JEALOUS OF THE MAN

He smirks, looking so far away for a moment, but returning his gaze to me in a minute with a confusing smirk. "Okay. I will tell you what I want after I pass your test."


I nod my head slightly and resume nibbling my pizza, avoiding looking at him because he is being confusingly weird again. Whatever he wants after seven days, except what I think he is thinking, I will give him. Or maybe I am mistaken.

We eat the pizza in silence until we are both full. Despite my enjoyment of the meal, a pang of pity strikes me as I observe him. Is this the kind of food he survives on? Junk? Pizza, chicken, chips, and, of course, alcohol? I take a short cruise around his body, looking for any deformities. But then, as I glance at him, any concern about his diet fades away. He looks so strong, and robust, as if he is built of steel. His physique is nothing short of impressive, with muscles that ripple beneath his skin with every movement. It is clear that he is no stranger to the gym, or perhaps he spends the mornings exercising on the roads. Whatever the case, he has sculpted his body to perfection, with every feature meticulously defined, every curve and contour a testament to his dedication to fitness.

I marvel at the sight of him, realizing that this so-called "junk" food must be fueling his impressive physique. His muscles are like cords of steel, and his arms and chest bulging with strength. He has the quintessential model body—the kind you see gracing the covers of fitness magazines. It is almost surreal to see someone so impeccably sculpted sitting here, casually indulging in pizza as if it were no big deal. But then again, perhaps that is the secret to his physique—finding a balance between disciplined exercise and infrequent indulgence.


As I watch him keenly, I can't help but feel a twinge of admiration. He has taken the time and effort to sculpt his body into something truly remarkable. It is not just about aesthetics, though he certainly has that in spades. It is about the discipline, the dedication, and the sheer determination it takes to achieve such a level of physical fitness. I wonder how he does all this.

"Why don't you join me in the gym tomorrow, and you can have all the time to ogle my muscles."


Shit!

He opens the bottle of champagne and serves us, handing me mine, and he sits back on the couch too. How many times has he caught me ogling at him? Ten, twenty? Jeez!

Well, he has features, though. You can't blame me. He is just too good to be true.

"You need some exercise. Lots of it," he states again.

Here he goes again, switching to his annoying side. "Are you in any way implying that I am fat?" I fire.

"Not exactly," he starts defensively. 'You look good, but just not perfect. You don't want to imagine what a goddess figure you will have if you try the gym."

Not exactly, so he really thinks I am fat? I know I do not have those empty flat tummies and slim model-size bodies that men prefer, but hey, I am not oversized. I am not overweight, and definitely, my tummy does not look like a tank. This guy is too much.

"I will be your instructor."

Sha! Now, wait. He will be what? "You work in a gym?" I query, tossing that idea of his aside. I hate the gym for no reason. I might end up breaking an arm while struggling with those things.

"I own one."

Whoa!

That's... Amazing? Well, it sure is. But that got me super curious. I know gymnastics earn, but not that much to make him this filthy rich, I presume. I might be right or wrong, though.

"What else do you do?" I implore, sitting on one leg facing him, and he does the same, facing me.

"I run and manage the Almeda motels," he responds without hesitation, but not in a way that can be termed as proud. He is cool, calm, and flat. Like the motels he is talking about are nothing but mere struggling kiosks.

I almost choked on my champagne. Almeda motels? Is it a family business or something?

"Family business?"

He shakes his head, taking my breath away for a moment.

Wow! This is super terrific! He own the motels? No wonder his luxurious lifestyle. He seems so focused then, huh! What a beauty with brain! A smart-ass, jerk of all trades, huh?

"That is fantastic! You are amazing. Owning two businesses at your age? It is honestly amazing." I compliment with all honesty and admiration.

"Thank you," he mumbles softly with a small smile. There is no pride in his words.

"But the two businesses have no relationship at all. What made you settle for them?" I ask, hoping that I am not imposing too much.

"I studied hotel management and decided to start my line, and well, the gym was a crazy passion I had since childhood. I just couldn't toss it aside no matter how much I tried to," he explain without hesitation again.

"I studied hotel management and decided to start my line, and well, the gym was a crazy passion I had since childhood. I just couldn't toss it aside no matter how much I tried to," he explain without hesitation again.

I love how his words are flowing smoothly on this topic. It shows he is really doing what he likes. Living his dreams and pushing toward what he believes in. He is comfortable where he is and with what he is doing. He is so sure of his cause, while I?

God! I feel so challenged. I envy him, in a good way. What in God's name have I been doing with my life that I didn't dare to fight for my dreams and what I believed in earlier?