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“Do men ever come in?” she asks.
“Sure, sometimes,” I say, pausing to take a drink. “But not as often as women. Men don’t have the pressure of society to be beautiful and thin.”
“I think it’s sad,” she says. Marie sniffs her drink before taking a small sip.
“It is sad. But I don’t see the world changing anytime soon.” I sigh. “How is it?” I nod at her glass.
“Good,” she says, surprised.
“Good.” I take a deep breath. “Let’s get right to the point. How long has it been since Tyler broke it off?”
“Two months,” she says softly. “We weren’t technically together, though. We were friends. I knew we couldn’t be more. I knew he could find his mate at any time.”
“See,” I say, pointing my finger at her. “That, right there, is what’s wrong. You are defending him and blaming yourself. Did he kiss you?”
“Yes,” she says.
“Did he feel you up?” I ask.
She blushes. “Yeah.”
“Did you go out to eat? Go to the movies? More than twice?” I ask.
“Yes, we did all of that.”
“So, all of that,” I wiggle my finger at her, “means you were in a relationship.”
“But I knew he was a shifter.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I state with confidence.
“He was sorry,” she whispers.
I look at her gloomy face and feel my heart reach out to her. “Listen, I realize it’s hard. I’ve been in your place. When you want it so bad, you’ll make any excuse to keep it; when that doesn’t work, you lie. You lie to yourself. You convince yourself that it means nothing. Even if it meant nothing to him, it meant something to you.” I put my hand gently on her arm resting on the bar.
“It did. I had hoped I would magically be his mate,” she confesses.
“That is the first step to healing.” I drain my beer. “You acknowledge he hurt you. You make your peace and move on. Work on you.” I study her open expression. “Now, I have a question, but I don’t want to offend you.”
“You can ask me anything,” she says, sucking on her straw.
“Do you actually like your clothes?” I ask.
She chuckles. “Not especially. I have never had any fashion sense. It never mattered to me what I wore, and it was never important.”
“So, you don’t have a deep-seated reason you hide behind baggy clothes?” I raise a brow.
“No, the need to dress for men has never been a priority.” She wrinkles her cute little nose.
“Marie,” I tsk, “we don’t dress for men. We dress for ourselves. And sometimes for other women. Turning men on is a side bonus.”
“Oh,” she mutters.
“You need to find a style you like. You have a beautiful body. Embrace it.” I signal for another drink as Marie finishes hers.
“Would you help?” she asks.
“Shit, that was the plan all along.” I grin.
