Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
I am a potato
LILA
Unbelievable.
So much for agreeing to scrap the plan.
On the drive to the restaurant, I told Kenzie we needed to come up with a new approach because there’s no way I was riding on Reed’s crotch rocket of death. So I thought we’d have dinner, then figure out a different way for me to get him alone.
Looks like I was wrong about the change of plans.
Now, it’s either a panic attack while wrapped around Reed or use a ride-share app, which I’m not ruling out despite being ardently against those. I’ve listened to far too many true crime podcasts to ride with a random stranger.
Nope, nope, nope.
Anxiety attack, it is, then.
An idea hits me. Before we left the house, Kenzie slipped one of her magic gummies into my purse.
I tried to decline, but she insisted I keep it just in case.
According to her, the gummies are low-dose THC and simply give her a lovely sense of calm that makes her all warm and fuzzy.
She's been using them more since her ordeal.
Didn't think I'd need that gummy so soon. If ever.
But I guess I was wrong about that too.
Wait. No. I'm better than needing drugs to get through a motorcycle ride, right? Well, time will tell.
I stare at Kenzie’s back as she makes her grand departure.
And now I’m left alone with a smoldering Reed Hayes, who’s eying me down across the table.
One of his dirty dimples pops with an innuendo-filled grin. “Guess it’s just the two of us.”
My clit twitches.
Traitor.
I take a steadying breath, forcing my worries about the ride home until later. Might as well do the job I came here to do.
Exhale and here we go.
Relaxing my face, I allow a hint of a smile to crest my lips. “I suppose it is. Looks like you got your wish, after all.”
The server arrives with our meals before Reed can respond. He sets my salad on the table first, then places a creamy chicken pasta dish in front of Reed. When he sets down Kenzie’s mouthwatering cheeseburger, my eyes latch onto the crispy fries, dusted with flakes of parmesan and black pepper.
Yummy.
Potatoes have skin. And I have skin. Therefore, I am a potato. But I am not a cannibal, so I won’t be eating those.
And yeah, I know that’s weird. But it helps me resist yummy food if I tell myself tall tales.
“Can we get a box, please?” Reed asks the server, pointing at Kenzie’s empty spot. “She had to leave.”
“Absolutely.”
After he departs, I reluctantly drag my eyes away from the burger. With that heavenly smell of greasy meat permeating the air, my salad is far less appetizing.
I love salads. But cheeseburgers? Let’s be real. There’s no comparison.
When the server drops off a box, Reed drags my salad away from me, replacing it with Kenzie’s juicy cheeseburger.
“Hey,” I protest. “Give me back my salad.”
“I’m boxing it up for later,” he decrees like it’s his choice to make. “Eat the burger.”
Involuntarily, my arms cross at my chest. “Excuse me. I ordered a salad because I wanted a salad.”
He scrapes my roughage into the container, absolutely ignoring my offended whining. “Liar.”
“Reed, what do you think you’re doing? You can’t force me to eat something I didn’t order.”
“Watch me,” he counters without remorse.
Mind racing, I fail to come up with something quippy or snarky. Instead, I watch longingly at his deft fingers as they slide the little flap into the slot to close the box. I remember how those same fingers played my body like a violin. My tongue grows heavy.
He slides the boxed salad to the far side of the table so it’s out of my reach. “Do you want something else instead? The pasta’s good here. Want to trade? I’ll eat the burger.”
My jaw sags, allowing an annoyed sigh to slip free. “Reed.”
Don’t tell anyone, but I like that he offered to give me his dinner.
He fakes a pout, rolling out his sexy lips. “Li-la.”
My clit makes its presence known once more, proving it’s not only a traitor but thirsty for Reed’s lips. Harlot traitor clit.
Mmm. His lips. Almost as devastating as his dimples.
An uninvited memory of how he eagerly pressed them against my pussy makes my core tighten. How many years must I wait until I can’t recall how good it felt to have him between my thighs in such vivid detail? Hasn’t happened in five years.
Confused and inconveniently horny, I fail to form another sentence. No protest. No explanation. No random nonsense phrase. Nothing comes to mind except the heated memory of being tangled up in the sheets with Reed for hours and hours.
He yanks me from my X-rated thoughts. “What’s it gonna be? Burger, pasta, or something else? You’re not eating a salad tonight. Eat real food.”
“Salad is food.”
“Sure it is. Good before a meal. Or maybe a light lunch. Not for dinner. I know you want the burger. So just eat it.”
Despite knowing I’m supposed to be seducing him, I defiantly raise my chin. “No.”
He points at my plate with his fork. “Eat the burger, Lila.”
So firm and final. And hot.
Gulp.
There goes my clit again. Can I have it surgically removed?
Not permanently. Just while I’m around Reed to carry out this plan to see what the FBI knows about the crimes I’ve committed against my will.
Then I’d like my clit back in working order.
Perhaps a numbing cream would work, assuming such a product exists.
Probably some BDSM thing. It’s worth a web search.
He digs into his pasta, which also looks divine. Hungrily, I watch him chew, my lips parted and tongue dancing.
Hungry for a taste of him? The pasta?
Both.
The scent of nirvana wafts straight into my nostrils. My vision falls to the deliciousness in front of me before I force them to return to the bossy grump across the table. “What’s it to you, anyhow, Mr. Dirty Dimples?”
Ignoring the term of unendearment I’ve bestowed on him, he finishes his first bite and dabs his lips with a napkin. “Lila, I’ve watched you starve yourself and eat like a bird since you were a preteen. It’s maddening to see you suffer needlessly.”
Hmm. Not exactly a fan of how it feels knowing he’s paid attention to my eating habits over the years. My emotions riot inside me, shock brawling with shame and . . . affection.
Because he cares. About my suffering.
About me.
A fry levitates into my mouth, courtesy of my hand. Then another.
Dang, those are so flipping good. The perfect temperature. So salty and crispy on the outside with fluffy, carby goodness on the inside. The taste lingers on my tongue, and I savor it. My eyes practically roll to the back of my skull.
How long has it been since I’ve had a fry? A year? Two? I don’t often indulge in even a taste because it’s a slippery slope. One fry leads to another. Next thing you know, you’re turning tricks in the alley behind a McDonald’s.
Dang. These are delicious, though.
If they had cheese sauce for me to dip them in, I’d climax on the spot.
My clit twitches out of horniness for the fries almost as much as for the man across from me.
A genuine smile changes Reed’s entire visage as he watches me chew. “That’s my good girl.” Then he winks.
The rest of my pussy clenches in concert with my trampy clit, all but soaking my panties. My entire nether region is betraying me.
Still avoiding the burger because I don’t want to flood the booth, I nibble at the fries while struggling to refrain from shoving a fistful into my mouth.
I sip my low-carb beer, cringing at the lackluster taste.
I’d have loved a glass of wine. Or that amber beer flavored with citrus the server was raving about. But too many calories.
Ironic timing for that thought. Reed’s getting into my head about suffering. But . . .
“It’s not needless, you know,” I voice my inner musings.
“What’s not?”
“Choosing to eat healthy.”
He lowers one ear toward his shoulder. “You mean starving yourself.”
“Dieting,” I amend, offering a compromise. “I don’t starve myself. I make good choices.”
Even if they don’t work most of the time. I think my body was made to be this size. No matter whether I’m dieting or not, this is me. Period. Tiny fluctuations up or down, always returning to my homeostasis. My genetics, probably.
“When’s the last time you had a cookie?”
My head kicks back like I was blasted with the garden hose. “I don’t know.”
“That long, huh? Not even one?”
I push my plate away, the burger no longer appetizing. “I don’t want to talk about this. Drop it, please.”
Using two fingers, he slides the plate closer to me.
“Why do you do it?” No anger or snark in his tone.
Just curiosity and warmth. It’s so unlike his normally gruff exterior.
“I can understand eating healthy most of the time if it makes you feel good, physically or emotionally. After all, food does contribute to our overall health. But—”
I widen my eyes at him. “Exactly.”
“I don’t think that’s why you do it, Lila. You could eat a burger or a slice of pizza once in a while. And damn sure have the occasional cookie while still being healthy. You’re making yourself suffer. For what?”
Because I’m fat.
Disgusting.
Lazy.
Uncomfortable in my own skin.
But I don’t say any of that.
“Be honest,” he prods.
I put my head down, raising it when his fork clinks against the edge of his bowl.
Holding my stare, he props his arms on the table and folds his hands in front of his face.
With a rich earnestness warming his tone, he says, “Lila, life is short. And it can be cruel. I’ve seen far too many people die well before their time.
One thing my job has taught me is to enjoy the simple pleasures in life.
If that’s cheeseburgers and cookies for you, then eat fucking cheeseburgers and cookies.
If you enjoy salads, by all means have those too.
But you don’t need to pass on every damn thing you love unless you’ve got a good reason to do it. ”
“I have my reasons,” I hedge, the words heavy on my tongue.
“Are they compelling enough that you can’t remember when you’ve had a cookie? What was your favorite?” He lowers his brow. “Peanut butter, right? With the sugar crystals on top? I remember how much you loved them.” He grins at me, deepening his dirty dimple. “Isn’t that right, cookie?”
My stomach growls, betraying me as much as my trampy clit.
Cookies were once my primary weakness, hence the nickname. And his mom made the best ones ever. She must have sprinkled crack in them.
As much as I want to smile at Reed when he looks at me that way . . . or fall to my knees with my hair tied back, I don’t do it. Not even a grin or smirk. This topic has my jiggly stomach in knots.
Lots of plus-size women genuinely love their figures and have a triumphant this is me attitude.
They shine and radiate joy, confidently wearing whatever they want.
Eating anything they want. Dating hot guys and living their best lives, regardless of their size.
It’s awe-inspiring. It seems almost everyone has embraced the body positive movement.
Oddly enough, I’m a staunch believer in it—for others.
As for me? I wish I were like those women.
In fact, I keep waiting for that glorious day when the switch is flipped, and I can wear crop tops or tank tops without giving a hoot what others think.
Sadly, no matter how much I try to love myself the way I was made, I’m not there yet.
When I look in the mirror, I don’t see a confident woman embracing her true self.
I still see me.
Unattractive, undisciplined, and unloved.
I lick my lips, dabbing at the remaining salt from the few french fries I allowed myself to indulge in. “Did you ever consider how hard it is for a woman when it comes to food? Eating out is no picnic. Especially if you aren’t thin.”
He quirks his head, wordlessly beckoning me to explain.
“If I had ordered a bacon cheeseburger and fries, then I’d have been judged for pigging out. The server probably would have a good chuckle about it as they walked back to the kitchen. Kenzie would have gasped, glancing at my waist. You would have harsh thoughts too.”
He opens his mouth to object, but I keep right on.
“And heaven forbid, I eat a salad. I’m judged for not eating enough or being vain.
Or maybe I’m just putting on a show, pretending that I care about my body.
After all, if I really ate salads all the time, I wouldn’t be this size, right?
Even if that’s not true in my case. So tell me, how am I supposed to win?
I’ll be judged either way. Might as well do what I can to fix the problem. ”
“I wouldn’t judge you for ordering real food.”
“No, but you’re judging me for ordering a salad.”
“Only because I’ve seen you do this to yourself for far too long.
And I don’t want you to suffer. I want you to be happy.
For real. Not the facade you show the world.
” His gaze flickers to my chest briefly.
“Besides, your body is not a problem to be fixed.” He sucks in a rush of air through his teeth.
“Let’s just say, I’m a fan. And you know I’m not bullshitting you about that.
Besides, you’re so much more than your physique. Your dress size doesn’t define you.”
Refusing to take the bait, I counter, “What do you enjoy, Reed? Where’s your joy?”
“Eat that burger, and when we leave, me and my dirty dimples will happily show you.”