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“And the fact that he bought three rounds of shots before ten a.m. and paid for your breakfast,” Lindy adds, but I shake my head.
“I think he is an athlete. He was super buff.”
Josie makes a face. “And he was hitting on you? That’s odd. Usually athletes want super-skinny supermodels.”
I blow out a breath as I meet her gaze. “Thanks for the reminder that I don’t ever need.”
She meets my gaze. “What is wrong with you? You are being really testy today.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I have let her comments about my size slide a lot before. But fuck, I’m over it. “I’m tired of you constantly pointing it out. Yes, I am bigger than you. It is what it is. Do me a solid and recognize I’m more than my weight.”
Lindy meets my gaze and nods, but no way in hell will she say anything. Lindy is the soft-spoken, easygoing one of us. Josie is the loud bitch, and me… Hell, I don’t even know.
“I never said you weren’t more than your weight, Tennessee, and I’m highly offended right now.” The way she draws out my name, in her holier-than-thou manner, has my blood boiling.
“Oh, are you?” I ask, holding her gaze, and Lindy clears her throat. “How the hell do you think I feel?”
“I don’t mean anything by it, though. I’m only stating what I see.”
“Which is that I’m fat?”
“Tennessee, what the hell?”
“That’s what you’re stating, correct?” And that has Josie pressing her lips together tightly, her eyes wild.
“I think emotions are high and we need to move on,” Lindy suggests. But my gaze stays locked with Josie’s in a heated glare. Once more, Lindy clears her throat. “Okay, so I’m done. We ready to head to dinner?”
I tear my gaze away first, mostly for Lindy’s sake. I smile at her. “Thanks for doing my hair.”
She leans in, squeezing my shoulders. “You’re beautiful, Tennie.”
“Thank you,” I say before I get up and go to grab my purse. My shorts have rhinestones dangling from them, and my orange tank, which is adorned with rhinestones too, hugs my boobs, showing a little bit of my stomach. My custom UT cowboy boots glitter, and I could be one hell of a UT version of a country Winnie the Pooh.
Lindy is right; I am beautiful. And I know the words Dart said to me were true. He was interested—hell, I was too—but leaving it to fate is probably for the best.
Even if it’s painful to know that no matter how tightly I cross my fingers, I’ll never see that guy again.
Chapter Three
Dart
Angie is pacing.
So much that I want to pace with her from the nerves that are eating me alive. Back and forth, over and over again. To the point I’m pretty sure she’s going to make a rut underneath her feet in the carpet of the private room of the Parthenon.
I figured they’d go for a rustic venue since they both grew up here in the Nashville area, but Owen said that since Angie is a goddess to him, he wanted to marry her where she belongs. In the Parthenon. Yes, I truly gagged when he told me that sticky-sweet shit. But for Owen, it’s his truth. He is very vocal about it, but right now, I think Angie is forgetting who the hell she is.
As she paces, I lie across the chaise, watching her stop at each wedding dress that hangs before her and then staring at it. My friend has lost a bit of weight, but she doesn’t see that. In her head, she should be the size of her sister and mother, who are both very thin. While they are beautiful women, Angie has always caught my eye. She is stunning, with her blondish-brown hair and blazing green eyes, full cheeks, and Cupid’s bow lips. As Owen says, she could be a goddess for sure.
I hate that she is struggling, and I really hate the silence in the room. I figured maybe her mom would do something, or even her sister, but no one is doing shit but sitting here and staring at her. I’m dying. I clear my throat, and I call to her, “So, just so you know, I chose being your dude instead of banging this chick at the hotel.”
Without looking at me, Angie scoffs. “I’m surprised you didn’t do both.”
“The night is still young,” I agree, pleased with myself for making her smile. “But that being said, I’m here to be supportive and shit. So, what can I do?”
She exhales hard, her whole body making the motion as she just stares at the dresses. There are four, and each is beautiful in its own right. One is tight on her body, showing every bit of her curves with one hell of a slit. Another is tight right under her boobs before flaring out with flowers and shit all over the skirt. Another is lace that looks like a curtain on her, and the other is really ugly. I don’t even know why it’s here. It has no straps and hugs her to her thighs before billowing out like a clump of seaweed. I called her a busted-looking Ariel in that one, and the look I got was downright murderous. I actually went and hid in the men’s room when that happened. The whole wedding dress thing has been an issue from the beginning. They even pushed back the wedding because of her issues with the dresses. I told her just to go down the aisle in some sweats, but apparently that would be unacceptable.
