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“Angie, look at me.”
“Rather not,” I say, unable to hold in my emotion. I reach for my purse and grab some cash from inside, throwing it down. “I’m gonna go.”
“Wait,” he says, stopping me.
But I pull my arm from his grip. “Thanks again.”
He doesn’t let me go that easy. He’s right on my tail. I don’t think he paid, not that I can care. My goal is to get to my car. ASAP. “Angie.”
I ignore him, picking up speed, but his one step equates to a slight jog for me. He stops me by standing in front of me. “Come on, Owen. Let me leave with what’s left of my dignity.”
Now, he’s mad. His eyes are wild as he looks down at me. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, or even what you believe, but I kissed you because I wanted to. Because it’s all I can think about doing. I would have done it sooner if you hadn’t acted like you hated me.”
I look down at the gravel, closing my eyes, unable to believe anything he is saying. “Owen, be real. There is no way any of that is true.”
“Why do you say that? Why is it so hard to believe that I want you?”
My eyes widen. He wants me? Now that’s comical, but also, it pisses me off. “Look at me!” I yell, gesturing my hand up and down my body.
“Oh, believe me, I do. A lot.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop. You don’t have to be nice or even flatter me. I know the truth.”
“I’m still waiting to learn this ‘truth.’” I glare, and he does the same. “What? Tell me since you apparently know and I don’t.”
“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes and walking around him. “I don’t have time to play games with you.”
“Play games? I’m not playing games. I kissed you, and you thanked me for being nice. I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t trying to be nice in that kiss. I was trying to devour you.”
I pause mid-step because my kitty screams. Jesus Christ Superstar. I look over my shoulder at him in shock, but I keep my bearings. He is too damn good-looking to want someone like me. I know it; I’m not stupid. “It’s cool. You don’t have to keep up the ruse.”
“What the fuck? There is no fucking ruse, Angie!” he yells, his eyes wild. “I don’t know what the fuck is happening here, or what you’ve allowed yourself to think, but I happen to think you’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t want to ‘nice’ kiss you. Or use a ruse or whatever.”
Tears start to burn my eyes as I hold his. “People like you don’t like people like me.”
“I don’t know these people you speak of, because I fucking like you.”
This makes no sense. “I’m gonna go.”
“Seriously?”
I turn then, throwing my arms up. “What, Owen? I don’t know what to say or how to react to that. I don’t believe shit you say because I know the truth. I know what I look like. I see it. I’m not who I was—”
“Because we grow,” he interjects. “We change, things change, and that’s okay. Listen,” he says, coming close enough to hold me, but thankfully, he doesn’t. “I can sit here and tell you, over and over again, how fucking beautiful I think you are. That I love the color of your eyes and the little dip in your chin. How your glasses give me some naughty scientist vibes. That I love how juicy your ass is, how the size of your breasts and thighs makes my mouth water. I can tell you I have undressed you about a billion times in my head, and I know good and well that how I imagine your body to be is nothing compared to the real thing.”
Oh good lord, I can’t breathe. I’m lost in his eyes, his words.
“It doesn’t matter what I say, though. Until you love who you are, you won’t believe me.” He steps back, and soon he’s blurry from my tears. He shrugs as he shakes his head. “Let me know when you see what I see.”
My lips quiver as I watch him walk backward, his eyes never leaving mine. I’m speechless and, honestly, confused as fuck. Before, when I was younger and seventy pounds lighter, I would have jumped his bones without any regard whatsoever. I would believe he wanted me. I could see it in his eyes, and I would trust my instincts. But now, I don’t even trust my own brain. How can someone so fucking gorgeous want someone like me? He could have anyone and then some. Girls fall at his feet, and he wants me to believe he wants me? I’m frumpy, I’m covered in stretch marks, and I’m riddled with daddy issues and trauma. Not that he knows the latter, but what if he gets past the fat part of me and then sees I’m broken? Yeah, no. I’m not setting myself up for that kind of rejection.
