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The other was a bigger risk. I laid it across the unmade bed: a purple bikini. Faceted, oval pins embellished its shoulder straps and the bottom, catching the bedroom light and winking at me like diamonds. Definitely sexy. Definitely posh. And definitely scary for a woman called chubby, thick, and big-boned all her life. A woman taught not to wear a bikini. Ever.
But, dammit, Zaftig Zel wanted to live a little and shut up the voices in her head, so I’d planned a vacation with Tristan. Puerto Vallarta was a warm paradise in December, and I needed a swimsuit.
“If this and a few margaritas don’t warm his willy, nothing will.” I laughed.
The front door slammed.
“Speaking of dicks, mine has returned.”
I glanced at the skimpy pieces of purple fabric. Maybe that orgasm wasn’t a complete write-off yet. I shed my shirt and pants, and put on the bikini. Pulling and tugging and adjusting and, hmmm, there was a lot less coverage than a bra and panties offered. I chewed my lower lip. Maybe a sneak peek at my PV wardrobe might not be such a good idea. Looking around for my robe, I glimpsed myself in the full-length mirror and stared.
Full breasts, tiny waist, wide hips, and long legs. I took the clip out of my hair and let the reddish-brown waves cascade over my shoulders. I turned and looked at my ass.
Whoa.
“Well, you fill it out, Zel,” I mumbled, “that’s for sure.”In a good way or bad?I wasn’t sure.
With a deep breath, I screwed up my courage, retrieved my robe from the foot of the bed, and headed down the stairs, lower lip still firmly lodged between my teeth.
Tristan slouched on the blue sofa, texting someone on his phone. He didn’t even glance up when I padded into the living room, my bare feet slapping the wood floor.
“Sooo, I got some new things to wear in Puerto Vallarta.”
He grunted and stared at the screen, blond hair falling across his face.
“What d’ya think?” I dropped the robe.
He still didn’t look at me.
“Tristan?”
I wanted him to grin lasciviously. Hell, let’s be honest, I wanted him to pop a boner and give me a preview of the festivitiesheplanned for Mexico.
Instead, he dragged his gaze away from the phone and frowned at me. “What is that?”
My brows arched. “A bikini.” He wasn’tthisdumb. The smooth fabric felt cool under my fingers. “I haven’t had the nerve to wear one since I was a kid.” Like pre-Zaftig Zel, to be exact. “But, I dunno, I’m feeling daring. It’s our second anniversary and this’ll be my first winter vacation.” I shimmied my hips, hoping to get a rise from him. “Sunshine and hot sandy beaches while Seattle sits under rainy skies. Aren’t you excited?”
He gave me a slow once-over, his green eyes finally stopping on my face. “You bought a fatkini?”
Fuck. Wrong kinda rise.
“A bikini. It’s a bikini … to wear in Mexico ….” My voice trailed off and my face heated. I folded my arms across my body.
“Zel, it’s a fatkini. A bikini chunky girls wear.” He shook his head. “Did you get a coverup? Tell me you did.”
“What? No.” A lump clogged my throat.
His lip curled. “You can’t wear that thing. Whales don’t belong on the beach. You want everyone to see your body?”
My heart felt like it was being crushed by my ribcage. Blinking back tears I looked down and dragged in a slow breath. “You didn’t buy the plane tickets yet, did you.” It wasn’t a question. He had only one thing to do for our vacation.One.Fucking. Thing.
“Eh. No.”
Humiliation and rage were having a meeting in my brain to decide which would take the lead on this shit. “Why not?” Oh, yeah, the sudden pounding in my ears and that twitchiness spreading through my body said rage had shoved humiliation aside. For now.
He shrugged and returned his attention to the phone. “Don’t know if I want to go.”
I grabbed my robe and jammed my arms into its sleeves. “Yeah, I don’t want you to fucking go either.” I snatched a book off the breakfast bar and threw it across the room. It hit the wall behind him with a satisfying thud. “In fact, I don’t wantyou, Tristan. At. All.”
