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Slipping into a loose skirt that I tuck my t-shirt into, I study myself in one of Abby’s huge floor-to-ceiling mirrors.
It feels like all the excitement and passion goes out of me once I see myself.
My muffin top, wide hips, thick calves, and blotches I get on my cheeks whenever it’s this hot out are not an attractive look at all.
And my hair? Jesus, I’ve still got helmet-head from my ride over here.
Who am I kidding?
My little fantasy looks like it might just be that. The overactive imaginings of a lonely, thick-set girl whose best friend’s dad just happens to be God’s gift to women.
Still, at least I can look. Right?
And only until Abby shows up, which could be anytime soon.
It’s a different kind of embarrassment for me now, but Kane’s just seen more of me than I’m showing once I get changed and rejoin him in the kitchen downstairs.
He’s still sitting at the counter, which actually makes him look like a person of regular height.
He has on a white T-shirt too now, and from what I glimpse coming in, a pair of shorts and some flip-flops.
“Better?” he asks, leaning back and making a show with his hands which tells me it’s safe now, he has clothes on.
But all I can see when I look at him is the real man underneath all that.
Even deeper than the perfect muscles and smooth, tanned skin.
I don’t know why, but there’s something comical in his expression, and once he wiggles his brow, I’m done.
I can see where Abby gets her crazy humor from, even though she’d never give her dad all the credit for that.
I laugh out loud with him, and we both feel ourselves relaxing.
“Better,” I reply, which is half true.
Better for me to have my clothes on right now, but I could watch Kane all day wearing a chicken suit, and it would still make me sigh.
Kane motions to the stool opposite him, which I gladly take.
It puts me closer to him, but I’m also painfully aware now that my legs are actually shaking a little too.
The spicy, citrus scent of his cologne washes over me as I struggle to focus on what he’s saying.
“So, how have you been? What have you been up to? How’s your mom doing?” Kane asks so many questions in one breath that I don’t know where to start.
Looking up at the ceiling, I feel my mouth open and close a few times. Not even knowing where to start.
I’ve never been good at talking about myself, truth be told since he saw me last, my life’s been pretty boring.
I end up shrugging and turning red again, only able to stammer, “Pretty good,” “Not much,” and “Mom’s okay, I guess.”
Riveting conversation.
But Kane rests his elbows on the bench, his huge forearms flexing as he rests his face in his hand.
His dark eyes bore into mine like he’s hanging on every word I say.
If it was anyone else, even Abby, it would look like a wind-up. But Kane really does look interested in what I have to say.
