Love, A Curvy Girl’s Guide (A Curvy Girl’s Guide to Shifters)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

I n the Beginning

Frank and Bridget Johnson were overjoyed when their first child, little Dennis, was born. Their first was a boy!

“How lucky you are,” the other mothers cooed. “He’ll be able to protect his little sisters and show his brothers how to be little gentlemen.”

Two years later, Derek arrived, making the Johnsons a family of four. Frank and Bridget counted his toes and thanked God for blessing them with another son.

They may have prayed quietly that perhaps Derek would be a touch less high-spirited than his older brother, Dennis. Nonetheless, they were overjoyed.

Scarcely eleven months later, Davis joined the crew, and Bridget found herself having a firm talk with God.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the little blessings He had sent her—indeed, there were many times her sons brought her great joy. But surely, she reasoned, there must be a bouncing baby girl up there who would complete their family.

Yet, baby after baby arrived, each one another healthy boy. When Bridget was rushed in for emergency surgery because baby number seven stubbornly refused to turn, she began to wonder if a daughter simply wasn’t in the cards. After twenty-two hours and thirty-eight minutes, Frank held Ian, his seventh son. Meanwhile, Bridget underwent a full hysterectomy after her uterus ruptured.

All visions of a little girl with bouncing curls vanished as Frank held his little linebacker in his arms. At nearly nine pounds, the doctor joked that Ian was what they called in the obstetrics business a “backbreaker.”

Frank was wise enough to keep that little detail to himself when his sweet wife awoke from the anesthesia and asked, “Was it a girl?”

Bridget loved little Ian. She really did. And it wasn’t true, despite the gossip, that she’d “given up” by naming him something other than a name beginning with D. Ian was a family name bestowed upon the seventh son of a seventh son, and Frank had insisted upon it. Though Bridget had her misgivings, she knew Frank rarely insisted on anything.

What Frank neglected to mention was that the name came from the Johnson family legend. It was laughable, really, but Frank had heard tales of a family curse arising even in their own day. Rather than alarm his beautiful wife with stories of the curse, he felt it wise to keep that information to himself. After all, Bridget had her hands full with seven boys.

And honestly, who would believe that a man could transform into a wolf? It was laughable.

Bridget, for her part, made good on her vow to be the best mother her seven sons could have.

“Obviously,” she reasoned to Frank, “if God sent them to me, they must be nearly perfect. Especially little Ian—he’s special. He simply has to be.”

Frank hinted, once or twice, that Bridget might be spoiling him a bit too much.

Bridget only smiled; she simply couldn’t help herself, she’d say. Ian was the cutest little boy ever to grace their southern home. Negative comments were brushed off like cobwebs—clearly, those other mothers were jealous of her perfect little angels.

To Bridget, there were no smarter, more handsome, or better-behaved boys. Well, maybe not the last one. But everyone who knew her understood that Bridget saw her sons as incapable of wrongdoing.

Thus began the lives of the Johnson boys, who grew into the infamous Johnson men. Seven of the hottest, cockiest, and naughtiest bastards in Fairmont County—and likely the cockiest south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

Bridget’s inclination to turn a blind eye extended well into her sons’ adulthood. It wasn’t unusual for her to find a forgotten condom wrapper in their laundry. When other mothers gasped that she was still doing their laundry—and seeing such items—Bridget only shrugged. Surely, it wasn’t as if the prophylactics were for her sons. More likely, she reasoned, they had one to loan to a needy friend.

Boy Scouts, after all, were known for being prepared.

Bridget continued with her blissful ignorance, and her boys were only too happy to let her. As long as she used double starch on their Wranglers, just as they liked, life continued in blissful innocence.

Lipstick on the collar? It wasn’t a problem; a little rubbing alcohol would take that right out.

Grease from the car? Child’s play—a bit of pre-treatment, a quick scrub, and they were good to go.

Bridget had come to accept certain realities about living in a world filled with testosterone. When her sons talked about manscaping, she knew better than to ask for details. She’d also learned that sometimes, it was best to ignore the search history on any shared electronics. What she didn’t know, she didn’t have to worry about.

As Ian approached high school, however, Frank began to worry that perhaps the family curse might be more than just a legend. He attempted to broach the topic with Bridget, but she would have none of it. It was a silly superstition and nothing more.

But one incident during Ian’s freshman year should have given the Johnson parents an inkling of what the future held. The hazing of the JV football team was underway, and the task given by the varsity team was to bring a sexy pair of ladies’ panties to the locker room before the homecoming game. If you punked out, you’d be wearing a pair donated by the varsity team to play in. And if you tried to cheat by bringing your mother’s or sister’s underwear, you’d have to wear them high enough to show off a whale tail. Clearly, a fate worse than death.

Imagine Ian’s surprise when, looking out the back window, he just happened to see the Wheat family’s laundry fluttering on the line—and Haley’s unmentionables swaying in the breeze.

Freshman Year

“What in the hell is that?” Frank demanded as Bridget held out a scrappy piece of lace with her spaghetti-grabbing tongs.

“That’s what I want to know. It went through the washer and dryer with one of the boys’ clothes,” Bridget fumed.

All seven sons shoveled cereal into their mouths without looking up to see what their mother held.

“Ian?” she asked sweetly.

Handsome as sin and still rumpled from sleep, the youngest Johnson’s head popped up as he gazed at his mother. A crooked smile spread across his chiseled features. “What do you need, Ma?”

Bridget scowled at him. “I found something in your laundry.”

Dennis smirked. “Was it a lizard? I remember how mad you were when the last one went through the dryer.”

“I was seven,” Ian replied, flipping his brother the one-finger salute.

Bridget shuddered at the memory of the carnage Dennis referred to. “I told you we would never discuss the lizard incident again.”

“Crayons again?” Davis smirked. “Ian-pooh, you’ll have to use big boy pencils soon.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, D. You know that wasn’t me.”

“Ian!” Bridget snapped. “Watch your language!”

Davis grinned. “Yeah, Ian, watch your language!”

With a sigh, Ian turned back to his mom. “What? Did I forget to empty my pockets?”

Bridget brought the offending garment further into the light, still holding it with the tongs. “What is this?”

Ian frowned, squinting to get a better look. But it was too late. Two of his brothers, being closer to their mother, had already jumped up and snatched the garment.

Dayton gave a low whistle as they spread the material between them. “These are fucking sexy, Ian! Looks like baby brother likes himself a full-figured woman.”

Derek batted his eyes at Ian. “Unless… these can’t be yours, can they? I could’ve sworn you were more of an autumn color.”

Ian dove for the panties, but Davis was faster. “Looks like little Ian has either taken up cross-dressing, or maybe his day with Haley wasn’t as terrible as he’d led us to believe.”

Ian’s face flushed. “I’m not a cross-dresser!”

Derek laid a sympathetic arm on his brother’s shoulders. “We would still love you, Ian, no matter what. Besides, it’s no secret Mom always wished you’d been a girl.”

Bridget bristled. “I would never say that. I love my boys.”

The boys answered in unison. “You always say that.”

She huffed. “That is ridiculous! And for the record, Ian, I didn’t think they were yours.”

Ian scowled at his brothers before sending his mama another blinding smile. “Thanks, Mom. That’s more than I can say for this bag of dicks.”

“I mean,” Bridget babbled on, “it wouldn’t matter either way, sweetheart. But if they are—and I know you said they aren’t—but if they are, we’ll need a larger size. Your testicles need room to breathe.”

The boys erupted into laughter so hard someone farted, and Frank decided it was time to water the garden. Sometimes, you just had to get the hell out of Dodge.

“They aren’t my fucking panties!” Ian yelled over the commotion. “Shit, Mom!”

“Language!” Bridget’s ire rose again. “Watch your tone, young man! Just because you’re coming out doesn’t mean you can get all sassy.”

Dennis wiped tears from his cheeks as Davis flopped onto the table, nearly upsetting the homemade jelly. Dayton sat back down and began eating his cereal again. Or maybe it was Derek’s; Dayton didn’t care one way or the other.

A bell rang, indicating the back door had opened. Footsteps rustled, followed by the door slamming shut, as a beautiful young woman appeared, squeezed into a pair of cutoff shorts and a frilly tank top barely containing her double Ds.

“Hey, Mrs. J!” Haley greeted her next-door neighbor. “Mom said you needed some help canning your peaches this year. She’s got some extra jars and rings if you want to use them.”

“Your mama’s a godsend, Haley,” Bridget replied absentmindedly, snatching the thong with the tongs again and pointing toward the fixings. “How about you help yourself to some breakfast? I just need to finish up the laundry, and the boys need to eat before we grab the canning supplies. Have a seat there on the end. You know where everything is.”

Haley nodded uncertainly, eyeing the brothers, who were still laughing and clutching their sides. Ian seemed to be looking everywhere but at her. Something was wrong, and Haley had a strong suspicion it had to do with her.

“I can come back later,” she said, trying to slink toward the door. Mid-scoot, she caught sight of what Bridget was flinging around with the tongs and gasped. “Wait a minute, are those Cherrise Maud? Those are mine!”

All eyes widened at the revelation. With seven sons, Bridget had become accustomed to finding random things brought home by her boys. But the neighbor’s lacy panties? That was a new one.

Dennis and Derek, however, had long suspected their baby brother harbored a secret crush on their pretty neighbor. But it wasn’t something they’d shared with their mom.

“These are your panties?” Bridget said slowly. “Yours? But Haley…”

Ian knew when to cut his losses. He tried to stand, but his mama was faster.

“Sit your ass down, Ian!”

His ass… sat.

“Do you want to explain yourself, Ian Johnson?” Bridget asked in a deceptively cool tone.

Clearly recognizing her mistake, Haley tried to backtrack to the door, but Duke stepped in front of her, arms crossed and brow raised. She had no choice but to face the music. Turning on her heel, she met everyone’s gaze.

“I hate you, Ian Johnson! You are the worst boy—ever!”

But wait a minute. We’re getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?