Chapter 3
Ethan took the whole weight-loss thing seriously.
At least, that’s what I thought at first.
The next morning, he texted me a photo of his breakfast and a meal plan from his dietitian.
Ethan: Look. I’m being good.
I sent back a voice message.
“Proud of you. Keep it up.”
He replied almost immediately.
Ethan: Anything for you.
For the next week, I got updates constantly.
Pictures from the gym, photos of whatever his dietitian had told him to eat, and complaints about how much he hated vegetables.
Then, a week later, he sent me a picture of the scale.
He’d gained two pounds.
I called him.
“What happened?”
There was a long pause.
“I followed the plan.”
“Ethan.”
“I did.”
“Then how did you gain weight?”
Another pause.
“I get hungry at night.”
“And?”
“I order food sometimes.”
“What kind of food?”
“Nothing crazy.”
“Ethan.”
He sighed.
“Wings.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
“Twenty.”
I closed my eyes.
“And fries.”
“Of course there were fries.”
“And sometimes a milkshake.”
I laughed because otherwise I was going to lose my mind.
“You cannot spend all day following a diet plan and then order half the menu at midnight.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I said I know.”
He sounded so miserable that I almost felt bad for him.
Almost.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“I’m coming over.”
Twenty minutes later, Ethan opened the door holding a giant iced coffee that looked suspiciously full of whipped cream.
I took it out of his hand.
“Hey.”
“What is this?”
“Coffee.”
“This is dessert with a straw.”
He frowned. “I was drinking that.”
“Not anymore.”
He followed me outside.
“What are we doing?”
“Walking.”
“For how long?”
“Until I stop being annoyed with you.”
“That could take hours.”
“Then you’d better start moving.”
He actually laughed.
After that, I started doing more of it with him.
His trainer handled the real workouts. I just made sure he actually showed up, went on walks with him, and talked him out of ordering food every time he got hungry at midnight.
One night, he called me at almost one in the morning.
“I want pizza.”
“No.”
“I’m starving.”
“You ate dinner.”
“That was four hours ago.”
“You’ll survive.”
“What if I don’t?”
“I’ll send flowers.”
He laughed.
“Wow. You really care about me.”
“I care enough to stop you from ordering pizza.”
“That’s basically love.”
A few weeks in, I gave him extra motivation.
“Every ten pounds, you get a kiss on the cheek.”
He looked at me.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“What do I get at fifty?”
I smiled. “We’ll see.”
His eyes narrowed.
“That sounds promising.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
It worked way better than I expected.
Six months later, Ethan barely looked like the man I’d met at that restaurant.
He’d lost a huge amount of weight, his old clothes were gone, and apparently his trainer had introduced him to fitted shirts.
I was staring at him one afternoon when he caught me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been looking at me for like thirty seconds.”
“I have not.”
He smiled. “You like it.”
“You’re very annoying now.”
“You still like it.”
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed.
It was Madison.
EMILY. CHECK YOUR PHONE.
Another message came in.
You’re literally all over social media right now.
I frowned and opened the link she sent me.
Then I stared at the screen.
Someone had posted a photo of me from campus.
The caption read:
Okay, who is Emily Parker and why has nobody told me she looks like this?