I wanted so badly to text Wes and tell him how good I felt, how much this meant to me, but it felt wrong now. I never thought I was someone who would so easily compromise ethics, but I never planned on Wes. My mind wandered to the events of the weekend before. Wes’s grin during Spades and the feel of his back against my face when he was telling me about his sister. His mom calling him Chris . . . My head snapped up, mind at attention. His mom called him Chris, and he said that Wes was his middle name. Her name was Shelly Lawson. I scrolled back through the notes I’d gathered when preparing for the start of Body FTW and found my research on the founders and CEOs of the company: Cord Matthews and Christopher Lawson.
Holy shit.
* * *
AFTER DINNER, CLAIRE and I met on the shore for the grown-up lazy river. My mind was still spinning at the revelation that Wes wasn’t just my coach—I’d made out with the CEO of the company I was reviewing. That was setting aside the fact that we’d been moments away from doing much more than making out. He’d been pressed against me, and the memory of his body, the heat and size of him, left a flush traveling up my neck. Knowing how his thick erection felt between my thighs was a lit match on the kindling of my already singed ethics. I balled my fists and tried to put it out of my mind. I had work to do, and thoughts like this were going to get in the way of everything I’d been working toward.
The attendant walked us through the safety information, letting us know a lifeguard was always there, and made sure we were comfortable in the water in the unlikely event we fell in. I’d imagined the rafts like those flat inflatable ones from childhood, but the guides welcomed us both toward the dock, where the rafts floated at the bottom of a small ladder, loaded with cushions and drink holders. “And would you prefer your rafts linked or separate?”
“Linked, please.” Claire surprised me with her answer.
I toyed with the hem of my cover-up before handing it to the young attendant, asking her to hang it up. I noticed the feel of the breeze on my chest and added some extra sway to my hips just for my own benefit.
After they launched us, Claire and I lay on our respective rafts for a few minutes as we drifted. I’d been skeptical, but the gentle sway of the water and the stillness of the night was relaxing. Settling against the pillows, I sipped my wine.
“That’s cute.” Claire’s voice startled me as she nodded toward my swimsuit, and I instinctively scanned her comment for sarcasm.
“Thanks. Yours, too.” We returned to our silence, which was infiltrated only by the lapping of the water and the distant sounds of cicadas.
Claire took a long drink from her wineglass and settled it back in the holder. “Can I ask you something? Maybe call a cease-fire on our competition for a few minutes?”
I’d just swallowed my wine, or I might have sprayed it in surprise. I glanced over at my colleague, expecting a smirk, but she looked genuine. “Sure. What’s up?”
“You can’t tell anyone.” She lay on her back and spoke into the air before squeezing her eyes shut, her mouth pulling to the side.
“What happens on the lazy river stays on the lazy river and all that.”
Claire turned toward me, her head propped on her elbow. I admired her waist as she shifted. I’d been trying hard to stop comparing myself to other women, but it was always so hard with Claire, since we were so competitive in other ways.
She took another drink of wine. “You wrote that piece about your fall and how your coach helped you get back on track, right?”
“Sure.” That had been the hardest piece I’d written, but the comments poured in daily from people who identified with what I’d said, who had real struggles with eating disorders or just felt like giving up. Maricela had given the green light to my suggestion to interview experts on eating and exercise disorders and a well-known speaker about fat phobia.
“The not-eating, crash-dieting thing? Well, my coach has encouraged that. Not to that extent, but she recently told me a good way to drop a few pounds in a pinch was to fast for a week or two. I did my own research, and even people who recommend fasting don’t recommend doing it like that. I mean, I didn’t listen, but I’m worried others might, that they might take it further, and it’s dangerous advice. I did some digging, and the coaches get bonuses based on the successes of their clients. Like, dollars for pounds lost.”
“Wow.” I’d known for a long time that the app I was reviewing was better, and not just because Wes worked there. Or owned it. What Claire was describing sounded terrifying, and I couldn’t help but wonder where I’d be if I were in her shoes, if I had a coach who didn’t care if I went down a dangerous path. I grimaced. “What are you going to do?”