19 #2
“Sorry,” I say, ducking out of the way. I tuck myself in the corner. Even though he’ll probably have to retake the shot, at least I’m out of sight now.
But he doesn’t stop recording, instead he continues to lift, staring right at the camera, giving it the same kind of bedroom eyes I got earlier this morning.
“She’s just my girl, no big deal,” Jamie says.
Who is he talking to?
Then he laughs at something he’s seeing on the screen and my blood goes cold. He’s not recording a video. He’s live.
Pressing myself even deeper into the corner, I squint at the screen, just in time to see a bunch of hearts and text scrolling across it.
Jamie laughs again, then glances at me, never stopping his pump.
“Sugar, don’t be shy! Come say hello to my followers!”
Followers?
I check my hair in the mirror—thank god I showered just now—and tiptoe closer to the camera. I see my own image and Jamie’s mirrored back at me.
A tidal wave of hearts explodes across the screen.
“Dang,” Jamie says, looking up at me with a grin, “the MoraLifters love you!”
“The MoraLifters?” I ask, tugging my Christmas tree sweater down around my waist and pushing my hair back. I have to admit, we look cute together.
“My followers, babe!” Jamie switches his weight to his other arm with a motion so fluid that it reminds me of what all we got up to this morning and I feel my cheeks heating. This man can toss things around. “Say hello!”
I give them a little wave. “I hope you’re not expecting me to lift with him.”
“You can if you want!” Jamie says as he starts his second round of reps. “I’m showing them my ‘Get Snatched for Santa’ workout! Just because it’s Christmas doesn’t mean you have to say goodbye to your gains.”
I can’t help but giggle. From anyone else this might be obnoxious, but he’s so earnest, it’s cute. I can’t help but give him a quick side hug. “You’re adorable.”
“What’s that?” Jamie leans closer to the screen, reading something one of his followers has written. “Yes! She is!”
He turns to look up at me. “Tell them, sugar, you’re FoodandGrace.”
My mouth hangs open a little bit, unbelieving. That is the name of my Insta account, but how on earth is it so well known that random strangers on the internet recognize me in my boyfriend’s workout livestream?
“Hell yeah we’re together, chat!” He drops his weight and swoops me into his arms in one clean motion. My heart swoops giddily, too, and his Santa hat tickles the top of my head as he kisses me. “She’s my little Christmas elf. I’m so glad you can finally meet her.”
I’m laughing and pink as he sets me down as gently as he picked me up.
“Awww, see that?” He turns back to me from the weight bench again, the dumbbell back in his hands. “They say we’re #couplegoals. Isn’t that sweet?”
My cheeks are officially bright red, but I can’t tell if it’s from being kissed on livestream or the kiss itself. I wave limply at the camera and scurry out of view of the screen that’s still exploding with hearts.
“Jamie,” I whisper, “I’ll just—”
I’m gesturing to the stairs when I hear footsteps above.
“Jamie, mi amor,” a voice calls from the door. The 12K must be over.
“Tell her five more minutes for me?” Jamie asks as he presses the weights over his head.
I swallow dryly and nod. Meeting the parents—even in an alternate universe—is still nerve-racking.
“She’s going to bake some polvorones cookies with my mom tonight,” Jamie’s telling the chat as I climb the stairs, “so be on the lookout for them on her feed later today.”
Then he laughs uproariously at something on the feed.
“Of course they’ll be macro friendly, bro.” Jamie laughs. “Who do you think I’m dating?”
I pause almost by instinct, expecting Jamie to call me back to do something for his followers, but nothing comes.
When I reach the top of the steps, I take a deep breath.
After three relationships ending poorly, I’m on the defense expecting my ex to ask me to do some task for him.
I crack open the basement door. A pretty, athletic woman with deep brown skin and thick black curls greets me with a smile.
It’s easy to see where Jamie gets his good looks now.
Her cheeks are flushed from her run and she’s still wearing her workout clothes and race tag.
“Feliz Navidad, Marygrace!” She pulls me in for a hug. She smells like the outdoors and fresh air and just the faintest amount of sweat.
“Feliz Navidad,” I manage to say, locked in her embrace.
If this were my mom and she had heard what Mrs. Morales might have heard this morning, Jamie would be out in the streets already.
Hell, I might be out on the streets already.
So does this mean we’re in the clear? Maybe she really was gone at the race before the action started.
I pull out of her hug and nod toward the basement. “He needs five more minutes.”
“Perfect,” she says, tugging one foot behind her in a hamstring stretch.
“We’re headed to the Christmas Festival soon, so I need to change out of my workout clothes.
” She looks me over. “In the meantime, would you be up for some gift wrapping? You look like the type of girl who’s handy to have around. ”
I bite my lip. Yep, that’s what my exes thought, too. As I follow Jamie’s mom toward their living room, I make a promise to myself to listen to my own wants and needs—despite the lingering doubt in my gut.
Something has to change, or I may be stuck in these time loops forever.