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My eyes roll back in my head, and I’m desperately trying to retain some semblance of composure, but I am a total goner.
It feels too good. I can’t hold back.
* * *
“Brenda,” I say with an arched eyebrow, eyeing the short, fiery-haired woman beside me. “I am not getting you another fucking custard donut. Absolutely not.”
She eyeballs me and then turns to the woman behind the counter and orders that shit right in front of me.
The gall of this woman.
“We came here to get you in shape, dammit, not stuff your face. It’s bad enough that Vikki ordered extra fucking frosting for the cinnamon roll and did you see the mountain of brown sugar Martha is currently consuming?”
These women give zero fucks about their health. My anxiety is through the roof about it. William was a nice distraction last night, but when we showed up at Brenda’s door this morning, she just looked so weak and tired.
And now I’m fucking worried all over again.
At this rate, I’ll perish before her.
William clears his throat and my attention is snapped to the ridiculously handsome man just behind Brenda, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his blue eyes on me.
He’s pulled his lips between his teeth, his eyes sparkling as he watches this battle of the wills unfold, but it’s not fucking funny. This is dire. Life-threatening. Their cholesterol levels are rising as we speak.
“William,” I say sharply. “Tell her. She can’t fucking have it.”
He shakes his head. “She can have another donut, Lexington. It’s okay.”
God, when he says my name I slowly begin to melt. Brenda, of course, catches all of this because she is staring at us with a knowing smirk.
“Lexington, hmm?” she asks, her eyes wide with delight. Oh, she didn’t miss how William called me by my full name or the way he keeps ogling me.
I reach out and flick his arm, but it doesn’t stop him. He just reaches out and hands her the damn donut that they stuffed with extra custard and then leads her to the table.
I am going to get him back for this.
I will enjoy torturing him later…if I don’t pass out from the stress of it all.
“Took you long enough,” Martha says, upending a spoonful of brown sugar in her mouth. She straight-up ordered this shit. It was supposed to be oatmeal with a side of brown sugar. But no, she just said, “I want the oatmeal, sans oatmeal. Just bring me the straight brown sugar.” I mean, sugar packets are one thing, but a cereal bowl full of this shit is where I draw the line.
I try to reach for her spoon, but she kicks me under the table, hard.
I narrow my eyes at her, my shin throbbing
“That was not nice,” I say but she just smiles at me.
Wicked woman.
And do not even get me started on Vikki. She’s already scraped her plate clean, knowing I’d portion off that ginormous cinnamon roll. It was as big as her fucking head. They could stick some flowers on that thing and call it a wedding cake.
I’m going to email the Better Business Bureau and put them on blast. This is a health hazard.
“Oh hell, I needed that,” Vikki says, setting her fork down and leaning back, patting her round stomach.
“You all are a bad example. You know we came to an agreement about how much sugar we can have, and you all just broke the fucking rules,” I say as William sips his coffee, watching me lose my ever-loving shit.
Yes, well enjoy the show, William. I have been managing this chaos for six months while you lived with the alligators in Florida.
I am doing the best I fucking can.
