“Mom, it’s ugly. If I wore that to the party everyone would make fun of me.”
“Well, you’re sure as hell not wearing that.” She motions to the red bikini in my hand.
I clutch it to my chest, absolutely in love with it. “Why not? It’s perfect.”
“It’s not for your body type.” She hangs the ugly bathing suit back on the rack and pulls another, this one navy blue with flowers. “Try this one.”
“Mom, no one will be wearing one-pieces. This is a two-piece party.”
“Really?” She raises her brows at me. “Is that what the invitation said? Two-pieces only?”
Frustrated, I let out a long breath. “No, but you know what I mean. This is sixth grade. It’s not like elementary school. I’m more adult.”
Snorting, my mom covers her nose and shakes her head. “More adult? Coming from the girl who still eats FunDip. Believe me, honey, adults don’t eat FunDip like you do.”
“Well, they’re missing out then,” I say. “Let me just try it on, and I’ll show you how perfect it is for me.”
Exhaling sharply, my mom relents and motions for me to walk into the dressing room. God, finally. Maybe for once we’ll see eye to eye.
Excited, I step into a dressing room and start stripping down, keeping my underwear on, because I think it’s weird to try on bathing suit bottoms naked. What does that little strip protector in the bottom piece really do? I shimmy the red fabric up my legs, already excited about the color against my skin, and then I tie the top around my neck and back, shifting my boobs into the cups. I’m one of the heavy-chested girls in my grade. Tory and Danielle have both told me they’re envious of my boobs.
Taking a deep breath, I look into the mirror and take myself in, spinning, turning, checking out every angle.
It’s . . . perfect. This is it. I knew the minute I saw the bikini hanging on the rack—this was the bathing suit for me. I just hope no one else has it at the party.
Confident as ever, I fling open the door to the dressing room and strut toward my mom, hand on hip, shoving it in her face. This bathing suit looks amazing.
When I reach her, I jut out a hip, flip my hair to the side, and say, “Told you.”
Beyond happy, I watch as she takes me in, her face changing from expressionless to one of . . . disgust?
Is she sneering?
That can’t be right.
Feeling a little weird, I say, “What’s wrong, Mom?”
Scanning me up and down, she finally folds her arms and leans against the chair. “You have got to be kidding. Do you really think you look good in that bathing suit?”
What?
Of course.
I gnaw on the side of my cheek and wrap my arms around my stomach. “I mean, yeah. I think it looks really good on.”
“Ryan.” She shakes her head and pulls on my arm so I’m closer. She reaches out and grips my sides with her fingers, giving me a squeeze. “Feel that? That’s called a love handle, and it’s hanging out. It’s not attractive. You need something to suck it in.”
“I don’t have love handles.” I smooth my hands over my sides.
“And look at the dimples in your stomach. People who wear bikinis have flat stomachs.” She taps my belly. “Not a belly like this.”
Not a belly like this? But I thought it looked good . . . I suck back a tear. I hate that my mom is so critical. Nothing is ever good enough for her when it comes to me, and I don’t understand why. It’s like she had me so she could constantly pick on me.
Trying to calm down the hurt in my voice, I say, “I think it looks good.”
“That’s because your father has put rose-colored glasses over your eyes. Sweetie, you know I love you, but you need to realize, you’re not the type of girl who can get away with tight clothes. You’ll never be that girl. You’re heavyset, and unless you drastically change your eating habits, you’re always going to be the girl in a one-piece.”
Tears well in my eyes as I slowly back away, my mom’s words hitting me hard. I run to the dressing room where I sit in the corner, my head buried in my arms, sobs wracking my chest.
I wish my dad were here. He would have loved this bathing suit, and he would have said I looked pretty. He would have pointed out all the ways the bathing suit was flattering, but instead my mom pointed out all my flaws, the flaws that keep me up late at night, cutting out pictures from magazines and pasting them in my dream book.
Flat stomach.
Big chest.
Perfectly lined lips.
Long eye lashes.
The perfect body.
It’s all I ever want, and it’s what I’ll be one day. I know it. And when I am that girl, the girl I cut and paste into my dream book, the one from all the magazines, I’m going to rub it in my mom’s face.
Or that’s what I tell myself . . .
After another bout of crying and self-loathing, I put my clothes on and walk out to my mom, leaving the red bikini in the dressing room behind me.
My mother stands from her chair and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Are we done here?”
I nod, not saying a word.
“Are you going to say you’re sick and can’t go to the party?” I nod again. She squeezes my shoulder and says, “I think that’s a smart choice . . . especially for a girl like you.”
Chapter Seventy-Seven
RYAN
I can’t believe Leah convinced me to wear this thing. I’m all about showing off skin, and I’m not shy when it comes to my pajamas, but a tank top with no bra is completely different from what I’m wearing, or more accurately, what I’m not wearing right now.
“This way,” Leah says, motioning with her hand. “I got us a little cabana. I know a guy who adores the variety show, and he reserved some seating for us. He’s such a sweetie. He owns the hotel.”
Owns the hotel? She says that so casually.
“He said he would be down a little later to say hi, until then we can just lounge poolside, drinks and food are on him.” Leah guides us into a spacious cabana with white flowy curtains drawn in the front. The sides and the back are wood slatted partitions that provide enough privacy but also give us the opportunity to see what’s happening around us.
Flanking one side is a long comfortable-looking couch, and the other side has a variety of drinks and snacks. In front of the cabana are a few lounge chairs designated for our space only. A massive pool party is in front of us, to the right a DJ pumping today’s hits, and servers float around everywhere carrying drink orders.
Hmm . . . I might be able to get used to this.
“This is ours for the day?” I look around some more, amazed.
“Yup.” Leah fluffs her hair and removes her cover-up, revealing her gorgeous body in a gold bikini, the color accentuating her tan. She’s so beautiful it’s hard not to be envious of her.
I set my bag next to hers and clutch my cover-up, not quite ready to let go of it. Even though Leah was right, there are a lot of girls wearing the same kind of style as me, I still feel self-conscious.
“Let’s put in our drink orders. Tyler said we only have to enter them into the iPad over here and they’ll be brought to us.”
“What about the other girls?” I ask, a little nervous to meet Leah’s friends.
She dismissively waves her hand. “They’re always late to everything. I’m not waiting for them.” She starts flipping through the iPad. “Oh, look at this drink, rum and strawberries. Yes please. Want one too?”
Not even giving it a look, I nod. “I like rum and strawberries.”
“Drinks are on their way.” She claps her hands and then looks me up and down. “Why are you still wearing your cover-up? Strip.”
I clutch the white fabric. “I don’t know, Leah. Isn’t it a little too revealing?”
“Are you kidding me? No. It’s super sexy.”
Shifting in place, I keep the cover-up on. “I feel weird. I’m wearing heels with a full face of makeup and my hair curled, b
ut only a scrap of fabric covering me. That isn’t strange?”
Leah extends her hands out. “Take a look, sweetie. You fit right in.” She reaches into her bag and pops a pair of sunglasses on my face then motions to my cover-up. “Strip. Come on.” Her fingers wiggle at me, asking for the fabric.
Sighing, I slowly remove the top and hold my breath as I adjust the tiny bathing suit. We went shopping the other day and when I went for the bikini, Leah went for the one-piece, if that’s what you want to call it. When she handed me the navy-blue bathing suit, I didn’t even know how to wear it. But after about a minute, I figured it out. With cutouts along the sides and the front, the bathing suit barely covers my lower half, revealing pretty much everything and only covering the most important parts with an inch and a half of fabric. And the back side? Yeah, a thong.
I’m naked.
My mom would have a heart attack.
“Damn, girl, you look good.” She steps in closer, runs her fingers through my hair, adjusts my sunglasses, and then steps back. “I hope you’re wearing sunscreen or else you’re going to get some crazy tan lines.”
“Don’t worry, I coated it on.”
“Smart.”
Just as we turn around, a waitress brings us our drinks along with a little note. She hands it to Leah then walks away. “What is that?” I ask, trying to get a look.
“It’s from Tyler. Says to have a great time and he’ll try to make it down a little later. Such a good guy.”
“This Tyler, does he happen to have a crush on you?”
She shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Uh-huh. Now it’s all making sense. This cabana, the food, the drinks, he’s totally trying to win you over.”
She sips her drink and flips her hair to the side. “It’s working.”
Even though she might seem a little flippant, Leah is a good person with a genuine heart. When I was telling her about my dead-end job and wanting more, she went out of her way to make this opportunity happen for me. I owe her a lot, so if that means dressing in a bathing suit that makes me extremely uncomfortable and self-conscious, I will.
“Let’s sit down and wait for the other girls. Unless you’re hungry now, we can order something.”
There is no way I’ll be eating while wearing this bathing suit. I shouldn’t even be drinking, to avoid any chance of bloating.
“I’m good for now, thanks.”
“Okay, well—” She sits up and lifts her sunglasses, her attention drawn forward. “Oh, sweet Jesus. Look at the wave of deliciousness coming our way.”
With the hand holding her drink, she lifts her index finger and points to a group of men coming our way. I have to block the sun to get a good look and when I do . . . oh . . . my . . . God.
Four men walk our way, all wearing nothing but board shorts, sandals, and aviators. Hair clipped short, not a sign of facial hair anywhere, and their beautifully built bodies are highlighted under the sun, each contour and ridge flexing with every step they take. In a pack-like formation, they walk in sync, their smiles contagious, and their board shorts dangerously tight.
Oh, sweet Jesus is right.
“They’re coming this way,” I say under my breath. “Think they’re going to be in the cabana next to us?”
“If God loves us, they will be.”
Using the sunglasses as a shield, I keep my head forward but my eyes trained on the men, my entire body breaking out in a sweat with every step closer.
The one at the front, leading the way, spots us, a giant, sinful grin spreading across his face as he tips his sunglasses down and takes us both in, pure trouble flashing in his eyes. He reeks of danger, the kind of danger you don’t mind having, but not the kind of danger you take home to your parents.
They close in on the space between us, their legs long, their torsos glistening, and when they’re a few feet away, the guy in the front addresses us while lifting his glasses completely off his face revealing a gorgeous pair of blue yes. “Are you two beautiful ladies our neighbors?” He motions to the cabana next to us.
Legs bents, and super casual, Leah sits up and tilts her head to the side. “I guess so. And who might you be?”
The ringleader motions to his chest and says, “I’m Rowdy. The boys behind me are Colt, Bent, and the goliath back there is Balboa.”
Why do those names sound familiar? I study their frames, the way they carry themselves, the lift of their chins and the confidence in their chests. It’s so familiar. Almost as if I’m experiencing déjà vu.
“What brings you to the pool today?” Leah asks. “In town visiting?”
Bent shakes his head as the other guys nod at us and then disperse into the cabana, opening up drinks and chowing down on the little snacks already laid out for them.
“No, we live here. We all work . . .” His voice fades away as I spot one very familiar figure walking in our direction.
Corded chest, thick pecs, rippling abs, and a set of aviators resting on a chiseled face. My hands have been all over that body, my mouth once caressed that skin, and I’ve seen what’s underneath those dark green swim trunks.
Sitting up as well, I take him in, the way he powerfully walks across the pool deck, his hair pushed to the side, short and trimmed, and the sway of his strong biceps at his side, the same biceps I’ve held on to. That body gave me one of the best sexual experiences of my life. The man is a god in bed.
Colby Brooks.
What are the odds?
“Fighter pilots, really?” Leah asks. “Wow, I’ve lived here for ten years and not once have I run into a fighter pilot. This is pretty cool.”
“Hey man,” Colby says, walking up to Bent and patting him on the shoulder, not paying us any attention.
“Flyer, you made it. Christ, I thought I was going to have to drag you out of your house. Drinks are chilling, and I’m having a friendly conversation with our neighbors.” His face scrunches up. “Shit, I didn’t catch your names.”
Stepping in, Leah says, “I’m Leah and this is my good friend, Ryan.”
Colby is halfway to the cabana when he pauses and turns his head to the side when Leah says my name. He locks his eyes on me. Lifting his glasses, he takes a closer look and then, “Ryan?”
Spotted.
“Hey, Colby.” I wave, my fingers weirdly twiddling at him.
“What are you doing here?”
“You two know each other?” Rowdy asks, his eyes bouncing between us.
Do we know each other? Yeah, we might know each other a little too well. We were friends by association and then spent twenty-four hours together, where I seduced him with porn and got to feel what it was like to have him powerfully driving into me. It was a night like I’d never experienced before.
But it was nice the way we left it, a platonic goodbye and understanding for the night we shared. No strings attached.
“We’re both from Colorado Springs,” he answers.
I add, “He dated my best friend, Rory.”
“Ah.” Rowdy knowingly nods his head.
Repeating his question, Colby says, “What are you doing here? On vacation?”
I shake my head and pull my knees into my chest, wanting to hide my body from all the new eyes. “I actually moved here.”
“What?” His brow creases and closes the distance between us. “You moved here?”
“Yeah, um, this week.”
“And you weren’t going to contact me?”
“Yeah, you weren’t going to call him?” Leah asks, poking me from behind. “Hell, give me his number, and I’ll call him to let him know you’re here.”
Is Leah a comedian today? Jeeze.
Colby is super loyal, and even though we might not be the best of friends, there is no doubt in my mind that he believes I’m a part of his life from being associated with Rory, so the simmering irritation about to boil over is something I don’t want to see happen in front of Leah and his friends. This needs to be a private conversation.
Even thou
gh I’m practically naked and oddly self-conscious, I unfold myself from the lounge chair and nod with my head toward Leah’s cabana.
“Don’t leave. It was just getting good,” Rowdy calls out as we make our way into the cabana.
“I agree, don’t leave,” Leah joins in.
We ignore both of them.
Hands clasped together, I spin around and almost come face to face with Colby, a very angry-looking Colby. Eyebrows tilted downward, jaw clenched, and a tension rolling in his shoulders he leans forward, venom in his voice. “Ryan, what the hell are you wearing?”
The way he asks—with that specific tone of voice—reminds me of how my mom would talk to me. It sets off a layer of anger I wasn’t expecting to feel today, not when I thought we’d have a nice day drinking and lounging by the pool.
I place my hand on my hip, lift my chin, and say, “What does it matter?”
Not answering right away, his eyes rake up my body, settling on my cleavage for a breath before scanning my neck to my face. He licks his lips and leans forward. “It’s asking for trouble, Ryan.”
I get it, Colby is a good guy and a protector, but I don’t need his protection.
“How about instead of lecturing me, you give me a hug and tell me how nice it is to see me.”
The muscle in Colby’s jaw ticks a few beats before he sighs, pulls me in by the hip, and gives me a hug, both arms wrapped around me, providing a familiar temporary shelter. My hands go to his bare back, where I revel in the feel of his skin under my palms.
It’s been three months since I’ve had sex. Three months. And the last person I had sex with is holding me right now. I thought I wanted to do the no-boy thing, but for some reason, with Colby wrapped around me, I might reconsider that since a spark is igniting deep in my stomach.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks when he pulls away.
The Duets Page 62