JAWS (Complete)

Chapter 6

"God, she was staring at us the whole way in here!" Galliard shudders with disgust and scratches at his arms, like he's trying to wipe away the feel of the gym owner's eyes on him.

Reiner simply nods, and then looks at the papers spread out on the table in front of him. "So what are we going to do in here?"

Paperwork, he assumes, although he wouldn't be opposed to Galliard dropping his shorts and telling him to get on his knees.

"We've got some forms to fill out. Liability and progress tracking and stuff." Galliard settles into a chair across from Reiner and starts shuffling the forms. "So what're your goals with this?"

So it's going to be all business today, no cocksucking, and Reiner swallows down the faint disappointment that's risen in his chest. He has to think about what his goals are for a moment, and Galliard waits, looking everywhere in the room except at Reiner's face. At least he's not doing the false, overly cheerful voice anymore.

"I was a lot bigger when I was younger. I suppose I'd like to get some of that mass back."
Galliard nods, writing something down on one of the forms. "How much bigger?"

"I topped out at two hundred and ten pounds when I was eighteen."

Galliard nods and looks up at him, looking Reiner up and down and everywhere except in the eyes. "What're you at now, around one eighty?"

"Last time I checked, yes." Reiner is a little surprised at how easily Galliard guessed that, and it must show in his voice, because Galliard favors him with a quick, sly little grin before turning back to his notes.

"Have you gotten any taller since then?"

"Only about an inch."

"All right, so nothing significant." A few more notes, and then Galliard looks up at him, his gaze resting somewhere at Reiner's chin region. "On the one hand, you're lucky that you lost weight after high school; most people come here because they've gotten fatter and want to lose some bulk."
Reiner nods; there are plenty of people at the firm with that exact problem.

"On the other, it's going to be hard to build back that much muscle mass unless you make it your life's work." Galliard shrugs. "Unless you're willing to commit to being in the gym everyday for hours, it's probably not going to happen."

"I don't need to gain all of it back. Just some." Reiner had lost some weight during university, but only about ten or twelve pounds. He'd hovered comfortably at around two hundred pounds for the last ten years, until about six months ago, when it had all started melting off.

"All right, good. Realistic goals are easier to work with." Galliard shuffles the papers. "How's your diet?"

"I try to eat well." When he remembers to, anyway. Lately, Reiner just can't be bothered to care about eating, and when he remembers, he just mindlessly consumes whatever's close by. He used to care a lot; used to cook, used to plan out meals for the week, used to spend all day Sunday prepping and pre-cooking for the week to come. Now he orders take-out a lot, and he can't remember the last time he went to the farmer's marker on Saturday.

"Okay. Once we get a few weeks in, I'll have you keep a food journal for a week and see if there's anything to improve there." Galliard pauses, playing with a pen, and when he speaks up again, he sounds almost painfully uncertain. "If you're still interested after a few weeks, anyway."