Chapter 6
Kari
I slip in through the front door as quietly as I can, easing it shut and toeing off my shoes in the entryway. My stomach growls loud enough that I wince, pausing to lay a hand going to my midsection like that’ll somehow hush it.
I’m starving.
All I want is a snack. Something crunchy. Something salty.
From the kitchen, I hear my mom’s animated voice, followed by Kelly’s higher pitched, excited one. I don’t need to see them to know what they’re talking about.
Wedding stuff.
I angle myself toward the hallway despite my stomach’s hangry call for food. If I can make it past the kitchen undetected, I can head straight to Dad’s office, shut the door, and eat the granola bar I threw in my bag earlier. If I’m quiet enough, I can probably make it.
“Kari?”
Damn it. No one gets past Mom’s radar.
I freeze for half a second, then sigh and turn toward the kitchen, to the doorway I was so close to slipping by. The smell of something warm and buttery hits me—and my stomach gives another traitorous growl.
Mom’s homemade Parker House rolls can only mean one thing. Slow cooker roast with savory gravy and buttery mashed potatoes. Mom’s specialty. And something I should definitely not entertain eating. My stomach growls again, already staging a rebellion.
Mom stands at the counter with a mug in her hands, her apron dusted with flour. Kelly perches on a stool with a magazine spread open in front of her. Her posture’s perfect, hair neatly pulled back in a sleek ponytail.
“There you are,” Mom says. “Come look at this.”
Kelly lights up. “Perfect timing.”
I paste on a smile and step into the kitchen. “Hey. What’s up?”
Mom gestures to the magazine. “Kelly was just showing me the dress she’s thinking about.”
Kelly turns the magazine around, eyes shining. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
The page shows a bride in a flowing white gown with clean lines and a dramatic neckline. A view from the back shows an equally beautiful, scooped back with a long lacy train. The model looks like she’s floating instead of standing, like gravity doesn’t apply to beautiful people.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, and I mean it. I really do.
Kelly beams. “I know, right? I cried a little when I saw it.”
Mom laughs softly. “You did.”
“I did. But wait—look at this.”
Kelly flips the page, then another, fingers practically shaking with excitement. “These are the ones I’m thinking of for the bridal party.”
My chest tightens before the page even settles.
The dresses are… a lot. Or very little considering how revealing they are.
Low-cut. Backless. Sleek in a way that assumes the body wearing it was designed specifically for the dress, not the other way around. The bridesmaids on the page are tall and willowy with confident smiles and bodies to back it up.
“Isn’t that color amazing?” Kelly says. “It’ll look so good in photos.”
Mom nods approvingly. “Very elegant.”
I stare at the page, imagining myself in that dress.
Half my boobs hanging out the front. The backless cut showing the bulges under my arms and everything else I spend half my life trying to suck in or cover up. And my ass—geez, my ass. There’s no way to hide it in a dress like that. There’s no fabric forgiving enough. No room for breathing.
I swallow.
“They’re… really nice,” I say, carefully.
Kelly tilts her head. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“No, I am,” I say quickly. “I just—wow. Bold choice.”
She grins. “I wanted something fun.”
Fun for who?
Mom reaches over and pats my arm. “You’ll look lovely, sweetheart.”
I nod, even though my brain is already cataloging every reason that’s not true. Kelly can wear dresses like that. She’s always been supermodel material. Always looking like she stepped out of a magazine instead of being judged by one.
Kelly doesn’t see things the way I do. She’s never had to.
“You okay?” she asks, finally noticing my silence.
“Yeah,” I say, too fast. “Just tired.”
Which isn’t a lie. I’ve worked out with Grey for three nights in a row and my body’s screaming at me to call it quits. No way on earth I can now. Not after seeing what I’ll need to squeeze into.
My stomach growls again, louder this time, and Kelly laughs. “Someone’s hungry.”
I smile weakly. “I was going to grab a snack.”
Mom gestures to the counter. “There are cookies, but don’t spoil your appetite. Pot roast for dinner.”
I glance at the cookies. then back at the magazine. At the dresses. At Kelly’s excited face.
The thought of eating anything right now makes my throat tighten.
“I think I’m going to change first,” I say. “I’ve been out all day.”
Kelly nods, already flipping back through the magazine. “Okay! But come back—I want to show you the shoes.”
“Sure,” I say.
I turn and head down the hallway toward Dad’s office, my stomach still growling, my head buzzing, the image of that dress burned into my brain.
No snacks for me. Right now, I just need to breathe and get in another workout.
Grey
I pull into the apartment complex and spot Kari’s car parked near the management office. My chest tightens and I don’t bother fighting it. I slow, easing in behind her just as she opens her door and steps out, tugging her oversized hoodie down like a shield.
“Hey,” I call, rolling down the window. “I’m fresh from work. I need to change before we do anything remotely athletic.”
She glances over, surprised, then smiles. “I can smell you from here.”
“High praise,” I say. “Follow me?”
She nods and climbs back into her car. I lead the way to my building, park out front, and hop out as she’s doing the same.
“C’mon in,” I say as I reach the front door.
“You sure?” She hesitates at the curb, keys still in her hand. “I don’t want to invade your bachelor pad.”
It’s meant to be teasing—I can hear that—but there’s something else under it. An insecurity that wasn’t there the other night. I don’t call it out. Instead, I step closer and take her hand, casual, reassuring her she’s welcome inside my place anytime, day or night.
“Can’t have anyone thinking I’d leave my girlfriend stranded in the parking lot,” I say. “What if the manager’s watching?”
Her eyes dart over her shoulder, and I fight a grin. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Occupational hazard of being male.”
Her stomach growls, loud and unapologetic. I chuckle without thinking.
“Easy,” I say. “Don’t get hangry on me.”
She laughs, but it fades fast. She starts tugging at her hoodie again, smoothing it down over her middle, shifting her weight like she’s suddenly aware of every inch of herself. Something protective in me snaps.
“When’s the last time you ate?” I ask.
Her head jerks up. “Doesn’t matter. I eat. I eat plenty.”
“It matters to me,” I say. “Why do you want to work out, Kari?”
She shrugs. “Same reason everyone does.”
“There are a lot of reasons,” I say. “Tell me yours.”
She pulls the hem of her hoodie again, stretching it like it might shield her from the question. Then the words tumble out.
“I don’t feel pretty,” she says. “Kelly showed me the wedding dresses she wants. I’ll never fit into mine.” Her stomach betrays her with another growl. “I need to get in shape for the wedding. If I don’t, I’ll be the joke. The fat one. The imperfect one. Like always.”
“That’s absurd—” I start, then stop myself. The last thing I want to do is invalidate her feelings. I take a breath. “What will make you feel pretty?”
I hate the question even as I ask it. She’s standing in front of me in sweats, hair pulled back, no makeup, and she’s a damn goddess. Real. Unfiltered.
“I’ll feel pretty when I lose weight,” she says quietly.
I step closer and squeeze her hand. “You know that isn’t true, right? Pretty’s superficial.” I tap my chest. “This is what matters.”
She mirrors the gesture, fingers pressing lightly over her own heart. For a second, neither of us moves.
“I hate to break it to you,” I say, lowering my voice, “but you’re a knockout exactly as you are.”
Her cheeks flush pink, and I feel reckless. I place her palm against my chest, right over my heart. It’s pounding hard enough that she can’t miss it.
“Feel that?” I ask.
Her eyes widen. She nods.
“That’s what happens when a man’s in the presence of real beauty.”
She swallows. “Is that your flex?”
Flex? For a half second, my brain short-circuits and my pulse spikes. Shit.
“My what?”
“You know,” she says, completely unaware of the mental spiral she just set off. “Your thing. The thing you do to make women feel good.”
Relief floods through me so fast it’s almost dizzying.
I don’t hesitate with my answer. “My flex is doing everything I can to make you feel good.”
The silence that follows is thick, charged. She pulls her hand back like she’s been burned, cheeks still flushed.
“It’s working,” she says softly.
“Good,” I reply. “Because we’re not doing another workout until you eat something. You can’t build strength if you don’t fuel your body.”
She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again.
I grin. “Come on. Food first. Training second.”