Skinny Pants

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  What’s his name? What’s his name? He’d been on her Wheaties box when she was little.

  Macie snapped her fingers. “Nick Reed!”

  Jesus. So Jack’s dad was the famous race car driver Nick Reed, which meant Jack’s mother was Patty Reed, a famous actress in the eighties. They still showed her movies on Lifetime. Macie’s favorite was Love in a Shoebox, the story of a woman who finds her missing husband, using clues left behind by a serial killer in a shoebox.

  Macie darted over to Wiki and looked up Patty Reed.

  How sad. Her biography said she died in childbirth in 1988 and had three sons and the one daughter, Taylor, the youngest. Macie knew Dr. Reed was in his mid-thirties, which meant his mother died when he was about four or five years old.

  Tragic. Macie drew a breath, closed the search window on her laptop, and stared at the wall, trying to imagine the hardships he’d endured. But without a doubt, Jack hadn’t turned out a mess. He was accomplished, respectful, and sexier than hell. Perfect. Too perfect.

  A message popped into her inbox, and she toggled over, wondering if it might be an email from the man himself.

  Spam. Damned those Russians, always trying to enlarge my penis and sell me their women.

  But as Macie hit delete, her eyes gravitated to that last email from Dr. J-Love. She clicked on it again and looked at the shirtless picture, only now, instead of his tanned skin and ripped abs provoking a sad case of lust, she actually felt something more. A deepening attraction. Yes, she barely knew the man, but how could she not feel like she did? He was confident without being arrogant or fake. He was kind, but not needy. He was complicated and guarded—something she found enticing.

  Unable to resist the enigma known as Dr. Jack Reed, Macie hit Reply and began typing.

  Hi, sorry for not responding sooner. Work hasn’t left much time for chatting. I’m wondering, though, what you’re really looking for in a woman. Please be honest.

  XOXO,

  Catrina

  Macie hit send and then immediately regretted it. Mostly because it felt like a big dirty lie. It was one thing to catfish him under the influence of wine when she didn’t know him, but now she did, turning her momentary lapse of good judgment into downright underhandedness.

  She closed her laptop and stared at the thing for several long minutes. Crap. I shouldn’t have sent that. She grabbed her computer and turned it back on. Okay, okay. If he replies, I won’t read it. In fact, I’m going to block him right…

  Just as she was about to click the magic button to erase her ugly lie forever, an email came in. It was from him.

  She had to open it. No. No, I don’t. I can’t. I shouldn’t.

  Her hand clicked anyway.

  Dear Catrina,

  I know how crazy it sounds, but my perfect woman is you. I never thought I could meet someone online, but when you said that you were tired of men judging you for your looks, that you wanted to love someone you could grow old with and know he would never leave you, I knew you meant it. Obviously, there were those other things you said, and I can’t resist a woman who embraces her sexuality.

  Look, I don’t know you. You don’t know me. All I’m asking for is the chance to find out if our connection is real. Is it really so much to ask? How about coffee?

  Dr. J-Love

  P.S. Why did you delete your profile on the dating site? I hope it wasn’t because of me. I know this whole online dating thing can be intimidating.

  Wow. Macie reread the note a few times. She wished she hadn’t deleted her dating profile because she would really love to know exactly what she’d said the other night. Most of what she vaguely remembered was silly playful flirting. And that she enjoyed giving blowjobs and crunching on caramel balls.

  Ugh. Sparkling wine, never again.

  Another email popped in.

  She clicked, and it was yet another picture of him. Holy crap. He was playing beach volleyball—sweaty, sand stuck to his tanned straining thighs, ropes of forearms flexing beneath the hot sun as he bent forward, resting his hands (soft hands) on his knees. She could practically feel the raw, sexual energy radiating off him, through her screen, into her body.

  Jesus. She fanned her face with one hand. The universe had given Dr. Reed so much manly sex appeal, it was a wonder anything had been left over for anyone else.

  She hit reply and began typing the words she knew she shouldn’t. “Go ahead, judge me, world,” she muttered. “But I dare you to be me for a day.” She’d never been wanted like this. And in her current body, it would never happen. Not with a man like him.

  I need some time to get to know you. I need to know you could love the real me.

  Catrina

  She hit send, and within a few minutes, he responded: Same here.

  She almost laughed, but then it occurred to her. Maybe they weren’t so different. Just like her, Dr. Reed didn’t want to be loved for an exterior that didn’t represent who he truly was. Because if he was as smart as she thought, he knew that time would fade his looks and thin his hair. Any sane man or woman didn’t want to be loved for the one thing they couldn’t control no matter how hard they tried. Eventually, time caught up to us all.

  No. No. No. You can’t do this. You can’t string him along. It wasn’t right no matter how much she wanted to know this side of him. Dr. Reed was a real human being, not a fantasy.

  She moved the mouse over to her blocking feature and hesitated. Dammit. Do it, Mace. Do it. But she couldn’t.

  What do you want to know? She typed and hit reply.

  Shortly thereafter, he responded, Everything.

  And then began a sleepless night of trading emails and stories. He loved food, movies, and sports. He dated sometimes, but work always got in the way, and women found it hard to understand that his career was his calling. She talked about always trying to be someone she could be proud of and smiling all the time because she hated to bring others down. She told him that even when she truly felt angry, she told no one because she didn’t want to spread more anger in the world. He agreed and said he only confided in a handful of people.

  The exchanges went on into the early hours of the morning until she could hardly keep her eyes open. His last email said, I have to meet you, Catrina. You’re too special for words.

  We’ll see. Good night. She closed her laptop and hugged it to her chest. He was a good, good man, which made him even sexier. And now, knowing what she did, she knew she couldn’t continue with this deception. He deserved better than that.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Saturday, Macie slept in until noon and then went shopping for new workout clothes, including the firmest sports bra she could find. The thing was a boob fortress with straps going every which way, extra thick fabric, and strong supportive cups. Those tatas weren’t going anywhere. However, her ass was another story, but maybe that wouldn’t be an issue since Dr. Reed would always be in front of her. He looked like a fast runner.

  On Sunday morning, Macie gripped the steering wheel of her white convertible Fiat as she sat parked, waiting for Dr. Reed. Dear God. What am I doing? She’d traded two quick texts with him last night to set the time and to give him directions to Skyline Wilderness Park. It was one of the places she went with her girlfriends to hike. The wine-country views were amazing, and there were miles of trails, though she usually did the shorter ones—about five miles round trip. He wanted to run, so she’d searched out the longer routes. They’d take the Skyline trail up and the Buckeye trail back. About ten miles total.

  Okay. I can do this. I can do this.

  Dr. Reed pulled into the space beside her in his fancy black Tesla.

  She got out and made a little wave. Dammit. He’s going to know I’m not a runner. Just tell him the truth. No more lies, Mace.

  “Good morning, Dr. Reed!” she called out as he stepped from his car.

  “We’re not at work. Call me Jack,” he said, his tone and expression all business as he grabbed something from the backseat. />
  “Will do, Jack. I’m Macie, by the way.”

  “I know.”

  “Of course you do. I’m being an idiot.” A common side effect of being in his presence, no doubt.

  He closed the door and stepped around, giving her a view of his entire body.

  Christ Almighty. Macie inhaled sharply. He wore black running shorts and a light green T-shirt that matched his eyes. Both articles of clothing showed off every freaking chiseled mound of lean, hard muscles on his body. And those legs. She’d never seen thighs like his before. Like lickable candy in the shape of a man’s legs. The skin was all smooth and lightly tanned with a dusting of dark hair on his lower calves.

  She glanced down at her outfit—tight black yoga capris and an extra-large white T-shirt with her turbo sports tank underneath. It was all about comfort and not showing off her jiggly parts.

  “You ready?” he asked, fastening his water-bottle belt around his tight abs and tucking his car key in one of the small zippered compartments.

  Jesus, he even rocks the accessories. She had her little hand grip water bottle. “Uh, yeah. But I have a confession.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not much of a runner. I normally hike and speed walk.”

  “Oh.” He frowned.

  “I’m sorry. I was too embarrassed to tell you—well, not embarrassed exactly. More like…” She took a breath. “I don’t know, actually. I think I didn’t want to disappoint you somehow.” She shook her head. “That came out sounding extremely pathetic.”

  He looked at her for a moment, that intense look in his eyes. “What do you want to do?”

  Lick you. “I want to do the trail. I mean, I’m going to do it regardless—I love hiking up here. I just might go a little slower than you’re used to.”

  “Why don’t you try?”

  “Try what?” she asked.

  “Try to run with me. You said you’re in good shape.”

  “I-I guess I could give it a whirl.” Dear God. So much jiggling about to happen.

  “Don’t try. Just do.” He walked past her and headed toward the trailhead. “Hurry up. It’s going to start getting hot soon.”

  She scratched the top of her head. He hadn’t spoken in a rude tone, but it was a bit bossy. Or maybe annoyed?

  “Hold your horses!” In the backseat of her car, she went for her little walking belt, which was really a glorified fanny sack to hold her keys, cell phone—for taking pics—lip balm, and gum. She grabbed her water bottle and slid her hand into the little strap.

  She turned, slamming the door shut, and rammed right into Jack. “Ooph!”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her.

  “Sorry. Didn’t see you there,” she said. “I thought you’d gone on ahead.” She suddenly noticed the fronts of their bodies were touching.

  Oh boy.

  “You told me to hold my horses. So I’m holding them.” He looked down at her, still gripping her shoulders tightly.

  “Are you calling me a horse?” she kidded.

  He dropped his hands like she was made of hot metal and stepped back. “No. I would never.”

  “Sorry. That was a joke. Another bad one.” Because clearly I’m an ass. Not a horse.

  “It wasn’t funny,” he said.

  Okay. He didn’t like her poking fun at herself? It was kind of sweet, actually.

  “Ready to warm up?” he asked.

  I’m already warm. Thank you. “Yep.”

  He nodded and turned toward the trailhead. Speaking of asses…He was giving her a full view of his rock-hard backside. And getting warmer. There’s no way I’m getting through this morning without making a complete idiot out of myself. But she would rather do that than chicken out and go home. Macie had never been a quitter.

  After a few minutes of hiking up the gradual incline, the two of them making casual conversation about the beautiful summer weather or gorgeous views of the hills, Jack declared it was time to run.

  “You go at your own pace!” she called out to his back. “I’ll meet you at the top.” It was at least two miles, but she would give it a try.

  Jack disappeared around a bend, and that was the last of him she saw until almost to the summit. Yes, she’d pooped out about halfway up, but that was farther than she thought she’d get, and it was one hell of a workout.

  I’m totally having carbs today, she thought, dripping with sweat and climbing up the last hill. Off in the distance, she spotted Jack, not quite to the top, sitting on a large rock.

  He’d waited for her? How sweet.

  She made her way toward him, doing her best not to show how exhausted she felt.

  “Hey there! How’d it go?” she panted, just a few yards from him.

  “Not good.”

  She noticed he had his hand cupped over the side of his leg. Blood was dribbling down his ankle.

  “Ohmygod. What happened?” She rushed to him and kneeled in the dirt.

  “I stepped on a rock, twisted my ankle, and stumbled right into that branch.” He glanced at a pine tree that had several small broken branches sticking from its trunk near the base.

  “Is it bad? Let me see.” She reached for his hand to remove it, but he wouldn’t let go.

  “It’s fine. I just need to keep pressure on it.”

  She glanced up at him. “Let. Me. See.”

  “I said I’m fine, and I should know.” He furrowed his brows. “I’m a surgeon. Remember?”

  “Well, right now you’re being a man child. Lift your hand.”

  He growled and did as she asked. “There, you see. Not bad.”

  “Jesus!” No way was a little hand pressing going to stop the bleeding. It was a long, deep gash. “You’re going to need a pressure bandage to get down the hill.” She looked at him and then down at her outfit.

  Oh, God. I can’t believe I have to do this. She whipped her shirt over her head, exposing her pink turbo sports bra and everything else on her upper torso.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She bit a small hole in the front of her shirt, worked her fingers in, and pulled. “Making you a bandage so we can get you back to the parking lot. I have a first aid kit in my car. Then I’ll take you into the ER for some of my handy needlepoint.”

  As she tore a nice long strip, she noticed Jack hadn’t said anything. She looked up at him and caught him staring. At her chest.

  She glanced down to see that her awesome armored-tank bra had acted like a corset, pushing her breasts up and over like two overflowing pillowy mounds. She had some serious Victorian cleavage happening. Thankfully, no nipple flashing. Yet.

  Working quickly with her hands to make a long strip of cloth, she sighed. “Well, I’m sure you’ve seen giant breasts before. And now you’ve seen most of mine.”

  His eyes darted to her face, but he didn’t look embarrassed or ashamed. It was that same intensity from the first time they’d met. Only, more so. Pure focus. Pure tension.

  He didn’t say a word, and she went to work on the bleeding leg, bandaging it with just enough pressure to make the hike back. Meanwhile, her insides were all quivering Jell-O. Having his eyes on her breasts felt almost as erotic as actually having him touch them.

  Doubtful, Macie. Seriously doubtful.

  “All set.” She stood while he checked out her work.

  “Not bad, Nurse Franklin.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Reed.”

  She extended her hand and carefully helped him to his feet. Once again, she noted how his hand was soft, but his grip was strong. She tried desperately to ignore how much she liked it.

  He put his arm around her shoulder, and she wrapped one arm around his tight waist. His tall frame felt so solid and so very good pressed against the side of her body.

  “Thank you,” he said, carefully hobbling along, using her as support for the injured leg.

  She felt horrible for bringing him up here. Maybe it hadn’t been the best trail for running, but she saw people doi
ng it all the time.

  “I’ll take you to a paved trail next time,” she said.

  He didn’t reply, and her heart sank. There wouldn’t be a next time, would there? He hated this trail and likely thought she was a moron for suggesting it. Plus, she was a terrible excuse for a running partner.

  After a few long minutes of silence, he unexpectedly blurted out, “I don’t like liars.”

  “Sorry?” She glanced up at the side of his face and that angular jaw, while he looked ahead at the trail cutting between two giant oaks.

  “You should’ve told me you weren’t a runner,” he explained.

  Oh. That’s why he’s annoyed. She couldn’t exactly blame him.

  “You’re right,” she said, “and I’m sorry. I was trying to be nice, and you caught me off guard with your invitation and—”

  “My ex-wife, she was a liar. I don’t have much tolerance or patience for people who aren’t honest.”

  Oh. Oh… “She cheated on you?” Macie asked and then immediately regretted her prying. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so nosy.”

  “The cheating only went on for a few months—she left me for a patient of mine. Another woman. But the lying went on for at least a decade. She admitted as much.”

  His wife was a lesbian and kept it from him for ten years? Macie’s heart sank in sympathy. What a terrible situation. It explained why he was so standoffish.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “Not as sorry as I was. We were friends since the second grade.” There was no emotion in his tone, but the message was loud and clear: It was a painful part of my life, and because of it, I can’t stand liars.

  Things had suddenly become much clearer while simultaneously getting a whole hell of a lot more complicated. If he ever found out she was Catrina, he’d never speak to her again.

  He can’t ever know. Not ever. But now that Jack had just opened up, it made him all the more real and likeable and…

  Hold on. Crap! I just landed in the friend zone again! This always happened to her. The men she felt attracted to never wanted her back. But they did like to share and open up because she was “a really great listener.” Jack’s candor had just been her romantic kiss of death. Of course, what should she expect? He wanted a woman like Catrina—basically, the hot, superthin version of herself.