“You should really start coming to the gym and working out with me.”

It's the first thing that Becky says when she plants her ass next to me the following morning. She looks chipper and perfect as normal, with her big doe eyes and her hair pulled back into a high ponytail that makes her seem deceptively innocent.

I sneer at her. “I can get my workout done outside of the gym.”

“By that, you mean on your back,” she giggles.

My mouth falls agape from her boldness, and it takes me a moment to recover. “That's not what I mean at all! I was playing tennis last night with Caleb,” I tell her, hoping that throwing the Caleb part in there will sting.

The light fades from her eyes a bit, but it's barely noticeable. “Does his girlfriend know that you two hang out together?”

“What does it matter?” I turn my computer monitor on.

Becky tilts her head to the side in thought. “I just imagine that she'd get jealous if she knew that another girl was hanging out with him.”

“Our friendship is too strong to allow significant others to tear it apart,” I inform her, hoping that it's true.

She reaches over, startling me. It takes me a moment to realize she's going for the necklace that Peter gave me. Becky practically pulls me to her by it so that she can get a better look.

“Wow. That's so pretty. Did Peter give it to you?”

I brush her hand away, grasping the necklace protectively. “Yes.”

“That's an expensive piece.” Her eyes stay fixed on the necklace.

I bet it is. I strum the necklace with my fingertips. “I wish I could afford to repay him.”

“I'm sure you repay him in other ways.” She turns to her computer finally.

“But I want to really repay him,” I confess, wondering why I'm starting to open up to her. Maybe because for once it doesn't seem like she's trying to steal my boyfriend.

“That's how girls repay guys for such things.” She glances over at me. “Didn't you know?”

“That doesn't really seem right.” I frown.

“Listen.” Becky turns to me again. “When a guy really likes a girl, he'll buy her nice things. It's not just for you. It makes him feel like he's being a good boyfriend. The fact that Peter got you something so nice must mean that he really likes you. You should just accept the gift and be happy about it.”

“But that feels so unbalanced.” I wrinkle my nose. “I can barely afford to pay rent and keep myself fed. There's no way I can buy him nice things.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment. “It's not your job to buy him things. Man, you're clueless about dating.”

I huff, though I'm not sure I can disagree.

“Does he make you happy?”

The question comes out of left field.

“Huh?” I look up at Becky.

“Does he make you happy?” she repeats the question more slowly. “Because at the end of the day, that's what a relationship is really about. It's not about gifts. It's about how the two of you feel about each other.”

“Of course he makes me happy,” I reply almost defensively.

“Then don't worry about paying him back with monetary things. Pay him back with your company by being the best you that you can be around him.”

Peter steps into the room and announces that we should all get to work. The chatter in the room dies, and I simply stare at Becky for several more seconds, thinking that maybe she's not such a bitch after all.

* * *

To pay Caleb back for tennis practice, I decide to cook for him. I make a batch of chili when I get home from work, but for some reason it just isn't coming out right. The spices are off, and I can't figure out what it's missing.

I stomp my foot as I stand over the pot, quickly becoming upset. The recipe I found online was not particularly difficult. Cooking chili isn't rocket science. And while I shouldn't really care how it turns out as long as I feed him, there's a competitiveness in me that wants my chili to be at least as good as his was.

Finally, after nearly breaking into tears, I give up. Shuffling over, I knock on the door to Caleb's apartment.

He pokes his head out, his expression filling with concern as he sees my frown. “What's wrong?”

“I made you dinner.” I fold my arms over my chest grumpily.

“You made me dinner,” he parrots as if I didn't speak English.

“Yes. Come eat.” I nod back towards my apartment.

He follows a few minutes later, taking a hesitant step inside. “It smells good.”

Of course, he would say that. He's too nice to tell the truth. It smells like a spice rack fucking exploded inside my kitchen.

“Taste this and tell me what it needs.” I offer him a spoonful of chili.

He gives me a queer look before opening his mouth so that I can spoon-feed him. His eyebrows furrow after he chews a few times and swallows.

“Here.” He nudges past me to start rummaging through my spice cabinet.

I barely have time to see what he grabs. He opens up two different bottles, pouring in a generous amount of each before smothering the pot with salt.

My mouth falls open and I rush forward. “That's too much salt!”

He lifts the salt bottle out of my reach, looking at me intensely. “Trust me.”

“I trust that you've ruined it.” I huff, taking a step back.

He stirs the pot and then dips the spoon in, turning to me with his hand under it. “Now try it.”

I quirk my head back, feeling weird about him spoon-feeding me before I realize that I just did the same thing to him a few seconds ago. Only now did I notice that my actions were a bit too friendly.

I open my mouth and let him feed me. The chili now tastes perfect. How in the hell did he do that?

“I hate you,” I tell him when I'm done chewing.

His lips spread into a wide grin. “Good, isn't it?”

“That's fucking magic.” I push him out of the way and grab the spoon from him to take another bite. “How did you know what to add?”

“I used to help my mom cook when I was little.” He picks up a bowl from the kitchen island and hands it to me. “What's this all about anyway?”

“I wanted to repay you for playing tennis with me yesterday,” I tell him before getting the idea that I should cook for Peter.

“Well, I appreciate it.” Caleb fills his bowl and goes to sit on my sofa.

“Do you think that Peter would like something like this?” I glance down at the chili.

“Maybe. But if you're going to cook for him, you're going to have to bring all of your own ingredients. Peter's kitchen is like a barren wasteland. He eats out 99% of the time.”

I already knew that. I'm surprised that Peter had enough ingredients to make me soup the other day. Maybe he even had to go out to the store to buy them.

“So when are you going to play tennis with him?” Caleb asks.

“Later tonight.” I take my bowl and go sit next to him.

“So you come home and make dinner for me then go play with him?” He arches an eyebrow at me. “You are one strange girl.”

“Is there something weird about that?” I screw my face.

Caleb reaches over, and I feel his fingertips brush my cheek. My heart stops beating from his touch. I look at him, and I feel something that I haven't felt in a very long time—not since we were in high school together.

And then his fingers leave me, and it's over.

“There was a piece of hair in your mouth,” he tells me before standing to take his bowl to the sink. He must have inhaled the chili when I wasn't watching.

I feel frozen in place. My heart starts beating again, but there's discomfort churning in the pit of my stomach.

“Thanks for the food. I'll let myself out.” Caleb waves to me without even turning before he leaves.

Sense finally returns to me, though I'm still trying to process what just happened. It was nothing outlandishly strange. We just spoon-fed each other. He brushed a strand of hair away from my face.

But his touch. It's lingering with me. And the more I realize what I'm feeling, the more I hate myself for it.

An hour and a half later, I'm on the tennis court with Peter. He's whooping my ass like it's nobody's business, but he's smiling and laughing, so at least I know he's having a good time.

“You've improved,” he tells me cheerfully as he serves a ball that I can't possibly hope to return without breaking my wrist.

I run for it anyway, and my stomach gurgles angrily from indigestion. When I couldn't figure out what the chili was missing, I went a bit heavy with the chili powder. For as much as I want to blame my oncoming illness on Caleb, this is my fault.

Still, I try to push through for as long as I can. I run. I pant. I sweat. I miss balls. I push myself to the very limit of what I can physically handle, but then the discomfort gets to be too much, and I have to call it quits.

“I'm sorry.” I sulk. “I'm not feeling too well.”

“What's wrong?” Peter jogs up beside me.

“I had chili with Caleb tonight, and I think I put too much chili powder in it,” I confess.

The second that I say Caleb's name, I know I've goofed. Peter's expression immediately shifts to what I can only assume is jealousy.

“You put too much chili powder in it,” his voice trails off for a moment. “You ate together tonight? You should have told me. We could have gone out to dinner so you didn't have to eat with him.”

“I needed to repay him for something, so I cooked for him.” Holy awkward. I feel like I'm digging my grave even deeper, but I need to make our eating together seem justified.

“Repay him for what?” he asks boldly.

I don't want to tell him that I needed a refresher course in tennis, so I lie. “He helped me move some furniture.”

“You should have called me. I could have helped you.”

“I'm sorry.” I shrink slightly. “I thought I could move it myself. I just got so frustrated that it seemed easier to go next door and ask for his help instead of bothering you.”

“Willow.” Peter grabs my hand. “I'm your boyfriend. It would be no bother at all. You're supposed to call me when you need things.”

“I'll remember that,” I reply timidly.

“How's your stomach?” He gently rubs my tummy. It gurgles angrily in response and he chuckles. “Let's go to the store and get you some medicine to take care of that.”

* * *

To say I feel bad for Peter finding out that I cooked for Caleb is the understatement of the year. Now, cooking for him is out of the question. He got so jealous when I told him. I don't want to remind him by doing the same thing for him that I did for Caleb.

I need to do something that will only be for him. So I decide to go to the adult video store and buy some lingerie. My guilt is so strong that I don't even wait until the next day. I head straight there as soon as Peter and I wrap up our evening, even though it's quickly approaching midnight and I need to get up early for work the next day. Buying the lingerie now will alleviate some of my guilt, because I'll know I'm taking steps to mend things between us.

My heart beats fiercely as I pull into the dimly lit parking lot. I've never been in one of these stores before, and as I kill the engine, I think that maybe it's an experience that I should save to have with Peter. Maybe I should just leave and go to Victoria's Secret tomorrow. But Victoria's Secret is so expensive. I would go to Walmart instead, but I know they won't have anything as sexy as what I'm looking for. And if there are two things I won't buy at thrift stores, they're shoes and intimates.

I have to do this, I decide as I stare up at the neon sign and try to gather my courage to go inside.

I push open the door, expecting to see a plethora of sleazy men. The store is completely empty of customers, though I shouldn't be surprised considering that I was one of only three cars in the parking lot. The other two must belong to employees.

I'm greeted at the door and asked for my ID before I'm allowed to enter dildo and porn land. My mouth falls agape as I take it all in. One side of the store looks like a smutty Blockbusters. The other has rows of shelves with sex toys. The lingerie is against the walls, but that's not the first place I go.

I take my time browsing, feeling much more comfortable since I'm the only person in the store. Some of the dildos and toys have to be for novelty, because there's no way I can picture people using them. There are plastic cocks bigger around than a soda can and close to two feet long. That just looks painful.

Finally, when I'm done wandering around, I go take a look at the lingerie, frowning at how all of the models are perfect with their tiny waists and big tits. I glance down at my chest, thinking about how my boobs practically disappeared when I lost weight. I feel so self-conscious naked with all of my loose skin that I haven't even let Peter keep the light on during sex yet. Wearing lingerie was supposed to make me feel braver, but with all of the sheer fabrics, it would only be a minor improvement over him seeing me naked.

My mood tanks as I search through the different pieces for something suitable. Sexy but not too revealing. Something made for a girl like me who has lost a considerable amount of weight.

Despite the nearly endless selection, I can't find anything I like. I try to picture myself in each outfit, and all I see are my flaws. The cellulite on my thighs. The droopy skin on my stomach. My bat wings.

There's no way I would look sexy in any of this.

My mind goes to an even darker place as I wonder why in hell Peter is even with me. He could have any girl he wants. Girls with perfect bodies like Becky. Girls who could afford to pay back his generosity. There's nothing special about me. When I'm with him, I feel happy but also useless. So useless and out of place and...unworthy. He deserves better.

I sigh, taking one last lingering look at all of the lingerie before deciding to surrender and go to Walmart. I'll be able to find something less revealing there and more in my price range. These things are for sexy women, and I am not a sexy woman. I'm a broke woman with a frumpy body. I'm a Walmart girl dating a Gucci guy. How is this ever going to work out?

My face is set in a frown as I shuffle out of the store, my purse clutched tightly to my chest. Depression has washed over me like a wave, drowning me as it pulls me out to sea. I probably shouldn't even bother stopping by Walmart tonight. I know that I'm in one of those moods where nothing will please me.

I get to my car and pull my keys out of my purse. Strong arms grip around me, and a hand clasps over my mouth.

My eyes go wide and I drop my keys as I panic. There's a moment of confusion before I realize what's happening. I'm being pulled back into a vehicle.

I struggle with everything in me, flailing and trying to scream. If there's more than one person, I can't tell. Whoever has me loses their balance. I'm halfway into the van, and my only comfort is that my feet are still touching the cement.

I grab the hand against my mouth and pull it closer, biting into the fingers. I bite so hard that blood fills my mouth. I don't care. The man holding me screams and lets me go. I use the moment of freedom to swing my elbow back into his face, miraculously hitting him right in the eye. He clutches his face, cursing between his teeth.

I turn to see that it's only one man. I commit his features to memory before realizing that this is probably my only chance to escape. I scoop my purse up from the pavement before running at full speed back to the store.

Thankfully, the man doesn't follow. Instead, he gets into his vehicle and peels out of the parking lot.

“Call the police,” I yell to the store clerk, my heart pounding in my chest so rapidly that I worry I might have a heart attack. “A man just tried to abduct me.”

The clerk moves too slowly, so I pull out my phone. It's not 911 that I dial, though. My fingers instinctively move to Caleb's name. By the time he picks up the phone, I'm a sobbing mess, leaning against the counter to keep standing.

“Caleb. I need you,” is all that I can manage to get out. “Come quick. I need you.”