3
In my previous life, I’d been too young and naive to enjoy the luxury of the food in front of me.
This time, I glanced at the four boys sitting around me.
“No wonder everyone dreams of being a sugar mommy. Turns out spoiling a group of pretty boys feels this good!”
The smiles on their faces froze instantly.
Feigning surprise, I quickly added, “Oh no, did I just say that out loud? My bad!”
“Don’t be shy, everyone! Let’s dig in–pretend we’re all family!”
Channeling the spirit of a true host, I didn’t hold back, savoring every dish like a queen.
Why let all this good food go to waste by just staring at it?
After I’d eaten my fill, Logan Brooks eyed the empty plates in front of me with a mix of shock and admiration.
“Rhea, your appetite is impressive. Want to go burn some of that off with me?”
12:43
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I glanced at his deliberately flexed bicep and flashed a bright smile. “Sure! But do you have an eight–pack?”
He grinned. “Only six. Is that okay?”
I shrugged, pretending to be excited as I raised my phone. “Guess we’ll have to see for ourselves!”
But when it came time for Logan to show off his so–called six–pack, he hesitated and awkwardly pulled up his shirt halfway.
I took a quick photo, then glanced at it with a raised brow.
Wow. Bold of you to brag with… this. Are you not worried about the internet teaching you a lesson?
Logan, however, seemed unbothered. He even tried to drag me to the school’s private gym to “show me the joys of fitness.”
The gym, of course, was as luxurious as you’d expect from a place like St. Augustine–spotless, fully equipped, and free of the usual sweaty smell.
As always, I whipped out my phone, angling it carefully to capture the entire scene before recording Logan as he guided me through the
equipment.
“Let’s start with pull–ups!” he said confidently.
In my past life, I’d been so flustered and nervous that I hadn’t managed to do a single pull–up. Logan had taken the opportunity to “help” by wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me.
We’d been so close, I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.
Blushing and weak, I couldn’t muster any strength.
The school’s private forum had later exploded with the headline: “Chubby Girl Goes for the Kill“-mocking me mercilessly.
Now, Logan stood in the same position, asking, “Need me to show you how it’s done?”
I nodded, stretching my wrists and ankles.
Fitness was Logan’s comfort zone, and after the embarrassment over his “abs,” he was eager to prove himself. He jumped up, knocked out a few pull–ups, and even flashed a sliver of his stomach.
I watched through my phone’s screen, already imagining the views this footage would bring me.
When Logan finished, sweat dripping down his face, he turned to me. “Want me to guide you through it?”
I waved him off, grabbed the bar, and cranked out a set of pull–ups far more impressive than his.
“Oh, by the way,” I said casually as I hopped down, “I used to be a personal trainer.”
