Take Me: BBW Virgin Bad Boy Romance

by Lulu Pratt

  “I have?” I asked, my tone thick with sarcasm. “I hadn’t heard.”

  “Sure have. It’ll be easy,” she told me. “You don’t even have to be charming.”

  “That’s fortunate, as I hadn’t planned on being charming.”

  “Come on, come on, let’s go,” she insisted, dragging me forward. “No more whining and wincing.”

  I obeyed silently, falling in lock step with Janice. Whatever, right? This is what I’d signed on for – appearances, branding, et cetera. If I complained about this, now, it’d be a slippery slope, at the end of which I might realize this was all a horrible mistake. However, I had no back-up plans, so that realization would be startlingly inconvenient, and thus, could not be allowed to happen.

  The elevator dinged as we reached our floor. Janice led me out onto the soundstage. It was strange, thinking about how similar this stage was to the last one I’d been on – filled with cameras, lights, food, all happening in front of an artificial background. Nothing felt real, least of all me. I hadn’t felt real since the moment I’d walked out on Poppy. Since then, I’d lost touch with my body, as if the signal had gone dead.

  “Same deal as last time,” Janice informed me. “He’ll announce you, you walk out on stage.”

  “Like a dog and pony show.”

  “Just like that,” she agreed. “Now, go to hair and make-up, they need to touch you up. And Finn?”

  “Yes?”

  Her always resolute face dimmed a little. “Let me know if there’s any way I make you happy. I hate to see you like this.”

  I forced a smile for Janice’s sake and laughed, “You’ve done everything you can. You’re a peach.”

  “Okay… if you say so,” she replied doubtfully. “Now, go give ‘em hell.”

  She bid me goodbye, and turned on her sensible heel. I meandered over to hair and make-up, moving at a sloth-like pace that ran counter to the breakneck speed of live TV. Eventually, with the prodding of a couple of PAs, I ended up in the make-up chair, and leaned back while some woman beat my face with powder.

  You wanted this, I reminded myself. You walked out on Poppy, even after she’d forgiven you for everything. So not only do you want this, you deserve this.

  The make-up artist gave up on me shortly, seeing that I had no interest in concealer, or anything that would make me look even a little less ghostly on TV.

  “Suit yourself,” she muttered, moving away to clean her brushes.

  Another young chap, with stars still in his eyes, escorted me from the chair to the stage. I didn’t even bother to look ahead – I knew what’d I’d see. That host, with that name I could never remember, shitty Ikea chairs and desk, and too many lights, flooding the set. Boring.

  “He’ll announce you in a few seconds,” the boy, for truly, he couldn’t have been more than eighteen, told me.

  “Thanks.” I wanted to scream ‘get out while you can,’ but I refrained. He looked so, so innocent. That would wear off soon enough.

  Then the host, as promised, announced me.

  “Folks, you remember Mr. Finn Maguire, the preeminent Regency photographer and all around wunderkind, star of the fashion world, belle of the ball.”

  That was laying it on a little thick, but sure.

  The host continued, “We’re delighted to have him back on the show. Everyone, please welcome Finn Maguire!”

  I plastered a pleasant expression on my face, and strode out into the lights, momentarily blinded by their glare, but trying to wave at the audience, to play nice. Damn, I’d forgotten how potent those things could be. I was about halfway across the stage when I heard a high, clear voice say:

  “What the heck is he doing here?”

  I turned away from the audience, and to the host, and my stomach dropped.

  Across from the host, at one end of the loveseat, was Poppy Reeve.

  Oh shit.

  Chapter 30

  FINN

  “POPPY?” I asked, voice trembling, no longer caring that we were on live TV. I was ten feet away from her, but felt that we were inches from each other’s faces.

  “Why are you here?” she repeated, apparently also disregarding the cameras and audience.

  Why the fuck hadn’t Janice warned me? Did she not know? I felt betrayal, not just at her hands, but at the universe’s. Why was everyone conspiring to cause me pain? God, I wanted to punch the sky.

  The host, sensing trouble, leaped in. “So you two remember each other from your last sparring match on this show, eh?”

  Poppy stayed silent, but I muttered, “You could say that, yes.”

  “I hear you two were paired up for a glamorous project in the Caribbean,” the host stated. Poor guy – he was just trying to keep his show running. He had no idea that his producers had effectively thrown him to the wolves.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” the man asked, an edge of desperation in his voice. “Can’t stand there all day, can ya?”

  Sit down, next to that awful woman? It would take so much out of me, but if I didn’t, Regency would truly be done with my ass. I had to do the hard thing.

  So I strode across the stage, Poppy’s eyes on me the entire time. Was she angry, hurt, all of the above? Her face was indecipherable, as though in the intervening day since our separation, I’d forgotten the Rosetta Stone for her expressions.

  On the loveseat, I was careful to scoot as far away from her as possible – which wasn’t very far, given the nature of the loveseat. I’m sure it was designed as such to keep everyone tight in frame.

  “Hello, Poppy,” I said, my voice icy.

  “Hi,” she replied. “Wh–”

  But the host interrupted her. “So, we know you two have met before.” He turned to the audience, revving them up. “Isn’t that right?”

  They cheered with anticipation. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones who remembered our heated exchange during our first appearance together.

  I avoided Poppy’s eyes as the host addressed Poppy. “Ms. Reeve,” he began. “Your video went viral just last night. How do you feel? It’s now at ten million views and is trending on Twitter.”

  “I feel…” she glanced at me, a look I was probably supposed to miss. “I guess I feel good that I spoke my mind, and that it reached so many people.”

  Now it was my turn. The host asked me, “Mr. Maguire, have you seen it?”

  “Seen what?” Did I miss a homework for this taping or something?

  “Poppy’s video,” he explained. “The one that went viral. About how we, as a nation and as individuals, should treat drug users.”

  My hands balled up into fists. How dare she make a video like that? What the fuck did this girl know about the consequences of addiction?

  I swallowed, and muttered, “I haven’t seen it.”

  The host said to Poppy, “Why don’t you explain the video to Mr. Maguire?”

  Her face flushed pink beneath the blonde tendrils of hair. Oh, this should be rich, hearing a woman who didn’t know shit explain addiction to me, of all people.

  She began unsteadily, like a foal on new legs. “Well, Finn, I made this video about how I think drug users deserve our support, not our anger, because they’re sick, they have a disease. And how I know it’s hard to forgive people for the ways they hurt us, but how ultimately, all folks are deserving of grace.”

  “You made that, huh?” I laughed, my tone foreign even to me. “How insightful.”

  Poppy persevered. “Yes, I did. Because I think a lot of people needed to hear it.” Her words were pointed, ‘people’ emphasized. Very subtle.

  “What if a lot of people,” I replied, throwing her phrasing back at her, “needed to hear that we care more about the victims of others’ drug abuse than the drug abusers themselves?”

  She shook her head, curls bouncing. “Finn, of course we care about them. These people have been hurt and wounded. That said, it’s possible to care about everyone, all at once, if you just open your heart.”

 
“That’s naïve.” I wanted to lash out, to say so many hurtful things, to destroy her. My anger felt boundless, dangerous.

  Poppy pursed her lips and took a deep breath. “It’s not naïve. Having compassion, showing empathy for others is the most healthy thing we can do.” She hesitated, then continued, “Finn, I know it’s hard to forgive. And forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting. But if we let the ghosts of our past – sometimes literally ghosts – define our future, then who really won? We can’t control other people, just our reactions to them. Letting go feels good.”

  “Why are you taking Catherine’s side?” I blurted out. The host raised an eyebrow in my direction, but didn’t even bother to try to stop us. We were undoubtedly making for excellent TV.

  “I’m not taking her side,” Poppy said, frustrated. Neither of us were playing by the rules anymore. “I’m trying to help you see that you don’t need to let one person’s addiction determine your life. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to her. Anger doesn’t move you forward. It holds you back. And sometimes, it prevents you from letting somebody else, maybe someone who really wants to love you, do that. Your anger is a wall thrown up against all these other wonderful feelings you deserve. You deserve to be loved, Finn.”

  My heart thudded in my chest. All I could see was Poppy – her deep, penetrating blue eyes, her pink lips, her brows, raised in anticipation.

  “What are you saying?” I whispered.

  “I’m asking,” she said, taking a deep breath, “for you to let me love you. For us to stop making this, what we have, so hard.”

  The audience gasped, but I barely heard them. The host disappeared, as did they. We were, effectively, alone.

  “Finn, I love you.”

  In that moment, I felt something inside me shift, as if flesh were tearing asunder and new ligaments growing in its place. There was a palpable sense of release, of regrowth. My world tilted on its axis, because suddenly, everything in my life was rotating around Poppy.

  “I need to stop hating her,” I realized aloud. “We all need forgiveness.”

  Poppy smiled. “Yeah.”

  “And I most of all,” I added quickly, my Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Poppy, I know I’ve done wrong by you, a woman who deserved nothing but goodness. Could you ever… I know it’s a long shot, but could you see your way to forgiving me? Because I’m in love with you, too.”

  Poppy’s small smile transformed into an enormous grin.

  “Of course,” she whispered, gazing deep into my eyes. “You don’t even need to ask. Of course I forgive you.”

  “For getting caught up in the Chrissy stuff, for running out on you–”

  “For all of it,” she reiterated, her voice firm. “You were just trying to protect yourself. You haven’t had it easy, so I understand why you have all these survival mechanisms.”

  “And you love me, despite all that?” I asked, not believing it possible.

  “I love you more for all that. It means you’re human. It means you’ve lived a life worth sharing with someone else.”

  My heart was fit to burst. I loved Poppy Reeve, loved her more than I’d been willing to admit, a love so vast and deep that it terrified me. How could I, such a damaged man, love a good woman this much? She had changed me, and for the better.

  I scooted to her on the couch, and clasped her hand in mine.

  “I’m going to kiss you now,” I warned her, hearing a faint audience applause in the background, though paying it no mind.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  And with that, I leaned forward, pressing my lips to Poppy’s, a kiss that seemed to stretch on forever.

  Chapter 31

  POPPY

  OUR KISS was perfect, in that it said more than words ever could. It spoke a language of forgiveness, of honesty, of bravery in the face of difficult truths. Finn’s lips were soft between mine. Oh, I’d forgotten how dang much I liked those lips.

  At last, the host cleared his throat. “Watch out there, kids,” he joked, “or you’ll get this show a R rating.”

  We pulled away from one another, laughing. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I’d loved Finn before, I realized that now, but I loved this new Finn even more. It seemed as though an invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders, like he was suddenly standing up straighter, prouder. The guy I’d suspected him to be, off-camera, was the man he was becoming in front of a whole audience.

  Finn, still holding my hand, pronounced, “There’s something I have to do, if you don’t mind. Can we cut this segment short?”

  The host chuckled. “You gonna propose?”

  “Not yet,” Finn replied slyly, his brogue making him sound like quite the rapscallion. “All in good time.”

  “All right, all right, you’re dismissed,” the host said. Then, to his crew: “Let’s cut to commercial, everyone.”

  “What are you doing?” I asked Finn, my voice low but brimming with excitement. “Are we going out to celebrate or something?”

  He shook his head. “You’ll see.”

  He stood from the couch, and I followed suit.

  “Poppy,” he began. “You’ve inspired me every day, since the moment I met you. And I want to show you that your inspiration isn’t just, like, a dead end. That I plan to make good on everything I’ve learned from being in your presence.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. Huh? Where could this be going?

  “Just follow me,” he insisted, a mischievous grin on his face.

  Oh, brother. Finn always had something up his sleeve, didn’t he? Though the truth of the matter was that I’d follow him absolutely anywhere he led me.

  “All right, all right,” I agreed. “Go on, I can see you’re up to something.”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, I think you’ll like it.”

  With that, Finn led me to the elevators, his legs moving quickly, forcing my shorter ones to keep pace. Normally, I’d tell my long-legged friends to slow the heck down, but his excitement was catching. Wherever we were going, I wanted to be there as badly as he did, because anything that had him this excited must be good. Finn wasn’t one for ‘excitement,’ generally speaking.

  We boarded the elevator, and as the doors shut, he pulled me in for another kiss, this one steamier than the one on air. He pressed me against the wall, my heart rate rising as the elevator dinged past one floor after another. My arms wrapped around his neck, and he had just laid a hand on my butt when the doors began to open, and we promptly broke apart, both smiling with a shared naughty secret.

  I guess I was now the kinda girl who got kissed on elevators. What a difference two weeks can make, right?

  Finn took my hand once more, and we walk-ran down several hallways, all done in glass and white, until we reached a nondescript door.

  “Where are we?” I asked, curious, but he just shook his head.

  “You’ll see.”

  He pushed open the door, and I followed, unsure but still riding the thrill.

  At the desk sat a bald man with a headset around his neck, his feet up on a desk while he chattered away. Across the room, there were a few other people – two men, one woman – all in business casual, looking preoccupied.

  The moment we walked in, their heads turned, as if on an automated switch, to look at us.

  “Finn,” the man said, his annoyance palpable. “What are you doing here?”

  I gripped his hand tighter, unclear about what was going on.

  “Hello, Mike,” Finn replied. He nodded in the direction of the others on the couch.

  “I’m in a meeting, as you can see,” the man apparently named Mike explained. “And I’m sure my fellow Regency execs don’t want to be–”

  “This won’t take long,” Finn interjected, cutting him off.

  The man I loved looked at me, took a deep breath and squeezed my fingers. Then, he turned back to the room, addressing them all.

  “Folks, I’ve worked for Regency for two years. At fir
st, I thought shooting naked women was the dream job. I mean, who wouldn’t kill to do what I do? But then I realized it was the same thing, day in, day out, with little variety. I may as well have been shooting porn, it was so repetitious and unfulfilling. I knew I was unhappy. And that’s when I met Poppy.”

  He winked at me, and continued. “She pointed out to me that Regency only ever shoots one kind of woman – the tall, skinny kind. You’re creating an unrealistic body standard for so many young women, and it’s not fair.”

  Mike snorted. “No offense,” he said to me, clearly gearing up to be offensive. “But no one wants to see fat girls. They just don’t sell lingerie as well as the thin ones.”

  I turned red in the face, but Finn spoke up before I could gather my words.

  “Fat women are fucking beautiful,” he declared, looking sidelong at me. “I know, because I’m in love with one. You guys hate diversity, and your company is gonna get left in the dust. You’re the Titanic, and I don’t wanna be onboard when you sink.”

  “Fine, then,” Mike spat out. “Point taken. You’re fired.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Finn explained blithely. “Because I’m quitting.”

  Oh my gosh. I’d been following this entire back and forth, and I’d known things were getting wild, but I hadn’t anticipated that Finn would actually quit. I thought perhaps he was just asking them to increase their size range, or feature plus-size women, but no – he was throwing out the whole kit and caboodle. I was beaming with pride. Finally, finally he was doing what he wanted, not what he thought he had to do. I didn’t deserve the credit for this, it was all Finn, but darn I’d happily take it.

  “You were just asking to redouble your workload. What the fuck happened?”

  “Poppy happened,” Finn shrugged. “This morning I was trying to forget about her, forget all my feelings for her. I figured, the more work I took on for this shitty company, the less I’d have to think about Poppy, about the ways I’d let her down. It was defense. But this? This is offense.”