unload my suspicions on the one person who would give it to me straight—my cousin Marisa.
“So, let me get this straight,” she said, folding her arms as I finished ranting. “You think Diana and her friends set this whole thing up?”
“It sure looks like it,” I said. “First, they show up on my doorstep with their big intervention about my weight. Then they practically shoved me into Derek’s gym. That very same day, I ‘accidentally’ bumped into Rachel at the store, and we clicked. And not just small talk—she’s suddenly super interested in me. Then, out of nowhere, she changes her gym schedule to match mine? Come on, Marisa. That’s not coincidence. That’s choreography.”
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