"You call yourself fat?" Bob found it inconceivable, and grew exceedingly agitated. "Do you even have fat on your body? It hurts to see you so skinny! Hell, I’d like to cut off my flab and give it to you."
As Jay slowly returned to his seat, Zoe looked disgusted. "Please don't. I won't survive that."
"Look, I'm telling you, Zoe," Bob huffed. "I don't know how things work in showbiz, but I can't take it if you have to become skin and bones just to stay in it.”
"You don't have to take it," Zoe retorted, speechless. "As long as the audience likes it."
"What, I'm not a part of the audience?"
"An insignificant part of the audience."
"I'll be your No.1 fan, believe it!"
"Thank you, but you should stick to being Cora Levine's No.1 fan. I don't need the trouble," Zoe said bluntly.
Such was the influence of alcohol—she was much more candid now.
At that, Bob's expression changed a little.
Cora seemed to be a touchy subject around this table, and the mood around the table changed dramatically.
"Cut the chatter and let's drink," Sam said, suddenly raising his glass to clear the awkwardness.
Bob quickly raised his glass, and they immediately ended the conversation on Cora.
However, Bob didn’t forget about Zoe calling herself fat, and told her after a couple glasses, "You don't have to slim down, Zoe."
"I'm not planning to."
"Didn't you say you were fat?"
"But I never mentioned slimming down, either."
"For real?"
"For real," Zoe snorted, feeling that Bob was becoming a little troublesome after getting drunk.
"Well, others aside, it won't feel good touching you if you slimmed down," Bob said bluntly.
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