Chapter Twenty
Belle
I made a mistake. I’d realized it too late and couldn’t admit it aloud when Jesse drove us to the address where we’re doing the Core Charge photoshoot.
Hell, I realized this was a bad idea when I took an everything shower—shaving every inch of myself, exfoliating, and moisturizing—because I didn’t know the extent of the photos they wanted to take. I mean, we wouldn’t be naked. Right?
Right?
Nausea sweeps over me again as Jesse pulls into a reserved spot with his last name on it. There’s one for me too, which is moot considering we carpooled for the occasion. I could barely talk, worried I’d spew out every little insecure thought loitering in my brain.
“Want to talk about it?” Jesse asks, turning the ignition off.
I blink, startled away from the window I’ve been staring out. How the hell did we get here so fast? I barely remember him backing out of the driveway much less punching in the gate code to get out of the small neighborhood.
“Talk about what?” I cringe at the high pitch to my voice, giving me away.
He chuckles. “You’ve clearly got something on your mind because your leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since we left the house.”
I glance down at my leg, which is indeed still bouncing. I force it to stop, frowning. Have I really been doing that the whole drive? It took us forty minutes to get to the warehouse where Isaac and his team were waiting for us.
Shifting to face him, I flatten my palms down the dress I opted for.
Whenever I feel a little off about my body, dresses are my go-to because they’re more flattering.
They hide things, like my love handles and the cellulite on the back of my thighs and butt cheeks or the slight jiggle to my legs when I walk.
On any given day, I wouldn’t think twice about any of those things.
Okay, that’s a lie. On hot days when I wear shorts, I think about it.
Thanks to my thighs’ separation anxiety from each other, there’s a lot of chafing and adjusting and jiggling happening.
And God forbid I somehow miss a patch of hair while shaving, which always seems to happen on my knees, and I’m assuming every person I walk past is judging me for being too hairy or too chubby or too… something.
I sigh. It wouldn’t be so bad if I weren’t getting photographed beside somebody who had less than five percent body fat on him. It’s going to be way more obvious that I am not exactly drinking Core Charge before going to do a ten-mile run.
“Bells,” Jesse says softly, putting his hand on the spot above my knee and squeezing. I highly doubt he’s thinking about the extra weight there, or the fact he can’t get his palm around the entirety of my thigh. So why do I care? Seriously?
I’m being ridiculous. Logically, I know that. I also know that he’ll give me that ‘are you kidding me look’ when I tell him what’s on my mind.
“I’m just feeling a little…antsy,” I admit, shifting my gaze from him to the warehouse.
I’ve been to one or two photoshoots of Jesse’s before.
They always roll out the red carpet for him—give him the presidential treatment.
I know what to expect when we step into those doors, with the exception of how they’ll treat me.
Nobody is going to judge you, I tell myself, rubbing my lips together. So what if I have back dimples? My ex-boyfriend told me they were cute once. All bodies are beautiful, back dimples and all.
“Why? You have no reason to. I’ll be here.”
When he sees the frown that my lips drop into before I can stop them, he matches it.
My shoulders drop as I lean back in the passenger seat and look at him.
“I’m worried about what people will say.
You’re…you.” I wave my hand in his general direction.
His body is covered in a Carhartt sweatshirt and jeans, but anybody can tell that he’s in great shape. “And I’m me.”
He blinks at me, clearly not seeing where I’m going with this.
“You work out,” I add.
He blinks again. “So do you.”
I roll my eyes at that. “I walk on the treadmill for an hour and then reward myself with Hershey kisses.”
I wish I was lying. I’m not. Those bitches are my favorite.
One of his shoulders lifts. “So?”
So. So. I knew he was going to do this. “It’s not as obvious to me that I’m not in the best shape of my life most days. I know I’m not as thin as I used to be, or even want to be. I also know I can work on that. But when I’m next to you, I’m a tiny bit more aware. That’s all.”
Instantly, his expression drops. “Bells.” This time when he says the nickname, there’s a somberness in his voice. “I know you don’t need me to tell you that you’re beautiful.”
Oh God. “I don’t!” I agree quickly. “I don’t. You don’t need to list all the things about me you like or tell me that all bodies are beautiful because I’ve told myself that already. It’s just a mental game. You know how it is. People have talked before, and I know they’ll talk again.”
His sigh is heavy. “It’s easier said than done ignoring what those assholes have to say,” he begins, his hand on my thigh squeezing again.
“I know that, so I won’t bore you with a lecture you don’t need to hear.
I want you to be comfortable in there, though.
There is no reason for you not to be. We’re a team, right? You and I always have been.”
My heart turns to goo at the thought of this man claiming me with those words. “Yeah, we are.”
“And I won’t ever let anything happen to my team, right?” he presses knowingly, brows arching as I mull over my response.
Not that I have to think very hard. “No. You wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”
He nods once with determination. “You have nothing to hide, Belle. Hear me? Everybody has people who are bigger than them and smaller than them out there. I guarantee that a handful of women are going to see these photos and think to themselves, ‘damn, she has my dream body’.”
I have a feeling more people will be staring at him, but maybe he’s right.
It isn’t that far-fetched to believe, I suppose.
My woman crush has been Ashley Graham ever since she became the first size sixteen model to land a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit cover.
And you better believe I replay every video of her walking the Victoria Secret fashion shows and cheer her on like I’m in the crowd and not in my living room stuffing my face with Cheetos. She’s a boss. A plus size queen.
“My feet are too big,” Jesse states, causing me to peel myself away from my thoughts of every Pinterest board I created of body goals over the years.
My face twists. “What?”
“My feet,” he repeats, glancing down at the boots covering them.
“They’re huge. I’ve always felt like they’re too big for my body.
Once, I did a commercial for Folgers and was barefoot for it.
I liked how it came out. But the top comments being left on the YouTube video had little to do with the coffee and a lot to do with the size of my feet. ”
I’m sure there were a handful of dick jokes too, since I’ve had friends who always said feet sizes indicated how big a guys’ package was too. And…maybe they were onto something. Because I know for a fact now that Jesse has a lot hidden away behind his sports cups and uniforms.
Annnnd now is not the time to be thinking about that sort of thing. What is wrong with me?
I wet my lips. “I didn’t know you didn’t like your feet,” I admit. Without really thinking, I say, “I like them. I mean, I’m not into feet or anything weird like that. Not that there’s anything wrong with people who are.” Wincing at my nervous ramble, I rein in it. “But yours are nice.”
Jesse’s chuckle is light. “Thanks, I appreciate that. Look, the point I’m trying to make is that we all have insecurities.
And that’s okay. We’re human. It’s also okay to lay out your boundaries with people.
If there are things you’re uncomfortable doing, let them know.
If you’re not comfortable speaking to them, tell me and I’ll do it. That’s what teammates do.”
Team. We’re a team.
I smile. “Team Clarkson.”
He leans forward and brushes a kiss against my lips. It doesn’t last long, but it leaves my mouth tingling long after he pulls away. “Team Clarkson,” he agrees, eyes a tint darker than they were before.
When I glance out the windshield, I see Isaac standing by the door clearly ready to greet us. I lock up for a second wondering if he just saw us kiss but there’s no indication.
“Ready?” Jesse asks, oblivious to the fact somebody probably just saw him kiss me. I’m not about to bring attention to it, so I nod and follow him out of the car.
Isaac is smiling wide when we approach him, holding his hand out to Jesse first and shaking it, then at me. “I’d hug you, but…” That’s all he says before that smile grows and he winks at me, gesturing toward Jesse.
He definitely saw us kiss.
Jesse’s palm goes to my lower back, pressing against it as if to lay claim.
A claim he doesn’t need to make, because Isaac simply laughs to himself and welcomes us in.
“Follow me and I’ll show you where you’ll get ready.
We’re finishing up the set now and getting the lighting adjusted.
Then the team lead and photographer will take it from there and give you a quick rundown of what we’re thinking. Sound good?”
We walk into the massive warehouse, both agreeing to the agenda for the day.
We’re greeted by friendly faces as we’re introduced one by one to the staff working on the shoot.
By the time we’re getting our hair and makeup done and the wardrobe is brought into our respective rooms, my nerves have diminished when I see the outfits selected.
We’re a team. Team Clarkson.
I veto two options right away, and they don’t argue with me once. They simply get rid of them and show me the other pieces. By the time I’m dressed and ready, hair sprayed into place and makeup double checked, I feel…gorgeous.
Almost like Ashley Graham.