Page 12 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

Devon

It’s not that I don’t love my job with the Crush.

I do very much. It’s been challenging and rewarding in ways I never thought possible.

But after seeing Holly start her own business (she gave me lots of PR advice for my own ideas), I felt like it might be the right time to branch out and do my own thing.

So, this is night one of the test kitchen.

I want to do group cooking classes that are based on participants’ individual nutrition needs.

It’s fun to do a class together, the energy is always great, but usually, everyone has to cook the same thing and sometimes they don’t want or like that.

It ends up being a missed opportunity. So I’ve got options for each class.

If you need more lean protein in your diet, there’s an option for that.

If you want to go vegan, there’s an option for that.

It’s all personally tailored—a fresh niche.

In my market research, I couldn’t find anyone else in the area offering anything comparable right now.

And Vegas is ripe with potential clientele.

There are a bazillion athletes and performers who have very specific nutritional needs.

Caloric intake, high protein, weight management.

These people have grueling training and performance schedules, and it can be really hard for them to manage their nutrition.

Like, can I just say how many hockey players I find shoving burgers and fries in their faces in the arena pub every day after practice?

The book I’m writing is tailored to my ideal clientele. I’ve already got a publisher; now I just need to finish writing. I’m hoping these sessions will give me a sense of what kinds of questions it should answer.

Gia is the first to arrive, always my cheering squad. She says, “Let’s cook the shit out of this bitch,” as she walks in, which makes me cringe-laugh.

A few minutes later, the rest of my test class comes in. Two of my hockey players—starting winger Mikhail and rookie winger Aiden—come in and plop down on stools at the back of the class.

“What is this, church?” I ask with what I hope does not sound like a nervous laugh. I hope it sounds like a confident, fun laugh, rather than the laugh of a woman who’s so anxious that her feet are sweating. I know, so gross, right?

The guys laugh, and Mikhail says, “We’re big. Don’t want to impede anyone’s view.”

I roll my eyes but then understand as three young women come in and take seats in the row in front of them.

They’re all backup dancers for a big A-list singer’s Vegas show, and they are teeny-tiny little things.

Gia does bookings for the hotel where they perform, so I have her to thank for luring them to my class.

“Hey, everyone,” I say once they’re all in place. “I’m Devon Pearson. Right now, I’m the full-time nutritionist for the Vegas Crush.”

My two hockey dudes woot-woot in the back, fists pumping in the air.

I pump my fist back at them with a grin.

“I also have a side gig called Fit 2 Cook, which I hope to launch into a full-fledged business next year. You are my guinea pigs, so thanks in advance for letting me try some things out on you. Any feedback, thoughts, or ideas, I want to hear them. This is about creating the best experience possible for my clients, so I need the good, the bad, and the ugly or I won’t be able to achieve that. Cool?”

I earn a bunch of nods and thumbs-up in response.

“Okay, so this class is designed to be as personalized as possible. I want to help you design a meal plan tailored to your specific needs, and also easy to prepare. I know you don’t have much time…”

“Or talent in the kitchen,” Mikhail says, making everyone laugh.

“Speak for yourself,” Aiden says, grinning and winking at the dancers. “I’m magic in the kitchen.”

I’m thankful for the banter because it helps me feel less nervous. “Well, whatever your skill levels, I still know how much time you give to your jobs and how much your jobs require of your body. So I want to help you make sense of what your body needs and wants when it comes to fuel.”

I have everyone take a minute to write out an average weekly menu.

“Whatever you normally eat. I promise, there will be no judgment. I just want to understand what your baseline is. There may be reasons you’re craving fried foods or sugary treats.

I want to help you make sense of it and then find the best choices to fill those needs. ”

While most of the class follow directions, Gia and Mikhail spend the bulk of their time flirting with each other. Their banter is actually pretty funny, but I still elbow Gia as I pass, stopping in front of Aiden’s workstation.

“Welcome to the Crush,” I say. “We haven’t met officially.”

“Aiden Kennedy,” he says, holding out a hand to shake.

“Nice to meet you officially. I read your stats and bio when they brought you onto the roster. You played at Yale?”

He nods. “Dumbest smart guy in Connecticut.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true, Aiden, but I’m not sure we’ve ever had an Ivy League player at the Crush, so at least there’s that claim to fame.”

Aiden, a tall, lean muscled man, definitely has some of the iconic Kennedy charm goin’ on, with his dark locks with just a hint of curl and a dimple in one cheek.

He probably makes the ladies swoon like nobody’s business.

I mean, the majority of those guys do, to be honest. I’m mostly oblivious, but I know the single ones are all out doing the bunny hop much of the time.

Sexuality and the Professional Athlete. There’s a book title for ya.

I’d have plenty of source material from the players I’ve worked with during my time with the Crush.

I head to the front and ask folks to read off their weekly menus, starting with Mikhail, who was clearly not doing the assignment. Serves him right to go first.

“I am a basic kind of guy,” he says, looking down at his paper as if there’s actually something written on it.

He smiles kind of sheepishly as he continues.

“I eat two bowls of cereal for breakfast usually. One or two days a week, I stop for scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast on my way to work. I don’t usually eat lunch, but I eat a hamburger at the pub every day after practice.

Sometimes I order a pizza later at night, too. ”

My stomach literally turns at the word “hamburger,” and also at the thought of having one every day of the week. I’m not anti-hamburger, but geesh. Moderation. I fight back the urge to throw up just thinking about all the meat grease.

“That is…not an optimal diet. Not gonna lie,” I manage to say, holding my hand to my stomach.

“Hey, you said no judgment,” he protests.

“I did, I did, you’re right,” I answer, holding up my hands. “I’m sorry. Just getting a baseline. But, for the record, your baseline is going to lead you to a heart attack if you stick to that list. Just putting that out there.”

He narrows his eyes at me in response, but he’s smirking, so I know he realizes I’m joking. Kind of. He says, “Don’t tell Coach.”

This gets a laugh out of me. “What happens at Fit 2 Cook stays at Fit 2 Cook. Besides, I’m going to beat the hamburgers right out of your diet, and you’re going to feel and play like a champion, and then there won’t be anything to tell Coach other than how healthy you are.”

“I’m already a champion,” Mikhail says with kind of a sexy tone that I realize is directed to Gia, who’s blushing a lovely shade of hot pink.

“Oh boy,” I say with a sigh. “Okay, Aiden, you’re up.”

After going through everyone’s weekly menus, I ask them to think about just one thing they could adjust for the next week, and I ask them to write down their long-term fitness and nutrition goals so I can prep for next week’s class.

We finish by cooking a meal as a group. When it’s all finished, we have a nice beet salad with marinated chicken and goat cheese.

A homemade vinaigrette tops it, and even the naysayers about beets end up admitting it tastes delicious.

After cleaning up, I tell everyone how excited I am to work with all of them. “We’ll cook together and learn from each other. See you next week!”

I’m grabbing my purse as I call over to Gia if she wants to run when we get back to our apartment complex.

All I hear in response is, “Um,” and it’s a humming, question-mark kind of sound.

I turn, confused, because we run almost every night, but then I see Mikhail lingering at the door, his heavily tatted arms crossed across his chiseled, tight T-shirt-wearing chest. That boy looks like Trouble. Capital T.

“Okay, okay,” I say, waving her off. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Gia just winks before taking Mikhail’s arm and heading out into the night.

As I lock up, my mind makes its way to Grant. Again. If you put Mikhail and Grant side by side, they’d be similar in a lot of ways, minus the tattoos. Both men are handsome. Quick-witted. Sexy.

I’m not naive. That’s not the only reason I’m thinking of Grant, though.

And as has happened many times over the last few weeks, I’ve wondered if he’s been tempted to call me.

After he admitted that the condom may have broken, I thought I might hear from him.

I never took a morning after pill or anything.

If my worst nightmare comes true and I’m pregnant, wouldn’t he want to know?

It was a random hookup at a random hotel in Las Vegas, Devon.

You shouldn’t try to make it more than that.

But…he was the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, bar none. And it was the hottest, steamiest, orgasm-iest sex I’ve ever had, like ever. Our connection wasn’t only sexual, and that’s also why I’ve hoped he’d call. He was funny and smart and interesting. And we had things in common.

But whatever. He said he was from Alberta, which is about sixteen hundred miles north of Las Vegas. It would be totally stupid to try to have something with someone so far away. Long-distance things never work out anyway.

By the time I get home, I know I should run, but it’s the vibrator in my nightstand and the sustainable imagery of my night with Grant that get my full attention.