44. Penelope
When Tate told me to wait in the bar for him to join me, I admit, my stomach sank, and my girl parts may have started crying. Everything about that hockey game was top level foreplay. The heated glances through the plexi, behaving like a caveman when he saw my shirt, and all the fucking points he racked up on his first night back.
My guy needs to come and pop the cork on this well shaken bottle of champagne.
“Can I buy you a drink while you’re waiting for Myers?” Mikko touches my arm, leaning close to me to be heard over the spirited crowd in The Den tonight. A win always brings with it a certain kind of energy, but tonight, it’s like a live wire has charged the air and everyone’s drinking it in.
Dad has taken Oliver out for a burger. He’s in town for the whole weekend, and we plan to spend some time tomorrow kicking each other’s asses on a gaming system or two and shoveling shitty food into our faces like when we were younger.
Karlya couldn’t come down for the game tonight, but she’s driving in tomorrow morning. I can’t wait to introduce Tate to the competitiveness that is my family with a gaming controller in their hands. He has no idea what’s about to befall him.
I nod. “Thanks, I’ll take a cider please.”
His brows tent. “You sure?”
Another nod. “Old Mout is fine.”
He doesn’t look like he believes me, but he pushes his way through to the bar anyway. My girls are scattered in the wind, their guys all got out faster than Tate did so they are currently nestled up in the VIP, closed to everyone but the Raccoons and their peeps section of the bar, while I’m down here waiting for a drink, and my man.
“Can you believe he’s with her?”
Being a fat girl, I’m programmed to think that when someone’s talking derogatorily about someone within my earshot, that it’s about me.
Don’t know why, maybe it’s because nine out of ten times they probably are.
The voice is behind me so I don’t bother turning to face them, at least not yet. Keeping my eyes focused on the VIP section, I slow my breathing. They’re probably not even talking about me. I’m being super sensitive, taking something to heart I have no business taking to heart.
“He probably has a fat fetish or something.”
“I thought he’d have higher standards.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I force air out of my body. I don’t remember at what point people”s bodies became other people’s problems.
Mikko reappears and hands me my bottle of cider, before I can take a sip he gets that unhinged look on his face. “Want me to say something to them?” He keeps his voice quiet, I doubt the two, or three, bitchy bitches behind me can hear anything over their screeching.
I must have missed him coming back with the drink, from the possessed look in his eyes, he definitely heard what they were—and still are—saying literally behind my back.
“Isn’t she worried about her health?”
“If she lost a bit of weight she’d be so pretty.”
“She has such a nice face.”
Ah, the backhanded compliment part of the evening has commenced.
“No, thank you. I’ve got this.”
It’s nice to be given the opportunity to defend myself instead of someone stepping up to protect me. It’s also nice to know I have back up in case I need shielding from the razor edged tongues of the fat shamers.
When I turn around, there are three women in front of me. As hard as it is for people not to judge me by my weight, it’s oftentimes equally hard for me not to judge them right back. They’re all much smaller than I am, both in height and in body mass. One girl has so much make up on her face that it doesn”t match her hands, and I think the fashion police needs to pay them a visit but that’s not my problem.
We don’t lower ourselves to other people’s level just to make them hurt too.
So I force a smile on my face. “You know anti-fat comments aren’t cool, right?” Every molecule in my being wishes grownups were better about handling differences among each other—more like kids are—but with every year that passes I realize that some people are just assholes.
“Think what you want, but be better about choosing what you say out loud.”
The girl with the makeup bristles.
“And stop separating fat from value. I can be fat and beautiful and worthy. One doesn’t take away from the rest.”
From the dazed-and-confused looks on their faces I’m not sure I’m landing my message, but that’s a them problem, not a me problem.
“You know I have feelings, right? Hearing three beautiful women standing behind me and bitch about me because they’re jealous Tate chose me, or they’re unhappy with themselves so they need to hurt someone else, or...” I wave my free hand at them. “Whatever else you might be going through, that hurts my feelings. Stop hurting others to make yourself feel better.”
One of the girls’ mouths hangs open, moving like she’s trying to find something to say.
“I feel a lot better when I don’t criticize my body or other people’s bodies.” Says the same woman who thought about the amount of makeup the stranger put on her face.
The three of them blink at me in silence. Did they hear what I said? Do they even care?
Two of the women shift their weight, and one looks at her feet. Even in the dim light of the bar their cheeks are stained with blushes. Good. They should feel bad for being dickish.
“And one last thing?”
Three heads snap up at the sound of my voice.
“Fat women can be loved without the men who love them having a fetish. Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t mean you get to make it into something sordid. Tate loves me for me, and I love him for him.” Took me a little while to accept it, and I guess I can’t really blame them for jumping to conclusions when one of the first things I asked Tate was if he had a fat fetish and if he was a feeder.
I wave my hand again before taking a sip of my cider. “He’s not even all that.” I smirk. “He stinks soooooo bad.”
Mikko snorts behind me, and a firm hand slides around my waist. Tate leans over to drop a peck on my cheek. “Hey beautiful, you ready to take my stinky self, home?”
I raise my bottle to him. “Not yet, I still have half a cider to drink.”
He made me wait, ignoring the five-alarm fire in my undies is proving harder now that he’s standing right there but I swallow down the lust with a glug of cider and throw him a casual smile.
“Sorry for keeping you.” He kisses me again. “I felt like I should say a few words on the record. Everyone’s been so nice and supportive since my injury, and everything that’s followed. Marshall was back there.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder.
“And he asked you for an interview?”
Tate scrubs his chin with his hand, shaking his head. “No. But I guess I had some things I wanted to say.”
My chin quivers, but I manage to keep my brewing grief and pride under wraps. “Then I’m glad you did.” I kiss him gently on the lips.
“Are you finished with your friends?” He gestures to the three women who couldn’t be further from friend status right now.
Without checking with them, I nod. “You want a drink?”
The only answer I get is a waggle of his eyebrows which makes me cough on my next mouthful of cider.
A light touch on my free hand pulls me out of my spluttering fit.
“I’m sorry.” It’s the woman with the heavy makeup on her face.
“Do better. Women have enough problems in the world without facing each other too.” I manage.
She nibbles on her lip before nodding and following her friends away from where we’re standing.
“Wanna tell me what that was about?” Tate brushes his nose along the length of my jaw.
“Nope, thought you wanted to enter the Queendom.”
He licks his lips. “You said ‘destroy’ wrong.” His grin is wolfish, and almost enough to make my underwear combust. “Here are your options. Either I drag you into the bathrooms and fuck you right here, we head to the hockey house and I fuck you there, or you torment me all the way to my parents’ house and my balls explode.”
“I’m done with my drink.” I place the bottle on a tall table within reach.
“That’s what I thought.”
Tapping my finger on my chin, I take my time answering.
“Pitstop, I swear. I’m going to blow my load right here in this bar with that shirt draped on your fucking body. Make a decision, or we’re going to have a few hundred casual observers watching me take you to pound town.”
I splay my hand on my chest. “Awwww. And they say romance is dead.” I add an eye roll for good measure.
“Woman.” The feral snarl in his voice makes my nipples pucker, but I’m not going to admit it. Watching him unravel on a cellular level is fucking delightful. How far can I push him?
Turns out, not far. He leads me out into the parking lot by the elbow, literally growling at anyone who so much as steps in his path. It’s sexy as hell. All he’s going to have to do is blow on my clit, and I’ll fall apart for him.
It takes us less than five minutes to get to the hockey house, and when he bursts through the door, I stutter to a stop behind him. The coffee table in the main foyer where they all toss their keys and shit is covered in tiny little colored plastic ducks.
“We’re going to be finding those little fuckers for eternity, you know that, right?”
My giggle is bone-deep and filled with satisfaction. “I do. And then some. Best prank ever.”
“We’ll see.” He pauses. “But I admit, it wasn’t bad. The guys are loving growing their flock. Rico came running out of the shower ass-naked, still lathered up with two he found in there. It’s turned into a whole thing.”
“Sad I wasn’t here for that.”
He spins so fast his feet squeak on the tiled floor. “Don’t. Don’t even joke. My balls are so tight, my dick is so hard, and I’m shaking with need to come inside you. Don’t even joke about seeing another man naked, She Devil. It’s just going to make me own you even harder.”
Getting upstairs and mostly stripped off—he won’t let me take off my Raccoon’s shirt—in record time leaves me gasping, but watching Tate watch me steals my breath away. The awe on his face as he rakes his eyes over my naked body makes me feel... treasured.
Wait. What the fuck is that on the ceiling?
“Tate?”
He’s climbed on top of me and is dropping kisses generously along the column of my neck but his head pops up at my questioning tone.
He’s grinning at me. He already knows what I’m about to ask.
“You didn’t.” My eyes roll again, this time without me even telling them to.
“Stick your favorite vibrator on my ceiling? I did.” He looks so fucking pleased with himself.
“You’re a glutton for punishment, Tate Myers. That just means you’re going to have to work even harder.”
He shrugs, scooching his body down mine. “Put me to work in the Queendom, She Devil.”
“It’s not going to eat itself, Satan.”
It’s the first glimmer of my man, the real Tate that I’ve seen in a couple months, but it’s everything I need to refill my well of hope. He’s going to pull through and come out on the other side.