Page 29 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

code for “you look terrible”

Devon

“Dev, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like doo-doo,” Gia informs me as she counts out meal prep containers and places them at each seat.

“How could I possibly take that wrong, friend?” I shoot her a glare. “For the record, Grant was in my office today and said I looked tired. Isn’t that code for you look terrible?”

“It was probably his way of expressing concern,” Gia says.

“Well, he made a comment about how I must be burning the candle at both ends and I about knocked his head off. I feel kinda bad for snapping at him.” I cringe at the memory.

“Baby hormones?”

“Ugh. I guess? My morning sickness is off the charts. I feel like total rot for about the first four hours of every day. It’s messing with my own nutrition and fitness.”

“It,” Gia says flatly. “You mean, the living being inside of you?”

“It, meaning the state of being pregnant. I hear it’ll get better during the second trimester, though.”

“I sure hope so, because I hate running by myself.”

Folks start to file in for class. The couples aren’t here tonight, as this class is focused on lunchtime meal prep, so it’s a decidedly less sexy topic.

But the die-hard performers and athletes are still hanging in there with me, and Gia is happy to take her place back with Mikhail when he arrives.

I watch them interact and find myself interested in how much chemistry they seem to have.

Gia’s been quiet about this thing with the Crush winger, and while I’ve expected her to lose interest already, it hasn’t happened.

I have to wonder if whatever’s going on between them is more than just sex. Only time will tell.

I’m so busy thinking about Gia’s love life that I nearly miss it when Grant walks in and takes a seat.

It’s been a couple of weeks since he’s been to class.

Well, two weeks, in fact, since I went to his house, slept with him, and then told him to stay away.

Not that I’m counting or anything. He’s also shit at following instructions.

As I start class, I can definitely feel the weight of his stare again, same as the last time he came here.

He’s as intense as always, but when I see his brow furrow, I realize just how observant Grant is.

He saw it earlier, when he asked if I was okay, and I can tell he’s picking up on something now. Damn.

Maybe I should tell him tonight?

Or not.

I just don’t know.

I focus back on the immediate task at hand.

“So today we’re talking about meal prep for lunchtime.

Chicken is like a perfect lean meat. You can’t get much better, really, but a lot of times, it can get really dry, especially if it’s in the fridge for a few days.

So we’re going to work on prepping and cooking the chicken so that it stays juicy through the week.

And then we’ll talk about different ways to prep your lunches so that you get some variety and aren’t eating the same boring salad every damn day at lunch time. ”

This gets a few chuckles out of the crowd.

“Meal prep doesn’t have to be a nightmare.

Honestly, it’s an hour of work now to keep you from making mistakes through the week.

Those mistakes can really derail your nutritional goals, so you’ve got to think about this like an appointment.

You make working out part of your routine, so think about prepping meals the same way. ”

I have everyone pull out the chicken from their station refrigerators and we talk through how to prep it.

The feel and look of the raw chicken make my stomach queasy, though.

So much so that I have to turn away, close my eyes, and take a deep breath.

I power through the instructions, and as everyone is working, I excuse myself to the restroom, barely making it into the small space before throwing up.

God, I hope no one heard that. Nothing less appetizing than trying to cook while someone is puking twenty feet away.

I heave through it, then swish some water around in my mouth and spit it out before washing my hands.

I suck in a few deep breaths and then go back out to the classroom.

But as soon as I return to my station and see the gelatinous, pink meat sitting there, I break out into a cold sweat, my vision going blurry.

From far away, it seems like I can hear someone ask if I’m okay, but I feel wobbly, and my mouth is dry. I hold up a hand…just before everything goes black.

There’s a high-pitched buzzing in my ears as I blink back to consciousness. It takes a few seconds to get my bearings as my vision clears, Grant and Gia’s worried faces hovering above me. I look around and try to sit up, confused. Oh my God, did I just faint in front of my class?

“Don’t try to sit up.” Gia presses me gently back. “Grant’s just called for an ambulance.”

“Oh my God, why would he do that?”

“You hit your head pretty hard,” my friend says.

I hear a commotion coming from the back as Grant stands and barks at someone, “She’s back here.”

I try to sit up a second time, but Grant says, “Stay put. You’re bleeding.”

My sheer mortification intensifies as the EMS crew comes in with a stretcher. They put a neck brace on me, take my pulse, ask a few questions.

“Can you tell us your name?”

“Uh, Devon Pearson,” I say, cringing. “Ow, my head hurts.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“I went to the restroom and then I came back out and—”

“You turned white as a ghost before passing out,” Gia finishes for me. “Scared the crap out of everyone in the room.”

“Sorry, everyone,” I say.

“Well, we’re going to put you on the stretcher and take you to get checked out,” one of the paramedics says. “You’ve hit your head pretty hard.”

“I don’t—I’m fine—” I start throwing up again, but there’s not a lot left in me to come up.

“Clearly you’re totally fine,” Gia says dryly. “Not a concussion or anything like that.”

“Jerk,” I grumble as the paramedics load me onto the stretcher.

When they lift me up, I’m horribly embarrassed by the whole thing that’s happening here tonight.

An entire room full of people just watched me totally wipe out and then, to top it off, by puking on the classroom floor for the grand finale.

They’ll probably never come back. My side gig is probably officially over.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I pass by my students with worried faces. “I’ll make this up to you all. I’ll refund you for this week’s class.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I hear someone say. “Feel better.”

Gia climbs in the back of the ambulance and holds my hand as they start the engine. The last thing I see before they shut the doors is Grant’s worried face.