Four
I Don’t Stand A Ghost Of A Chance With You
Luca
Three weeks. Amber serves me spaghetti and meatballs, and nothing but spaghetti and meatballs every day for three f*****g weeks. Not to be a fitness freak, but that probably amounts to more carbs than I’ve eaten in the five years since we’ve been apart.
It’s gotten so bad, I’ve started doubling up on cardio in the mornings, and upped my weight training to six days a week. So when Holt texts me on Tuesday of the third week of Spaghettigate, asking if I want to meet up for a lunchtime session at our favorite rock climbing gym, I’m like, “Hell yeah, I’m in.”
Which is how I end up walking straight into the ambush.
“Z, what are you doing here?” I ask when I find him, waiting on a bench with Holt in the gym’s lobby.
Maybe I should have
