âUh-oh,â Ronnie said, giggling.
Ace wiped his lips with his napkin. âWhatâs wrong?â
âI donât usually drink much because wine ⦠um, it puts me in the mood.â
Ace smirked and laughed along with her. âIf Iâd known thatâs all I had to do, we could have just stayed in the hotel room with a bottle of wine.â
âHow long will it take us to get back there?â she asked, circling the rim of her glass with her finger.
âToo long,â he said. âBesides, we donât have to go back right away. Weâve got this room all to ourselves. No one will interrupt us.â
âAre you sure? What about Phillipe?â
âHeâs not coming back. Come here.â
Ronnie got out of her seat and slowly walked over to straddle Ace. âPhillipe forgot to tell you what goes best with Château Margaux,â she whispered.
âOh, yeah. And just what is that?â he asked, slipping his hands around her waist and cupping her backside.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she suckled on his earlobe, then whispered in his ear. âMe.ââ
Veronica Howard stretched her aching muscles. Her step aerobics class had been especially rigorous today, and she knew sheâd pay the price tomorrow.
Ronnie was thirty years old and a former couch potato. So when it came to exercise, her body was in a constant state of rebellion.
âAfter youâve done it for a while, youâll start to love it,â her best friend, Cara Gray, a former fitness instructor at the trendy Tower Vista health club, had often told her. But Ronnie had been working out seriously for over a year ⦠and she still hated it.
Ronnie headed from the locker room to the clubâs juice bar, The Big Squeeze, where she and Cara hung out after their workouts. The state-of-the-art gym in Bethesda, Maryland, was a bit of a drive from her new town house in Washington, D.C., but it was worth it to keep up their tradition. Without Caraâs constant pep talks, Ronnie would have quit a dozen different times already.
Even though Cara was now helping her husband, A.J., run their computer consulting business, the women still met at the gym three times a week. But her best friend didnât need the workouts. Caraâs years of physical fitness had apparently made her body fat resistant even after three kids. But Ronnie, who worked with food for a living, needed to exert herself to stay fit.
As Ronnie entered the juice-bar area, she saw that Cara was already waiting for her. Cara had placed a shot glass filled with a ruby-red juice at her seat. It looked like blended berries, so Ronnie picked up the glass and filled her mouth. As soon as the thick liquid touched her tongue, she nearly gagged.
âUgh. What the heck is this?â she sputtered. âIt tastes like ⦠beets.â
Cara laughed at Ronnieâs yuck-face. âAnd hello to you, too.â She nodded to Ronnieâs half-empty glass. âItâs a special blend of carrots, beetroot and grapefruit juice, so good call on the beets.â
Ronnie wiped her tongue on her napkin. âAnd you thought I would like this why?â
âBecause itâs good for you,â Cara said with a mischievous grin. âI figured you were ready to kick things up a notch.â
Ronnie shoved the glass across the table. âWell, I guess Iâm not, because Iâm not drinking any more of this.â
âRon-nie! Youâre a chef. Your highly trained palate should be able to handle a little beetroot.â
âHoney, I may have a newly skinny body, but that doesnât mean I have skinny taste buds.â She swiveled her neck, feeling her curly ponytail swinging at her nape. âIf thereâs one thing Iâve learned in the last few months, itâs everything in moderation.â
She eyed the offending glass. âAnd some things in nada-ration.â
Cara rolled her eyes, having finally learned to ignore Ronnieâs affinity for making up words.
Ronnie caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrored panels behind the bar. It still shocked her to see that her round frame had been replaced with an hourglass. As a chef, sheâd worn her extra weight as a badge of honorâa testimony to the quality of her food. For years sheâd told all who would listen, âIf I lost weight, people would think my food wasnât any good.â
Sheâd been a member of Tower Vista for as long as her friend had worked there, but it was only recently that sheâd gotten serious about working out. The good old days had been all about massages, dips in the hot tub and fruity juice-bar drinksâall the perks of belonging to an upscale gym without the perspiration or sore muscles. But after coping with some harsh realities in recent years, Ronnie had realized it was time for a few drastic changes.