As I pour out a second whiskey, I think about the grown-up Hattie I met today, her frizzy hair tamed into brilliant wisps of gold. Even her glasses are more stylish and subdued with their turquoise frames.
I think about her fire, the attitude and backbone she’s sprouted, and I wonder what put it there.
Annoyingly, I think about her magnificent ass.
The way it felt when my hand swept across it, how soft and full she is, a feast of flesh for a man who moves through Instagram models and Central Park runners like eating chips.
They work like hell for their boyish, slender figures. They spend through the nose for a touch of glamor.
But Hattie had an undeniable vibe that feels natural, authentic.
From his perch on the floor, Ares gives me the lazy eye until I shake my head. I know what he’s asking.
What karmic hell am I in for now by making Hattie Sage my wife?
And what sandy marvel will melt under me this time, trying to play fair?
5
ALL THAT GLITTERS (HATTIE)
“It looks amazing!”
I slide a hand down my belly, always my problem area when it’s rocking that stubborn chub.
Well, that and my thighs.
But this dressiselegant and hip-hugging, and that’s the issue.
You don’t want fabric hugs from anything when the world sees every roll and dimple like a flaw. And the world will soon be staring at me with wide, curious eyes.
Ethan, too.
No, don’t think about Ethan!
Not easy when he’s all I’ve been able to think about, ever since I woke up this morning with a migraine and this off-kilter feeling.
It’s like when you accidentally skip forward a few chapters in a good book and you no longer have any clue what’s happening.
Margot smiles at me in the mirror.
I try to ignore the angry bees humming around my stomach. The moment I tumbled out of bed, she dragged me outsidefor some retail therapy in one of the biggest boutique malls in Portland.
“Are you sure?” I ask, turning to the side and sucking in my stomach. No matter how hard I try, it’ll never be flat.
Sigh.
“Are you kidding, girl? Your ass will give all the old dudes a heart attack. You’ll be the star of the show.” Margot turns to the assistant, who’s looking at me with a critical expression. “Accessories?”
“Gold,” she says immediately. “Subtle.”
“Find me something nice,” Margot instructs, and the woman scuttles off.
I look at my best friend, who’s totally energized by the challenge.
Me.
I’m the challenge.
