Contents
Title
Copyright kd
Dedication
Taking Back Beautiful
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
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About the Author - Gen
Acknowledgements
Taking Back
Beautiful
Devon Hartford
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
Copyright ©2016 Devon Hartford
Cover Copyright ©2016 Devon Hartford
Cover Photos Copyright © 2016 BeautyBlowFlow, curaphotography, courtesy of BigStock.com
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This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, locations, and names occurring in this book are a product of the author’s imagination, or are the property of their respective owners and are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, or persons (living or dead), is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author. All trademarks and trade names are used in a fictitious manner and are in no way endorsed by or an endorsement of their respective owners.
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DEDICATION
To Julie Clarke because flutes are cool too, and for making Stink Foot the guardian that he is.
Taking Back Beautiful
For the first time in her life, Daphne Bowman wants to get in shape. She wants her beauty back and she’s determined to get it.
The last thing she’s looking for when she signs up for a membership at Body Fitness is a love connection.
Apollo Armstrong is a personal trainer with an emotional hole in his heart that he is trying to fill with the love of a good woman. He’s tired of meaningless dates with meaningless women who have nothing to offer but their bodies. He wants a real connection.
From the moment they meet, their connection is electric. But is it enough to keep them together forever?
TAKING BACK BEAUTIFUL is a fast read with loads of sweet and sexy feels, the scorching hot sex you expect, and the happy ending you demand. Both kinds.
Recommended for ages 18+
Chapter 1
APOLLO
“Hey, Dad,” I sigh. “How’s it hanging? Seen any good lawnmowers lately?”
His tombstone says, James Armstrong 1963-2015.
“You sure picked a nice view.” I tip back the bottle in my hand and take a swallow, staring out at the Pacific Ocean from the San Diego hillside where I sit on the green grass.
Next to Dad’s name, the brass plaque reads, Michelle Armstrong 1963-
Hopefully she has plenty of years left in her. Hopefully. But once one of your parents kicks the bucket, you realize the clock is ticking for the other. And for you.
“Hey, you remember Coach Ferguson? From high school football? I ran into him the other day at the grocery store. You know what he told me? His dad was going in for knee surgery. The Ferg was worried that his old man might need to use a walker the rest of his life because he’s 82.” I smirk and laugh. “82. Can you believe that?”
James Armstrong 1963-2015
52 years old.
2 months gone.
Died Christmas Eve.
I laugh morbidly, “You know you ruined Christmas?” I take another swallow from my bottle. “Mom was crushed. We didn’t even open presents. Too bad for you. Did you know Mom finally broke down and bought you season tickets to see the Chargers? The ones you said were too expensive? Would you believe she scored two seats on the railing at club level for next season? 45 yard line. Three grand each. One for you and one for her. Can you believe it? Yeah, I couldn’t believe it either. Because I know something you don’t. Mom hates football. She bought those tickets for you, Dad.” I take another drink. I smile sourly. “Guess I’ll have to take her. Your loss.” I laugh.
It’s not a happy laugh.
I take another swallow.
“Want some of this, Dad?” I pour a splash on the grass below his tombstone.
“I don’t know how you lucked out finding Mom. In high school no less.” I shake my head. “The women I date are so shallow. They care more about expensive purses than they do people. I don’t know how I pick ‘em. I must be a bad judge of character. The last girl I was seeing was sleeping with three other guys. I wasn’t getting sloppy seconds. I was getting sloppy fourths. Can you believe that? If you were still around, I’d start bringing my dates over to you and Mom’s house so you guys could give me a thumbs up or down.”
My eyes water.
“But you’re gone.” The words come out in a hoarse hiss. “I miss you, Dad.”
“Is your daddy in heaven too?”
I look up into the eyes of some kid I’ve never seen before. He wears an Angry Birds shirt and looks like he’s five. “Yeah,” I mutter.
“So’s mine.”
“Sorry to hear that. Do you miss him?”
“Uh huh.”
“Me too,” I sigh.
“Don’t be sad. Mommy says he’s with you right now. He’s with you every day. In your heart.” He touches his chest with one little pink finger.
“Yeah.” I choke out the word and hang my head. My eyes are all wet.
“I’m firsty. Can I have some of your water?”
“Sorry, kid. It’s… medicine.” I wrap my fingers over the SMIRNOFF logo.
“I don’t like medicine.”
“Me neither.”
“But Mommy says I have to take it even if I don’t like it. She says it’ll make me feel better.”
I smirk, “Your mommy is right.”
The kid nods, “Then you better drink your medicine.”
“Yeah.” I swig a swallow of vodka.
“There you are, Owen,” the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen says to the kid. She looks at me with concern, then back at her son. “What are you doing over here, Owen?”
I set my bottle in the grass to my right, so she can’t see it.
Owen says, “He lost his daddy too.”
She smiles at me, eyes full of compassion. The most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. “I’m so sorry. Was it recently?”
I nod. “Two months ago.”
Her eyes soften, “I’m so sorry. It must be very hard for you.”
I want to pour my heart out to this beautiful angel. “Yeah.”
“My daddy died when I was only a baby,” Owen says. The mom kneels beside him and rubs his back. “Don’t be sad,” Owen says. “Maybe you’ll get a new daddy like I did.”
I frown, confused.
The mom says, “He means—”
“Hey guys,” a dude with wireframe glasses says to the Mom and the kid.
“See?” Owen says. “I have two daddies who love me.”
The dude kneels down beside the boy and hugs him to his side. “That’s right, Owen. I love you very much.” He glances at me.
I look like a mess. I know it.
The dude says, “We should
probably get going.”
I don’t blame him for wanting to get as far away from me as possible. Because I’m looking at his wife like I wish she was mine.
The dude and his wife stand up. The wife says, “Do you have anyone you can talk to?”
I almost laugh. Do I look that pathetic right now? “Yeah, my Mom. She’s still healthy as a horse.”
The wife nods, “That’s good. You should call her. Or something.”
“Yeah. I’m seeing her this weekend.”
She nods and smiles, “Oh, good. Owen, say goodbye to the nice man.”
Owen waves his little hand, “Bye! And don’t forget to drink your medicine!”
The mom laughs, “What?”
“He has medicine, Mommy. I asked him for some because I was firsty.”
Great. Now I look like a total loser.
“It’s water,” I say, cradling the bottle of vodka against my hip, praying to God they won’t see it and ask any more questions.
“Take it easy,” the dude, Dad #2, says.
I salute them. “Yeah. You guys too. Drive safe. To wherever you’re going.”
“Will do,” the dad says as they walk off, “and take care of yourself.”
“Yeah,” I laugh.
At least they know where they’re going.
Because I sure don’t.
Chapter 2
DAPHNE
Today is the day I take my beauty back.
For me.
I open the door of Body Fitness and walk inside.
The lobby is flashy and colorful and fun. I’ve heard that movie stars and models go here. It’s all so exciting.
I’m wearing the cute new workout outfit I bought at Lane Bryant just for the occasion. I swear it feels ten times tighter than it did when I tried it on in the store. But I think that’s just my nerves because both the loose fitting active Tee and print leggings have plenty of give.
This is the first time I’ve set foot in a gym since I graduated from North Valley High School. Back then, I only went to the gym because I was forced to for PE class. I hated PE. Me and exercise have never been friends. You know those girls in grade school who always got picked last for team sports? I was that girl.
Now I’m the adult version of her.
But you know what?
I’m going to change that.
Today.
They always say it’s never too late to start exercising and I’m only 29. Why not now? I can meet 30 head on with a better body.
As I stand in the lobby, people come and go through the front doors. It’s 6 o’clock, so I imagine everyone here is doing their post-work workouts like I am. I’m an administrative assistant slash receptionist for a dentist in Van Nuys. It pays the bills. Anyway, I had to leave the office a half hour early to make it here on time.
I can’t help noticing that everyone passing me is so much thinner than I am. What am I even doing here? Gyms like this are for beautiful people. Maybe I should’ve signed up for a membership at Curves instead.
No.
I’m not giving up on myself that easily.
And I’m not hiding myself. Because I’m not ugly. I just have a few too many extra pounds that I can’t seem to get rid of. There’s a beautiful body underneath my comfy cushions and errant stretch marks.
This is my first actual workout since I signed up for a trial membership last week. I also have an appointment with a personal trainer this evening because I don’t know the first thing about exercise or working out. I don’t know who my trainer is, but the sales guy who signed me up told me their staff of trainers is the best in Los Angeles. Hopefully my trainer will be a nice woman. Someone motherly. I need all the moral support I can get if I’m going to do this. If it’s a man, I don’t know what I’ll do. Ever since I can remember, boys have always made me nervous. They still do.
My heart pounds as I walk up to the oblong reception counter to sign in.
The rail-thin receptionist behind the counter is stunning. She has a fashion model body and weighs maybe forty pounds. It’s her genetics. She has bird bones and I have… bear bones. She wears a purple Body Fitness polo shirt that is tight across her perfectly perky breasts which are probably fake. In her case, it should be perky beasts because it reflects her monstrous personality. Anyway, I wish I could wear a shirt that tight. Perky breasts have never been my style. Not by choice.
I wait for her to notice me.
She doesn’t seem to.
I wait patiently.
She still doesn’t notice.
“Excuse me?” I mutter.
She doesn’t hear me.
“Um, excuse me?”
Without making eye contact, she says, “One second.” She spins and walks into the glass office behind the counter.
People tend to ignore me like this. I’m used to it. I wait patiently. While I wait, more beautiful people swipe their cards under a laser scanner and walk straight into the gym.
They belong here.
I don’t.
NO!
Why do I always do this to myself? I belong here as much as anyone else!
The perky-breasted receptionist is chatting with a handsome guy in the glass office. The kind of guy who never ever talks to me unless I’m buying something from him. Both of them laugh. The receptionist glances at me momentarily. She really is beautiful enough to be a model. Again, genetics. The two of them continue to chatter away.
Geesh. I’m not supposed to enter the gym proper until I sign in. I still don’t have a permanent card because I’m a trial member. At this rate, I’m going to cancel my membership before the trial period is even over. I’m also going to be late for my appointment with my trainer. But Fashion Forty and Office Guy don’t notice because they’re busy jabbering away. I can’t overhear what they’re saying, but I can imagine it.
Him: “Can you believe she came back?”
Her: “No way.”
Him: “I thought she was gonna be one of those pipe-dream New Year’s Resolution people who never come back after they sign up.”
Her: “She shouldn’t have come back. What an embarrassment. Is it too late to decline her membership application? She might scare off the other members.”
Him: “Are you kidding? She’ll be comedy relief for everyone. Sign her in. After you do, we can watch her make a fool of herself on the security cameras in my office. It’ll be a laugh.”
Fashion Forty giggles at him, then perches her tiny behind on the edge of Handsome Office Guy’s desk, a.k.a. HOG, with her back completely to me. Did I mention that HOG looks like every jerky guy on the high school football team when I was at North Valley? The ones who always made fun of me? Of course he does.
My face burns with embarrassment. I’m ready to turn around and leave.
No!
I remind myself I didn’t actually hear what they were saying. I was making all of that up in my own head. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that I’m usually my own worst enemy.
I’m not leaving.
I will wait however long it takes.
Fashion Forty continues chatting with HOG. Is she ever going to sign me in?
“Excuse me,” I call out in a strong voice.
Fashion Forty and HOG ignore me.
“Excuse me!” I yell, my face now hot with anger.
Fashion Forty is still ignoring me.
“Ex-CUSE—!”
“Is anybody helping you?” a gruff voice says behind me.
Startled, I turn around and stare right at a solid wall of purple. I tilt my head up and realize it’s a purple Body Fitness polo shirt wrapped around a man mountain. As my gaze climbs higher, I realize it’s a man Mount Olympus because there’s a god on top. Chiseled features, just enough scruff, short thick unruly dark hair, honey gold eyes that glow like sunshine and a panty melting smile as hot as the surface of the sun.
And yes, that smile is aimed at me.
My heart races. I can’t speak.
Hi
s smile curls, “Is… is anybody helping you?”
I swallow hard and my throat clicks. “Ummm…”
“Is this your first time here?” His eyes glimmer and my brain melts.
That voice.
It’s music.
Have you ever been to the symphony? I went once. On a field trip in middle school because I was in orchestra class. At the time, I played flute because my mom told me it was a girl’s instrument. So I played flute. But then my orchestra class took that field trip. We were bussed downtown to the Los Angeles Philharmonic to watch the world-famous cellist Yo Yo Ma play Bach’s six cello suites. When Yo Yo Ma drew his bow across the strings and played the prelude of Cello Suite No. 1, I was mesmerized from the first note. It’s the piece you always hear at weddings before the bride arrives. It’s both celebratory and melancholy at the same time. I can’t think of a more beautiful piece of music in the world. That sound did something to my little twelve year old self that I couldn’t explain. I latched onto that melancholy and joy like it was my own. It was the most uplifting and beautiful thing I’d ever heard. When I got home that night, the first thing I did was tell my mom I was changing my instrument from flute to cello. We had a huge fight. But I wouldn’t back down. It was probably the first time I ever stood up to her over something important. Anything, for that matter. She finally relented and I’ve been playing cello ever since. To this day, the sound of cellos playing is my favorite thing.
“I said, is this your first time here?” the godlike man asks again.
That voice isn’t mere music.
That voice is those cellos.
It rocks me to my core.
“Ummmm…” I titter.
Any second, I’m going to start crying or laughing. This man’s voice is my soulmate. Ridiculous but true. This revelation hurts like you can’t imagine because a man this handsome will never give a damn about me. That’s just the way it is. I’m surprised he’s even talking to me.
Taking Back Beautiful Page 1