Colt’s head swings to follow me, but he doesn’t move, forcing me to squeeze past him. “Mia spilled her milk on me.”
Thank you, Mia.
“I need to check on her,” I whisper as I escape to her room. Closing her door softly, I lean against it and give myself a minute to breathe. I don’t know when it started, but lately, I need to prepare myself to spend time with Colt, to build up my defenses. But tonight I’m feeling raw. I mentally give myself my standard pep talk.He’s your friend. Don’t ruin it by being weird. Smarten up and whatever you do, don’t throw yourself at him.
Feeling calmer, I move through the dark room to Mia’s bed. Smiling, I read the words on the stickers stuck to the front of her PJs.Superstar. Smartest Girl in the World. World’s Best Popsicle Eater.They’re huge and glittery and clearly made just for her. They’re not the first stickers Colt’s given her, but they are definitely the largest, by far. The time and effort he put into making them makes me feel a little gooey.
She loves him so much. In two short months, he’s become the most important person in her life…our lives. Seeing him is the highlight of our day. The way he smiles at us, like we’re the best thing he’s ever seen, feels like air. Like without it, we won’t survive.
Risking losing that? Telling him I have more than friendly feelings towards him? That I want to wrap my legs around him? Not smart. I pull the covers over her and press a soft kiss to her cheek, breathing her in and feeling even more settled.
When I leave her room, I’m not surprised to find Colt at the end of the hallway waiting for me. He backs up, following me into the kitchen. The plan was to grab a beer, but my stomach howls so loudly that Colt’s eyes widen. Smiling sheepishly, I swing open the fridge.
“I thought you were getting supper?”
I avoid eye contact, reaching for the leftover spaghetti. My fingers curl into a fist, then reach for an apple instead. “We did. I just didn’t eat much.” I admit.
“Why? Food shitty? Did he take you to some dump on your first date?” His words are clipped, jaw tight.
Humiliation burns as my mind flashes back to the restaurant. My cheeks heat as I duck my head.
“Evie,” he says, using a single finger to raise my chin. “What happened? Why didn’t you eat?”
I study him, seeing the tense features, but also the concern. My friend is worried about me. I wrap my hand around his, squeezing gently. Reminding myself that he’s seen me at my worst, I tell him.
“The restaurant was nice, and the food was good. The company? Well, it wasn’t great.”
He takes a small step closer, forcing me to tilt my head to look at him. “Explain Evie. What did he do?”
Blowing out a breath, I drop my hand. “He just expressed his opinion. He’d noticed I’d gained weight since he met me, and suggested I order the salad…with dressing on the side. There were a few more comments about diets and he spent about ten minutes mansplaining nutrition to me.” I scowl. “I’m a fucking nurse. I understand nutrition and healthy eating. And he did it in this way that just…I honestly think he believed he was being helpful and thoughtful.”
The way Colt transforms is a little terrifying, even though I know in my core he would never lay a finger on me. His jaw clenches, brows arrow down, and his shoulders bunch and tighten. His hand, hovering between us, curls into a fist.
“That piece of shit.” His voice is tight, the words forced out through a layer of gravel in his throat. “Who the fuck does he think he is? Why would he think it’s OK to do any of that?”
His immediate defense soothes my still raw ego. “It’s not ok,” I say, then admit. “It’s not the first time someone’s commented on my weight. I used to have thicker skin. I could usually brush it off, you know? He just took me by surprise.” I shrug. “I don’t know why he even asked me out, honestly.”
“Because you’re fucking stunning and he couldn’t help himself.” He says flatly. “But you’re fucking perfect, Evie. He’s a complete tool and next time you see him, punch him in the nuts.”
I let his words soothe me, choosing to believe them for a minute, even though I’m well aware that perfect is not the word that comes to mind when people look at me.Sturdyis more likely. But I’ll take the lie tonight.
“That’s not the worst idea in the world,” I say with a tired smile.
He studies me for a minute more, then, wrapping a big hand on my shoulder, escorts me to a seat on the other side of the island. He takes the apple from my hand and moves back into the kitchen.
I watch in silence, and he warms up the leftover spaghetti and slices up the apple for me. “Eat,” he orders gently, putting the food carefully in front of me.
“Thank you,” I say, contemplating the plate. Jeremiah’s words still ringing through my mind. I close my eyes, just breathing, reminding myself that I deserve to eat. To nourish my body. When I believe it again, I take a bite, then another, conscious of Colt’s penetrating gaze.
“You’ve dated other people who made comments about your weight?” he asks quietly.
I rest my fork on the side of the plate. “Yes. Not often though. Normally, it’s easy to weed those people out. Usually, the comments come from random dickwads at a club, or out on the street. There’s something about a fat woman that just sets assholes off. If we don’t fit in the perfect box society has assigned us, it means we can be targeted. They make a ton of assumptions about my health, my eating habits, and my abilities. Like if I’m fat, then I must be lazy, you know?”
That red ball of anger in my chest, brewing since my date, is getting bigger. “Like because my body is bigger than the ones on T.V. or in the magazines, that I’m not worth anything. Like if they just yell the right insult, I’ll change my wicked ways.”
Colt plants his hands on the island, pressing down, his lips pressed in a tight line. “That’s fucked up.”
“Yes. It is. It’s perfectly ok to have a preference. We all do. But I would never yell at someone on the street just because I wasn’t attracted to them. I would never ridicule or put down someone because their body doesn’t meet my ideal.”
