The Blogger and the Hunk

by Jane Matisse

  © 2016 Jane Matisse

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  The Blogger & The Hunk is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing.

  www.hottreepublishing.com

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Designer: Claire Smith

  ISBN-10: 1-925448-40-1

  ISBN-13: 978-1-925448-40-5

  DEDICATION

  For Marie.

  You are one god-awful sister, but there is no one else I’d rather watch romantic comedies with.

  CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  CHAPTER ONE

  What is a wallflower? The dictionary’s first definition states that a wallflower is a European plant called Cheiranthus Cheiri, which grows wild on walls and cultivates sweet-scented flowers. Yet, when society uses the word wallflower, they don’t mean sweet-scented flowers; they mean a shy, unpopular person standing aside, away from the crowd. Sometimes I wish I could be as sweet-smelling and pretty as a Cheiranthus Cheiri. Then maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have such an urge to hide under the bedcovers whenever my friends suggest we go out on a Friday night.

  DIARY OF A WALLFLOWER: Blog Entry 54

  “I’m bored.”

  “Do something.”

  “Like?”

  “Well, for one, you could start by going out and talking to real people rather than turning into the hermit you’re aspiring to be.”

  Penelope grabbed the pillow from behind her head and aimed it toward Celeste’s forehead.

  “Hey!” she protested.

  Penelope merely shrugged. “You deserved it.”

  “Well, you asked a question and I answered,” Celeste responded, standing from her position on the couch and proceeding to fixing her already perfect hair.

  “You didn’t need to be so rude,” Penelope grumbled.

  Celeste sighed. “Look, Penny. You’re young, beautiful, and likeable. And no, I’m not just saying this because you’re my sister,” she interrupted before Penelope could reply. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

  “Is there a point to this?” Penelope asked, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. She never liked compliments. Oftentimes she found them a nuisance.

  Celeste let out a frustrated grunt. “Go out! Be a normal young woman for once. For fuck’s sake, you haven’t even gotten your first kiss yet!” she exclaimed. “What’s that Spanish saying Mom always uses? Se te va a pasar el tren.”

  “Hey! That’s not true! Technically I have been kissed before,” Penelope explained, trying in vain to defend herself. “And please don’t use Mom’s sayings. They don’t even make sense. What does a moving train have to do with boyfriends and getting married?”

  “Getting a two-second peck on the corner of your mouth by a drunk guy with bad aim doesn’t count. And the train is a metaphor for your love life, Penny,” Celeste deadpanned.

  Silence. “I hate it when you’re right. But what if I’m just waiting until the day I meet a person I’d like to make out with?”

  “You have to go through a lot of toads before you find your prince.”

  Penelope groaned in annoyance. “Says the girl who started kissing boys when she was eleven.”

  “And it’s a normal part of adolescence, thank you very much.”

  Penelope rolled her eyes.

  Celeste sighed. “Honey, I love you.” She threw her arm around Penelope’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a bitch. You just have so much potential, and I’m afraid you’re wasting it sitting in front of an impersonal screen.” The buzzing of her cell phone saved Penelope from the rest of her sister’s speech.

  As Celeste spoke on the phone with her boyfriend, Penelope walked to the kitchen. She put a pot of water to boil on the stove and searched the cupboard for her ginger tea bags. As much as she tried to forget her younger sister’s words, they kept pounding into her brain. Celeste had it all wrong. Penelope knew she had the ability to get a boyfriend if she wanted to. She just didn’t feel like having to go through all the hard work of getting one yet.

  Her work and blog were her life. Why would she want to go to such trouble for a man? The dating game just wasn’t very appealing at the moment. It was better to be alone, even if it meant she would never get laid. Who needed sex anyway? There was a reason God made vibrators.

  “Oh, Penny!” Celeste cut into her unholy thoughts. She turned toward her sister.

  Long, beautiful chestnut hair, big, honey-colored eyes, and a wonderful hourglass figure. It didn’t help that her sister was much nicer than she was. Penelope tended to be very antisocial and hostile when she wasn’t at ease. She looked at her reflection in the silver toaster: dull, dark brown hair, small, plain brown eyes, a size ten waist—about twenty pounds overweight for her short five-foot-one-inch stature—and a round face. She sighed and turned to look back at Celeste.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  Penelope nodded. She suddenly had a strong urge to be alone.

  “Thought I lost you there for a second,” Celeste said, her purse in her hands. The pot began to whistle, and Penelope quickly turned the stove off. “I’ve gotta go, Penny,” Celeste continued, looking down at her cell phone screen.

  “All right, I’ll see you later then,” Penelope replied, kissing her sister good-bye.

  Before she walked toward the door, Celeste turned to look at her. “You’ll think about what I said?”

  Not trusting her voice, Penelope forced herself to nod. It seemed to put her sister at ease because she smiled and walked out of the kitchen. Penelope heard the door to her apartment close, and felt very lonely.

  Well, what did you expect, smart-ass? You have no friends, you have no adventures, and to top it all off, you have no love life. You’re practically a vegetable.

  Okay, maybe she was being just a tiny bit dramatic. She did have friends, two best friends to be exact, and they had always been very patient with her hermit-like tendencies. Celeste, however, liked to dissect her personality; she would poke and prod until she found her most vulnerable spots. Penelope snorted. What did she know? Celeste was two years her junior, yet she had her whole life planned out. She had it all: her high school sweetheart boyfriend (they would soon celebrat
e their six-year anniversary), a well-paying job as an accountant at a company located in LA, and the brains and drive to have graduated top in her class from a private university. It wasn’t that Penelope was jealous of her sister; she just felt a certain level of...

  Incompetence.

  Being the eldest only made matters worse. She was supposed to be the experienced one. She was supposed to be the one who led her younger sister. But what could she do? Everything seemed to come easy for Celeste. Penelope had to bust her ass to receive the B average grades in her classes. Instead of pursuing a career in science or math like her parents would have liked, she went for the only subject she could truly understand: Literature. Books were her life. When the world seemed to shut her out and hide her from view, books were always there to lend her a voice and take her to places she would never visit.

  Penelope had been so sure of the life she wanted to lead—quiet, filled with books, and it wouldn’t hurt to adopt a few dogs along the way. But now... now she wasn’t sure if that’s what she wanted for the rest of her life. Damn Celeste and her beautiful A+ brain! Without giving it another thought, Penelope grabbed her cell phone from the couch and called the only person she could think of in her moment of need.

  “Steph? Hey, it’s Penelope. Listen, are you and Jazz still going out to Venice tonight?” Pause. Penelope took a deep breath and sealed her fate. “I think I’ll take you up on that invite.”

  * * *

  “Ugh, I still can’t believe I let you guys talk me into this piece of fabric.”

  Penelope was still debating whether to make Stephanie turn the car around or just walk into the club wearing a thin black lace skintight cocktail dress. She didn’t even know why she still had the thing hidden in her closet, much less how in the world Jasmine had found it hanging behind all of her clothes. She had bought it on a whim, as a way for her to reach her goal of 120 pounds. It quickly became a joke though when she saw how difficult it was for her body to rid itself of all the weight; so she’d placed it all the way in the back of the closet, just as she had put it from her mind ever since. Now she was wearing the blasted dress, which made her feel extremely uncomfortable. Not only was it really tight, it was also very short. Only two inches below the curve of her bottom. She was obviously not going to bend over to pick something up anytime soon.

  “Oh, Penny, stop crying. You know you look hot. You’ve got curves in all the right places!” Jasmine reassured Penelope, turning in the passenger seat to get a better look at her.

  Penelope grunted.

  Curves. Yeah, right. I would like to see her in “curves” like mine and try to find a dress that fit like a glove.

  She felt like a sausage more than anything.

  Oh well, what was done was done, and all those thoughts about her going home had to vanish into thin air if the club they’d just stopped in front of was indeed the one they were going into. Stephanie parked the car in front of the building, turning it off and handing the keys to the valet.

  “Okay, so I guess this place must be fancy,” Penelope said in a lame attempt to make a joke. She tried to carefully step out of the car, making sure she showed no one her black underwear, the only pair she had that weren’t a boring shade of white or gray. A nice, lacy pair of panties that accentuated her bottom. Her fat bottom.

  She would’ve worn a pair of shorts like she was accustomed to when wearing dresses, but the dress was too short. Lord knew she wasn’t going to be able to walk much, unless she wanted her thick thighs to rub against each other and cause an uncomfortable chafing the rest of the night. Penelope successfully stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

  “Come on, Penny! We haven’t got all night!” Stephanie linked her arm through hers and all three walked toward the entrance of the bar to the security guard.

  “Name,” Mr. Muscles asked, never looking up from the clipboard in his hands.

  “We should be under Jessica R. plus two,” Jessica replied, ready to hand him their IDs.

  “I can’t really walk fast in these stupid heels, Steph,” Penelope whispered, trying her best to stand straight without toppling over.

  “Well, get used to it and stop whining. It was your idea to say yes. We’re just taking advantage of it.” She grinned.

  “Thank you. Have a great time, ladies,” the security guy replied after approving and stamping their wrists. And with that, Penelope took in a deep breath and reluctantly walked into the darkened room.

  * * *

  “Come on, Jack! Stop being such a lame ass!”

  “Alex, you know I didn’t want to come tonight. They’ve been busting my balls at work. I’m tired!”

  “Well stop being tired, man. I see lots of hot asses in here tonight. Live a little!”

  Jack just shook his head. Yes, he loved his women beautiful just like any other hot-blooded male, but tonight he just wasn’t feeling it. He had been planning on a quiet Friday night with some pay-per-view, a tub of popcorn, and a couple of beers. Unfortunately, his friends Alex and Dylan had ambushed him and practically dragged him to the bar.

  “Ooooh, I think I spot a little kitten on the other side,” Alex said, getting ready to go in for the bait. He reminded Jack of a peacock ruffling his colorful feathers, getting ready to catch a mate.

  “Need a tagalong? Her friend looks hot,” Dylan offered, eyeing the fit brunette in the hot-pink dress. To Jack, she looked nice, but her dress reminded him too much of a gumball. He shook his head slightly. He was just bitter that he wasn’t at home.

  “Yo, you comin’?” Alex asked Jack, still eyeing the blonde, trying not to lose her in the crowd no doubt.

  “They’ve got two more hot friends you can choose from,” Dylan offered. “Or you can choose them both if they’re into that sort of thing,” he added, grinning.

  “Nah, you guys knock yourselves out.” Literally.

  Alex and Dylan merely shrugged and headed off to their targets without another word. Jack went back to his watered-down Scotch, and looked at his watch for probably the tenth time since he’d entered the club.

  11:30 p.m.

  “Christ,” Jack murmured under his breath. Thirty minutes. Only thirty minutes in the goddamn place, and he felt like he had been there for hours. He glanced at the entrance, thinking how long it would take him to reach it without getting noticed by his friends. Jack turned to where his friends were. They were busy flirting with the girls they were with. He saw his chance and nearly sprinted toward the door, weaving through people left and right, almost causing a few to tip their drinks over. He was unapologetic. The exit was in his line of sight, and he could almost taste freedom.

  Only too soon someone crashed into him. Jack grunted as the air was knocked out of his lungs. Instinctively he reached out to hold the person, just in case they lost their footing. He looked down to see a mass of brown hair all over the victim’s face.

  “I’m sorry,” came the squeaky voice. Just what he needed. Right when he was trying to escape, he would have the bad luck of a drunken girl falling over him. He didn’t need her to puke over his nicely pressed dress shirt either, so he quickly let her go right as two other women grabbed her arms to steady her.

  “Penny, you okay?” the brunette asked.

  “I’m okay,” the mass of brown hair murmured, trying to move her hair out of her face.

  “You good?” Jack finally asked, not really paying attention to her answer, glancing toward his exit.

  “I’m fine,” she repeated, too busy fixing her mess of wavy hair to look at him. Jack only nodded and stood straight, ready to leave.

  “Jack, come join us! Dylan and I are gonna play a game of pool. The girls want to see how good we are.” Alex threw an arm over his shoulder. Jack grunted and let his friend lead him toward the pool tables.

  So much for my escape plan.

  “Fine, but I’m not playing,” he grumbled.

  * * *

  Penelope just wanted to die.

  Only five minutes inside th
e club and already she had made a fool of herself. She looked at her reflection in her compact mirror, trying without much success to untangle the mess she had made of her hair. Wearing the red platform heels was definitely a mistake. Didn’t matter that they made her look at least four inches taller. She had no doubt she was going to fall again before the night was over.

  Maybe I’ll just tell the girls I’ll catch a cab home.

  “No,” she said into the mirror. “You didn’t get all dressed up for nothing. This is your night to prove to everyone you’re not a pathetic loser. You have a life, you ha—”

  A knock that sounded more like a pound resonated through the door of the bathroom stall she was in.

  “Hey, you done in there?! I gotta pee!” a woman’s voice yelled.

  She took one step out of the stall before the woman rudely bumped past her and slammed the door of the stall shut.

  Penelope shook her head and pushed past a few women before finding a vacant sink and placing her clutch on the counter to wash her hands. She took a little longer than necessary to gather her things before taking one more look at her form, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles on her dress, and acknowledging her chubby complexion in the vanity mirror before stepping out of the bathroom. She scanned the bar, looking for her friends, and found them sitting on a sofa talking to a couple of guys. Two very attractive men for two very attractive women. Penelope wasn’t going to risk walking over there, especially when she’d only feel like an imposter. She walked toward the pool tables at the far right corner of the bar, dodging all the couples grinding on the dance floor. She found an empty seat on the corner of one of the padded benches.

  What the hell. Might as well watch some pool.

  She had been sitting in silence for a few minutes, watching the pool game, when the guy sitting beside her turned his face toward her.

  “How’s the ankle?” he asked.

  Penelope quickly turned her attention to him. She stopped breathing for a moment.

  Blond hair, eyes a dark green in the dim lighting of the bar, lightly tanned skin, and a symmetrical face with a strong jaw. He could have been a model for a Calvin Klein ad.