by Mina Vaughn
Aston still grinned, confident as ever. “Our relationship is built on trust. Can you trust your sub enough to take care of your needs?” he asked, placing his hand on mine.
He had a point. “You do trust me with your body . . .” I said.
“And my heart. Now just focus on being gorgeous—not that you need to think about it,” he said, correcting himself with a laugh.
I smiled along with him, his chuckle infecting me with unexpected mirth. Aston believed in me, so I had nothing to fear. I mean, about the pageant. I’ll put my other worries on the backburner for now.
A sign up ahead pointed to a local lake and boasted ten-dollar parking at the beach. “Why don’t we go there?” I asked. “Just for an hour. I could put on my bikini and you could take a few pictures of me in the sand. It’s only late May, so it’s not like there will be hundreds of people there. It will be fun,” I said.
Aston agreed, and I took the small detour. Today wasn’t one of the ten-plus hour days of driving, so we had more than enough time to kill.
The beach, as I had hoped, was mostly deserted. There were some families walking dogs, a few old couples getting a bit of exercise, but that was about it. I grabbed some things out of the trunk, including my favorite bikini, and headed to the changing room. Aston rented a couple of lounge chairs and bought us drinks while I headed to change.
I walked into the beach bathroom and pushed aside a faded blue curtain that led to a changing stall. There was sand and water all over the floor, and the place smelled of sunscreen. I loved the beach. Pulling out my suit, I smiled at the two little pieces. It was a sailor-style bottom with gold buttons and a high waist. The top was a simple cherry-patterned bra style that had a closure in the back. I peeled off my clothing, then began to slide the bottoms up my legs.
When I’d sufficiently pulled the waistband up to my belly button, I looked down in shock. There was a small overhang of skin billowing over the bathing suit. My eyes widened.
I had developed a muffin top.
Desperately I began readjusting the bottoms, wiggling and shaking and trying to get my body into them. They’d fit perfectly the week before! Could one week with a chef ruin my body? Was Sarah—I hate to even think it—right? A primal sob came out of my throat, a groan of frustration.
“You all right in there?” I heard Aston ask from his chair on the beach.
“Fine!” I called.
But I was not fine. I pulled on the bra part only to find that the closure in back was pulling. I ran my hand down my side and felt—oh god—a little handle of skin that poked out above the top of the bikini.
I clutched my head in my hands. I had back fat.
I paced in the small room, worrying about what Aston would say when I emerged. I stepped out of the stall and straight toward the bathroom mirror and examined myself. Sure enough, there was skin hanging out of two places where it had never done so before. I didn’t have a scale, but I bet that I’d gained roughly five pounds this week, despite the little daily workouts from the sergeant. I closed my eyes and silently prayed that the ultra-expensive evening gown I’d brought—one I’d been given after a particularly successful shoot—would still fit. I fixed my wind-blown hair, which was half-up, big pomp roll in front and semi-sleek in back, and pulled my eyeliner out of my purse. Something, after all, had to look right.
I turned, looking at my back in the mirror. I cringed at the small infringement of skin over the suit, something I’d never seen on my body before. Surely this was something Derek would point out. Or pinch cruelly.
I realized I had to leave the changing room at some point. Pouting, I took tentative steps out the door toward Aston. He was already pivoted toward me, waiting to catch me on film with his camera pointed in my direction. The smartphone obscured his expression, but I nearly skittered backward when I saw he was already shooting me.
“Wait a sec,” I said, lip trembling. Don’t cry, don’t cry.
Aston dropped the phone and looked at me, face stunned.
“I know, I know,” I said, holding my hands over my stomach. I blinked, trying to keep the tears back. “I still have a few days to lose it.”
Aston’s eyebrows knit low. “Lose what?”
I frowned at him, walking to the chairs and grabbing a water. “The weight, obviously.” I plopped myself into the seat and took a long glug of the water. I’d replace all my liquids with water, for starters, and try to flush whatever crap he’d been feeding me out of my system.
“What weight?” he asked, shaking his head in surprise. “You look amazing.”
I rolled my eyes. “You have to say that or I’ll beat you.”
Aston mockingly put his hands up in defense. “Seriously, you look incredible.”
“Then why were you so surprised when I came out?” I barked. “You’ve seen me naked, so it’s not like a bathing suit would scandalize you.”
He frowned. “You have no idea just how beautiful you are, do you?”
My heart seized. “You’re just being nice because this is all your fault,” I muttered. I glugged more water, hoping it would swiftly start the detox process.
Aston shook his head. “My fault?”
“You and your chocolate soufflés and your butter and olive oil,” I said, blushing at that last line. “You’ve been making me eat fatty food and it’s ruining my body!”
He bristled. “I’m sorry if pursuing my dream is getting in the way of yours. I thought you liked my food.”
I instantly regretted saying that to him, but it was true. If I hadn’t been dating a chef, I’d be able to fit into my suit. “I like your food,” I said, and his face brightened. “I like it too much! I haven’t been paying attention to what I’ve been putting into my body, and we’ve been on the road so much that I haven’t taken the time to actually to do enough to keep me in shape. I used to work out for at least an hour a day. My muscles are probably atrophying.”
“That’s bullshit,” he said. “You’re healthy, Veronika. You look amazing and you’ve really been expanding your mind about food. I’m proud of you.”
I pointed a finger. “If you’d respected my dietary restrictions early on like you said you would, we wouldn’t be in this position!”
He shook his head. “I didn’t hear you saying no to my loin,” he joked, trying to make light of it.
I pulled at my hair. “I never should have fallen in love with a chef!” I shouted.
Aston dropped his water bottle. My gut clenched. Ooh, I should do that more, the muffin top sucked back in. Oh wait, I’d just told Aston I am in love with him.
“You’re in love with me?” he asked, standing. We were inches apart now. “I told you I loved you the other day and you didn’t say it back. I thought maybe you didn’t have the same feelings I did.”
I groaned. “I—I’ve been through a lot, Aston. Admitting I love someone is hard. Everyone I love has been taken from me.”
He put his arms around me, and I felt the warm burn emanating from his muscles. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I collapsed, burying my head in his chest. “But we’re so different,” I said. “One day you’re going to wake up and realize that some trashy model isn’t the kind of girl you want to bring home to your parents.”
“I’m not even talking to my parents.”
I shook my head. “That’s going to change. You’re in a spat right now, but that doesn’t mean that in two weeks, or two months, or two years you’re not going to want to see them. You’re lucky you have them, even if they can be mega dicks.”
He nodded. “They’re truly mega dicks. But I love you and I’m not going anywhere.”
I snuggled into him, soaking in the words like sunlight. “You really do?”
“I really do. And I think you look beautiful in this bathing suit. And I want to continue feeding you naughty foods. Just think of
the ways we can burn the calories off.”
I laughed, suddenly feeling much less heavy on several levels. “Promise?” I asked.
“Promise.”
WE GOT BACK into the car and began to drive, hours passing once more on the road. It was late afternoon, but it felt like we’d been driving since dawn. Rolling my shoulders, I fidgeted in the leather seat. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying this trip, but we’ve had way too much car time. What do you say we stop at some hokey roadside tourist traps? I need to stretch my legs.”
Aston dipped his sunglasses low and eyed my thighs. “Not that I’d ever complain about watching you stretch your legs,” he said, low and sexy, “but we’ve only been driving for three hours.”
“My butt’s asleep.”
“I can gladly wake it,” Aston replied, then mock-cringed as I raised my hand in warning.
I noticed a sign we were approaching. “Look, it says Hole N” The Rock.”
“Sounds fascinating,” Aston deadpanned.
I gave his arm a smack and pulled out my phone, Googling the place. “Says here that it’s an entire house chiseled out of the mountain!” I said. “It’s totally cheeseball, but I want to go. It sounds fun, and we haven’t done nearly enough road-trippy things.”
“Does sex in a corn field not count as a road-trippy thing?”
I pinched him.
“Green!” he cried.
“We are going to the silly house made of rock and you’re going to like it,” I lectured as he put the blinker on and we headed toward the tourist trap.
Bold white letters across the mountain’s side read HOLE N” THE ROCK. “At least we know we’re going the right way,” I said as we pulled in closer. There really wasn’t much on the way from Denver to Salt Lake, but this was definitely something to do. I kind of wanted to see this sort of thing, the kind of Americana the road had to offer. I fixed my curls as we pulled into a spot.
When we got out, we immediately grabbed a brochure for the place and took a look. “Five-thousand-square-foot rock home, exotic animal zoo, and Trading Post,” I said slowly. “You know, your typical pit stop. Totally logical.”
Aston shook his head at the place. “I’m starting to think this was the best idea of the trip. I mean, outside of buying olive oil.”
We chuckled, hand in hand, as we entered the town of Moab’s craziest neighborhood. There were hundreds of things to catch your attention—a cactus made of bowling balls, a carving of Franklin D. Roosevelt, a zebra. But the home itself was what I wanted to see the most. We headed toward the structure—fourteen whole rooms carved out of rock—and entered.
“Says here it took the owner twelve years to carve this place,” I said, reading from the pamphlet.
Aston walked beside me, flabbergasted by the weirdness of it all. “What would make a person do this? I’m sure there were plenty of good homes to buy, and carving this couldn’t have been cheap.”
I nodded. “No kidding! But hey, you’ve got all this land, why not carve five-thousand-square-feet of living space,” I chuckled. “Seriously, that’s pretty much five times bigger than my last apartment.”
“It’s almost as big as my house,” Aston commented.
“Don’t you mean your parents’ house?” I joked.
Only the teasing had hit a sore spot. Aston’s smile was clearly fake, and he suddenly seemed fascinated by a painting on the wall.
We meandered through the stone house, with all its eccentric rock rooms, but the silence coming from Aston was troubling. I tried playing around with him, commenting on little tchotchkes, but he wasn’t very responsive.
When we exited the home, I led us toward the zoo. I mean, who can resist a llama or a yak on a hot day? He didn’t seem very jazzed by the animals.
“Want to buy something in the gift shop?” I asked. “I hear they have replicas of the stone toilet.”
Aston just shrugged. He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for me to lead him ahead.
“Stop brooding,” I said, pulling his hand from his pocket and into my grasp. “I didn’t mean to make fun.”
“It’s not that,” he said, eyes obscured by his sunglasses. “I’m starting to worry a little. We’re kind of flying blind, you know? Hell, I don’t even know what our living arrangements in Vegas are going to be. I mean, I know you’re going out there for the contest, but are you going to stay?”
I nodded. “I think so. I’m done with Rhodie for right now,” I said, not feeling any nostalgia for our home state. “I’m excited. It’s an adventure.”
“But how are we going to get a place to stay? What if I don’t get the job,” he said, beginning to pace. “I’ve never . . . doubted myself before.”
I almost cracked a joke and said no kidding, but he genuinely seemed like he was having a crisis. “Then you’ll find another job. I’ve got the cash from the auction. That should cover our apartment for at least a few months, right?”
Aston brightened as we started making our way to the ice-cream stand. “So, you did just say our apartment, right?”
My eyes widened. “Um, I guess I did, didn’t I?” Oops, didn’t mean to commit so soon. I mean, I’d just said I love you, and now this?
He smiled and ordered a cookies and cream sundae.
“Just a lemon sorbet for me,” I said, remembering my battle with the bikini only hours before.
“I think maybe we should hit up the souvenir shop,” he said, paying for our desserts and taking a lusty scoop of Oreo goodness into his mouth. “We could pick out our place’s first decoration.”
I nodded, feeling excited nerves flutter in my stomach. Our place? “Yeah,” I said, warming up to the idea. We strolled into the Trading Post and enjoyed the cheesy souvenirs you could buy there—shot glasses, magnets, aprons, even Hole N” The Rock barbeque sauce.
“I like this,” Aston said, holding up a miniature carving of Franklin D. Roosevelt, one that matched the real thing outside.
“History buff?” I asked.
He shook his head at the awful piece of décor. “It’s totally bizarre. Everyone will want to know why the hell we have it. It’s a great conversation piece. A souvenir is supposed to remind you of the trip, and really, what would remind you of this place more than this?”
“A stone toilet?” I joked.
“Let’s hope our new place has better plumbing.”
“You must be exhausted from all the fucking and driving you’re doing, so today, maybe your sweet subbie should take control! Not necessarily in a Dom kind of way, but let him lead. His needs are just as important as yours, and if there’s something he wants to explore, let him go for it! Speaking of going for it, you’re going to need to scrounge up some serious willpower for today’s workout. We’re talking push-ups, girl. Get those guns blazing. I want you to try three types of push-ups—wide, narrow, and regular. Ten each, three sets. Sorry ’bout your tits. They’re gonna hurt. Maybe your sub will rub ’em for ya!”
Our stay in Salt Lake City was woefully short. While we both felt like it would be nice to just stop over in the city for more than a day, we were too antsy to get to our final destination. So, one overnight at a bland-ass hotel later, we hit the road again. This time, toward the Strip, baby.
In theory, driving with the top down into Vegas is the epitome of cool. A vintage car, a matching pinup, what could be more iconic?
But the drive from Salt Lake City to Vegas was impossibly hot from the very start, so sadly, we had to put Johnny’s top up to avoid sunstroke. I leaned toward the passenger-side window, getting my sunshine that way.
“Home stretch,” Aston said, reaching over and taking my hand. “Are you excited?”
I nodded. “I’d feel a little better if I knew what the heck my talent was going to be, but I have this damn boyfriend who wants me to just trust him.” I rolled my eyes. “Some nerv
e.”
“I’ve made all the necessary arrangements. Your talent will go off without a hitch,” he said, picking up his phone and giving it a little wag in my face, then snatching it away. “No peeking.”
I blinked. “What kind of talent needs arranging?”
“The kind you’ll be doing,” he answered.
“This whole living with you thing is just going to be a barrel of monkeys, isn’t it?” I asked, taking a sip from my iced tea, which sweat all over my hand. I was thankful for the cool.
“I guess we’ll soon find out. Although, I mean, we’ve technically been living together over a week now.”
“Happy anniversary!” I joked. “What’s the one-week anniversary present? Oh, I think it’s iced tea sweat,” I said, rubbing my wet hand across his arm.
“I actually think it’s a hand job while driving.”
I shook my head. “Perv.”
Aston’s phone rang, disturbing his lovely fantasy of having me jack him off while he drove. He picked it up and frowned at what he saw.
“Parents?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Sister.”
“You should answer it,” I said. “Your family is probably worried sick.”
“I do get along with Gianna the best out of all of them,” he said, weighing his next move. I watched as his finger slid across the phone to answer, and he held it to his ear.
It was hard having any kind of privacy in a small convertible, but I just put my head back on the glass and tried to tune out. Aston had turned the music down, so all I could hear was his answers.
Don’t eavesdrop, don’t eavesdrop, don’t eavesdrop.
“Yeah.”
Silence.
“I know.”
I picked at the polish on my fingernails, aching for a good manicure once I got into the city. French? Reverse French?
“What do you know about her?”