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"One can only hope," I mumble, before slapping my hand across my mouth in a vain attempt to erase the horrible thing I just said. Dom's eyes widen before he starts obnoxiously cackling. The sound is so loud in the quiet room that I fall into a fit of giggles with him. When we finally come down from the obligatory drunken laugh-fest, I sigh, suddenly feeling exhausted. "I wish I could say that's the case but it's unlikely. That's the third time I've been stood up this month, so I've come to an unhappy conclusion."
"And what's that, oh genius one?" he grumbles sarcastically.
Not bothering to move from my prone position, I gesture toward my body once more. "That they are walking in, taking one look at me, and walking out."
Dom stares at me silently for a few moments. I find that I'm far too tired and confused to know what he's doing. Finally, his eyes widen, "oh, you were serious?"
"Obviously. What other explanation is there? How can three men have catastrophic events rendering their cellphones useless, in one month? It's highly improbable. Nope. The only common factor is me."
Sitting up, a look of utter outrage fills his face. "That is just plain bullshit. What on God's green earth do those men have against a stunning, curvalicious babe like you? That's horseshit, and I refuse to believe it." Crossing his arms, he juts his chin out defiantly.
Rolling my eyes, I finally sit up. Slowly and with my eyes closed so as not to make the room spin. "Look, I'm not saying I hate my body or my curves. I've dealt with being a big girl my entire life. Somewhere around the age of ten, my body went from slim to not. Yeah, I got bullied and picked on and that definitely affected my outlook on myself and my appearance, but I embraced my size. I had friends, boyfriends, and things I was good at. It wasn't a big deal."
Sighing, I shrug. "It just takes its toll is all that I'm saying. After the shit show that my relationship became, it's hard to not feel insecure. As a human, I come with these handy dandy things called hormones. They do all sorts of neat tricks, including, but not limited to, making you emotional, giving you adult acne, and even controlling your weight. Seems no matter how much I work out, those little fuckers are hellbent on keeping me fluffy."
Dom busts out laughing, but quickly tries to smother the sound with his hand. "Fucking bastards," he agrees with a falsely stoic nod.
"Anyways, it's been a journey, but I'm learning to love my body. Not just because I'm fat, but because it's controlled so much of my life. No matter how well I attempt to take care of it, it fucks me at every corner. Wouldn't be a stretch to assume that now includes dating."
Dom tosses back the rest of his drink that I figured out is a Tequila Highball, which is my mom's favorite drink. "Okay, so here's the game plan. We are going to forget about all the sad, sorry fuckers, that may or may not have ditched you because honey, trust me. If they bailed before ever meeting you, they ain't worth a second of your time. Next, we are going to forget about the ex-douche-face. Just completely forget about him, and move forward because, as far as I'm concerned, he doesn't deserve your brain space."
Giggling at his antics, I feel another layer of pent-up stress leave my body.
"Fourth, or wait, third?" He thinks for a second before nodding, "yes, third. If your heart doesn't want to teach anymore, then don't teach, and don't feel guilty about it. Maybe you'll go back to it someday. Maybe you won't. But you're single, you're accomplished, you're a badass bitch, and it's time to go after your dreams. Take no prisoners, honey. If the next guy isn't right, don't try to change yourself to be with him. The right guy will come along. You got me?"
Tugging my lower lip into my mouth, I bite down before nodding.
"Good. Okay, so I think I have a solution to help with all of your problems." Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Dom stares at me with a look that has me backing up as much as I can, without falling out of the tall chair.
"Do I want to know?" I mutter.
"Oh definitely," clapping his hands together in glee, his smile widens to a point that actually looks painful. I grimace. "Stephen."
Chapter Three
"Stephen?"Sighing,Ishakemy head. "We've already been over this. Stephen isyourman Dom, remember? I don't see how he is the answer tomyanything."
"Oh, sweet girl, ye have but little faith." Standing, he leans over and kisses my forehead before smacking my cheek softly a few times. "Be right back."
Before I can ever protest, Dom is dashing away in the direction of what I can only assume is the kitchen. My heart begins to palpate in my chest at a tempo that's basically burning off all of the alcohol I've consumed. What in the world could the chef have to do with this, and why am I suddenly filled with ridiculous amounts of nervous anticipation?
It's one thing to show my craziness to a random bartender who no doubt deals with drunks all day, but I draw the line at bringing more people in to witness my mental spiral like some sort of circus freak. Nope. Not happening.
Jumping to stand, I quickly grab the edge of the counter for balance, preparing to fall on my ass, either due to the booze, or the stupid stilettos I chose to wear tonight. Closing my eyes, I hold the bar with more force as a wave of dizziness washes over me.
"I don't even freaking like heels. I'd much rather wear my Birks, butnooo,society would balk at my hippie attire in such a classy restaurant. Stupid heels. Stupid dates. Stupid fucking men—"
"Are you talking to yourself?" Dom shouts, making me jump.
My eyes spring open, and I spin to face him which is completely and utterly the wrong move because seconds later, I'm on my ass with no solid understanding as to how I got here.
"Oh, fuck!" he cries at the same time another voice, adeepervoice, yells, "Are you okay, ma'am?"
My head snaps in the second man's direction, as indignation rapidly fills me. "Donotcall me ma'am!"
They both skid to a halt only steps before colliding with me. Dom chuckles and reaches a hand down to help me up. The other man follows suit, grasping my other arm and yanking me upright. The two men quickly deposit me back on my feet before giving me space to compose myself, which is a move I am both thankful for, and mortified by.
Thankful to be standing, mortified to have made such a humiliating first impression. I have no doubt my dress was displaying all sorts of everything when I was on the ground. Subtly and quickly, I smooth the material down and make sure that all of my nooks and crannies are tucked away where they belong. As I fix myself, I take in the newcomer.
