by Gina Azzi
“I can’t imagine the pressure you feel,” I say, reaching across the coffee table to place my hand on his wrist. “But your winning the Cup wasn’t a fluke, Austin. You led the team to a Cup win and you have all of them—Noah, Easton, your other teammates—behind you. You don’t have to shoulder all of this alone.”
His eyes snap up at my touch, boring into mine with a hint of vulnerability that causes my chest to tighten. He looks so lost, so concerned, that I want to reach across the table and hug him. The Austin I remember was pranks, good times, and flippant remarks. But the version he’s showing me now is so much deeper than I ever gave him credit for. Shame fills the pit of my stomach and I tighten my hold on his wrist, wanting to press my apology, my understanding, into his skin.
“What if we lose?” he whispers. “What if I let everyone down?”
“Impossible.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not.”
“It is,” I counter. “You’ve already made so many people so proud, Aus. Hell, you’ve got the whole state of Massachusetts rooting for you. Don’t hold yourself back for fear of failing but let all of the support propel you forward. Trust yourself. You’ve already proved you can do the impossible.” I glance at the board before picking up my first tile. I feel Austin’s gaze, intent, as I spell out my word.
Hurdle.
“The Austin Merrick I know never backs down from a challenge,” I remind him.
“This seems like a hell of a lot more than a hurdle,” he responds but some of the severity leaves his face.
“Yeah,” I agree, liking the way he watches me, as if what I have to offer to this conversation matters. Maybe it does? “Because you haven’t taken the first step yet. You still need to enjoy the win, savor the end of the season. Give yourself time to let loose and enjoy a few weeks before you start gearing up for next season. Austin, it’s only been two weeks since you guys won.”
“I know. It just feels like…”
“The pressure is already building?”
He nods, his expression wary, his eyes flaring.
“You need a vacation,” I joke.
“Good thing I’m going to Martha’s Vineyard with a beautiful girl next weekend,” he shoots back.
I blush, rolling my eyes. “You really want to go?”
“Sure.”
“As my date?” I press, feeling more out of my element now that Austin and I are alone, without Indy’s observations and Claire’s outrage.
Austin must hear something in my tone because he grips the letter he was about to place on the board and sits back instead. He studies me again, his gaze like a poke, trying to dig deeper.
“Yes,” he says finally. Then, he spells out his word, using the u in hurdle to make rule.
I stare at his word. “Rule.”
“Rule.”
“We should make some.”
“Huh?” He glances up.
“We need some ground rules,” I elaborate.
He lifts an eyebrow, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Such as…”
“No kissing on the mouth,” I blurt out. Immediately, my skin heats and flushes because—
“Who said there would be kissing?” His eyes are narrowed but I note the laughter in them. At least I amuse someone.
“I, well, you—” I sputter, at an absolute loss. Why the hell would I suggest something so asinine? Of course Austin isn’t going to kiss me! Mimi’s going to have a field day with this.
“Relax.” He touches the back of my hand. “I’m messing with you. In order to make this believable, we’ll definitely have to touch. I’ll have to hold you. Occasionally kiss your cheek, or the top of your head, your shoulder. You know, we’ll need to act…couple-y.”
My throat tightens at his words. Kiss my shoulder? Austin is more romantic as a fake date than Steve was as a real fiancé. I clear my throat. “Couple-y?”
“I don’t write crossword puzzles for a living.”
I grin, feeling some of my embarrassment fade. “Fair enough.”
“So, no kissing on the mouth. Anything else?”
“We dance at least three slow dances,” I decide, knowing Steve will only dance one with Brittney. At least, he only ever used to dance one with me…
“No.”
“What?” I look up sharply. “I thought you liked dancing. Two?”
Austin shakes his head. “No way. We dance every single dance we want to dance and everything by Ed Sheeran.”
I laugh, the sound surprising me as it’s loud and uninhibited. Sincere. The more time I spend at the Merricks’, the more my past seeps back in. The more I feel like myself again. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay,” I agree.
“Anything else?”
I glance at the board before building off of hurdle’s “e” to spell out yes.
“Yes?” Austin reads. “Are you answering my question with a Scrabble turn?”
I smile. “We say yes. When we want to say no, we say—”
“Yes.” He grins. “To all the things?”
“To all the things.”
Austin picks up his beer and I clink my wine glass against it.
“To Martha’s Vineyard,” I toast.
“Cheers, Chlo.”
4
Chloe
“He’s your date!” Mimi’s eyes glitter like gemstones as she claps her hands together under her chin. For a whole breath, her doughnut, jelly-filled with powdered sugar, is forgotten.
“Is that insane?” I wrinkle my nose. My mom and Abbi thought the plan fabulous but they’re also not as blunt as Mimi. I know she’ll be straight with me.
“Insane?” She scoffs. “It’s a lot less ridiculous than agreeing to Steve’s marriage proposal.”
Ouch. “Thanks, Mim.”
She nods, my sarcasm flying over her sixties-style bouffant. “Now, what are you wearing?”
I grin at my fashion-loving grandma. “I don’t know yet. Claire and Indy are taking me shopping.”
“Wonderful!” She claps her hands. “They’ll help you pick out something alluring, something daring.”
“Daring?”
“You gotta show off the goods a bit, dear. Everyone knows that.”
I laugh and shake my head. “You’re too much, Mimi.”
“Don’t I know it,” she agrees with gusto, picking her doughnut back up. “Thank you for these, Chloe. I haven’t had one since—”
“Dr. Stern advised you to cut back on sugar?”
“Your father takes everything that man says as Gospel.”
“He’s your doctor.”
“Ach.” She flicks a hand dismissively.
“Don’t think this is going to become a habit.” I point at her doughnut as I lift my coffee to my lips.
“If you’re that serious, you shouldn’t have brought a whole box,” she accuses, peering inside said box.
“They’re for company.”
“Company? You’re my favorite visitor.”
I smile for real at the truth underlining her words.
“At least have one,” she encourages, nudging the box closer.
I sigh and shake my head. “It’s an engagement party on Martha’s Vineyard.”
“I’m familiar with the place.”
“I’ll be in a bathing suit.”
“The beachgoers are going to be delighted when they see your curves instead of the emaciated look of recent years.”
I roll my eyes. “Mimi.”
“Eat a doughnut, Chloe. You need to start saying yes more.”
I pause, the rule Austin and I made the other night blaring in my mind. While playing Scrabble (I won 427 to 280), we discussed how long it’s been since we said yes to things just for the hell of it. Just because we wanted to.
When was the last time I ate a doughnut? With Steve, I always watched what I ate because I was always watching my figure. Those five, ahem ten, or more like fifteen pounds Steve used to criticize, melted away some through my rece
nt heartache. But I’ve still got plenty of curves and dips, nothing that can be properly nipped and tucked in a bathing suit.
When did I start caring about that? When did I even start noticing? Before Steve, I never had any qualms about my body. And when Austin looked at me the other night, I swear there was heat in his gaze. He clearly liked what he saw.
I drop my chin, letting my hair conceal my face as I blush. I squirm in my chair, recalling the flicker of desire in Austin’s eyes. When he looked at me, I felt confident again. Strong. Maybe even a little bit sexy?
“Chloe?” Mimi asks, concerned.
“You know what, Mim? You’re right.”
“I usually am, dear.”
I snag a doughnut, sinking my teeth into the frosting, decorated with colorful sprinkles. Oh shit, this is good. I groan. “This is delicious.”
“That’s the spirit!”
“Sprinkles are magical.”
“Like unicorns.” Mimi pats my hand.
“Missed you, Mim.”
“You have no idea, Chlo. Now, a daring dress?” She lifts an eyebrow.
“And swimsuit,” I declare.
Mimi claps again, her entire face transforming like I just informed her she got the last random item on the Home Shopping Network sale. “A two-piece?”
“A two-piece.”
Mimi holds out her doughnut and I bump mine against it before taking another bite.
“I’m just so proud,” Mimi murmurs and I grin.
Because so am I.
“This is the dress.” Claire clasps her hands together under her chin, her blue eyes, lighter than her brother’s, sparkling.
“Yes! Definitely the winner,” Indy agrees, sampling a macaron from the boutique we’re shopping at on Newbury Street.
“Are you sure it’s not too much?” I skim my palms along the emerald green lace. I know I told Mimi I was ready but right now, in front of the three-way mirror, some of my confidence slips. The nude sheath below the lace peeks through, giving the dress a hint of sexiness I’d usually shy away from. It’s certainly daring.
“Not at all.” Claire hands me a pair of strappy, nude heels, about two inches taller than anything I own.
“I’ll break my neck in these.”
Indy snorts and shakes her head. “You won’t. Aus will hold you up.”
“It’s just for your entrance,” Claire explains. “At some point, you can slip into sandals. Especially since the party is beach-y. But you need to pull out the big guns at the beginning.”
“Which means, we need to bikini shop next,” Indy says.
I stumble and Claire’s hand darts out to steady me. “You literally look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she murmurs.
“We need to discuss this…two-piece,” I say slowly, mentally hung up on the word bikini which looks nothing like the safe, sensible, high-waisted two-piece I’ve come to terms with.
“Bikini,” Claire corrects.
I cringe. Why the hell did I agree to saying yes and being daring and doing all of the things out of my comfort zone? Telling Mimi I’m ready is an entirely different thing than buying a bikini. It’s so far out of my realm, it’s not even in the Milky Way. My thoughts race and I press my fingers into my temples to slow them down.
What will Austin think when he sees me, curvy, soft, nothing like the models he’s often photographed with, in a bathing suit? My skin is pasty from winter and years of avoiding any type of beach, pool, or even here-are-some-shorts social settings.
I freeze, staring at myself in the reflection of the mirror. It dawns on me that my first thought was of Austin’s reaction and not Steve’s. I smile. That’s progress, right?
“You can opt for a one-piece,” Indy says reassuringly. “Although with your curves, I’d rock a bikini. Even with my massive belly. Cause no one would even get that low if I had a chest like yours.”
My hands automatically slap over my breasts and Claire cracks up.
“Guys, wait,” I murmur. “This is…a lot. I don’t wear dresses like this and buy two-pieces and, and socialize with…with men who look like Austin.”
Claire wrinkles her nose before pushing me down onto the couch placed in front of the dressing rooms.
Indy passes me a macaron, as if sensing my need to emotionally eat. I bite into it and moan as the strawberry filling bursts in my mouth.
“They’re good, right?” Indy grins. “No one will even chastise us if we eat them all because I’m pregnant.”
“Okay, tell us what’s really going on,” Claire demands. “You are a hot, intelligent, badass woman who can outsmart any man in any room you enter. Why are you tripping over wearing a dress that makes you look sexy as hell and buying a bathing suit when curves like yours are meant to be highlighted? They’re like a homing beacon for men and a reminder to women everywhere just how hot a natural body is.”
I blush at her praise. Indy nods encouragingly.
“Steve always said I needed to lose five,” I flush, “ten,” I cough, “fifteen pounds. And I have lost a few pounds since we broke up. But…I haven’t been in a bathing suit since my senior year of college.”
Claire balks and Indy’s mouth drops open.
Claire’s fuming. “That piece of—”
“Are you ladies doing okay?” the saleswoman interjects.
Claire turns and nods. “We’re great, thanks. Do you have any swimwear?”
“Oh yes.” The woman’s eyes light up, knowing she’s in for some serious commission.
“Can you please pull some options for our friend?” Indy places a hand on my shoulder.
“Toss in a bikini or two,” Claire advises.
When the saleswoman disappears, Claire faces me again. Her eyes are brimming with indignation. “Chloe Crawford, I spent my childhood wanting to be you.”
I gasp.
“Not me?” Indy asks.
Claire rolls her eyes. “You only made an appearance in summertime so your impression faded by winter.”
“Gee, thanks,” Indy snorts.
I smile at my old friends, enjoying their company. Being with them is natural, like picking back up where we left off even though it’s been fifteen years and what feels like, a lifetime of milestones.
“This weekend, you’re going to be the talk of the engagement party,” Claire explains.
“But take care not to outshine the bride. No one likes that,” Indy adds.
“True,” Claire agrees. “I promise you, Chloe, Indy and I have your back. We aren’t going to steer you wrong. And when Steve gets a look at you in that dress, he’s not going to be able to tear his eyes away long enough to kick Brittney to the curb.”
“Yes!” Indy claps her hands.
I grin and dip my chin, feeling a little less self-conscious now that I’ve admitted some of my insecurities aloud. Confiding in Mimi is one thing but chatting with peers about my body image concerns is something else entirely.
I know we’re here to make sure Steve regrets his choices. For over two months, Steve’s betrayal has been the one, consistent, thought in my mind. But when the saleswoman reappears with a handful of bathing suits, a new thought replaces Steve.
Austin.
What will Austin think when he sees me in this dress? In one of those bathing suits? Will his eyes gleam appreciatively? Will he look past the dimples on my thighs and the stretch marks on the backs of my arms?
Will he see past all the things Steve fixated on?
And why is his response so important to me?
When did this become more about Austin and less about Steve?
And when the hell did it stop being about me?
I stand up and give myself a long once-over in the mirror. The dress has a deep V in both the front and back, hugging my curves in all the right places. The color makes my eyes pop. I turn, checking out my backside. The dress dips low, showing off the expanse of my back and Claire’s right, it looks great.
“I’ll take this,” I say to the saleswoman.
Indy flips through the bathing suits and presses a few into my hands. “We’ll get back to you about these,” she adds.
The saleswoman smiles graciously and scurries away as my friends push me back into the dressing room.
For the first time in what feels like months, I laugh as I shimmy out of a beautiful dress. I hold up a bright, fire-engine red swimsuit with a plunging neckline and ruffles that will definitely draw attention to my breasts. Taking a deep breath I step into it and work it up my legs, over my hips, until I can slip my arms through the straps and straighten it.
And damn. My mouth pops open. Because I look good. Better than good. Turning in the mirror, I note that I’ve lost more than a few pounds since Steve and I broke up, but it’s more than that. I look healthy and…happy.
“Girls.” I push open the curtain and step out. “What do you think?”
Indy’s eyes widen as Claire shoots up from her seat. “We’ll take this one too!”
The three of us burst into laughter and it feels good, to be surrounded by true friends, to push Steve’s negative comments out of my head, and to admit that I’m looking forward to this weekend much more than I thought I would.
5
Austin
“You sure about this, man?” Easton asks over my Bluetooth as I pull onto the highway, in the direction of Chloe’s house.
“Yeah, what do you mean?”
“You’re going to an engagement party, with a woman you have a past with, to piss off her ex-fiancé.” Easton spells it out slowly.
I glance in my side mirror before switching lanes. “East, Chlo’s one of my oldest friends. She’s not ‘a woman I have a past with.’ She’s just…Chloe.”
Easton chuckles. “Whatever you say, Aus. Call me if you need to be bailed out of jail.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m not going to fight Steve.”