“I know, right?” she says. “And check out the clitoris stimulator, see the tongues? They all move individually, no matter the speed setting.”
Holy crap, triple tongues!
Before I know what’s happening, Stacey snags up a basket and pulls me from wall to wall, display to display, filling it with more toys than I know what to do with. There’s vibrators, dildos, an egg, beads, and plugs. She even adds in a panty vibrator, before moving on to the lubes and toy cleaners.
It’s probably only been a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity before Becca makes her way over, smiling. She picks up a bottle of cleaner and a package of wipes, tossing them into the basket and surveying the contents, nodding approvingly. “Nice choices,” she says to me, before turning to Stacey. “I’m going to steal her now.”
Stacey smiles politely, gathering up a few more bottles of God only knows what, before turning away, taking the loaded basket to the counter.
“This is not making me feel sexy, Becca,” I hiss. “This is making me feel awkward.”
“It’s not supposed to.” She grins, grabbing my arm and pulling me over to the fitting room, pausing right outside the door, and pushing it open. “But this will.”
I glance inside the small room, gaping. Becca has accumulated over a dozen outfits she wants me to try on, ranging from costumes to corsets to see-through body stockings.
Her hand lands on the small of my back, pushing me inside. I’m flustered, blinking a few times, as she pulls the door closed.
“Try something on,” she says. “Then, come out here and let me and Stacy see it.”
“Becca …”
I start to protest, but she doesn’t let me. “Vickie, trust me. You’ll feel like a sex goddess when we’re done.”
My brows furrow. I most definitely don’t think a few see through outfits are going to make me feel anything close to a sex goddess, but I humor her, stepping over to the outfits and sorting through them.
Most of them are way too revealing, but I notice that every single one will cover my belly. God love my best friend; she chose things that’ll hide the spots I hate the most. I pick up the most conservative one first: the nurses outfit.
Getting to work putting it on, I struggle zipping up the back. I step out of the fitting room, wearing the costume, not bothering to look at myself in the mirror first, finding Becca standing right outside the door with her cellphone out.
“Can you zip me up, Becca?” I ask, starting to turn around so my back is to her, but she holds up her hands to stop me.
“Pull it off your shoulder a little,” she says, and when I don’t comply, only looking at her as though she’s insane, she does it for me, tugging the white fabric down, baring my shoulder. She reaches up, pulling out my ponytail holder and mussing up my hair, and then takes two steps back, smiling. “Perfect.”
And then she raises her phone and snaps a picture.
She takes a goddamn picture!
The moment she does it, I feel as though I can’t catch my breath—the store is suddenly too small, the outfit too tight. I’m on the verge of panicking when Stacey walks over, looking over Becca’s shoulder, checking out the picture. “Holy shit, girl, you look hot. Like smoking hot.”
My brows furrow. I do?
I step toward them, snagging the phone out of Becca’s hand, scanning over the image. My lips part. I look … sexy … carefree. I look … like a sex goddess disguised as a nurse.
Becca takes her phone back, and starts snapping more pictures, making me pose, and sit, and bend over. I listen to all her commands, too stunned at the image I saw to protest.
She must take at least twenty pictures before she shoots me a wide smile. “Go try on something else.”
And I do, disappearing back into the dressing room.
****
Four hours later, I’m sitting on my bed, knees pulled up to my chest, flipping through the stack of pictures Becca took of me, modeling an obscene number of costumes and lingerie, when my phone rings. Setting down the photos, I snatch it up, glancing at the screen to see Joshua’s number. Smiling, I answer it, laying down on my back as I wait out the recording and accept the call.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, as soon as the call connects. “What’s good?”
I smile. “Hey, you.”
“How was your day?”
His question causes an awkward laugh to spill from my lips. “It was … interesting.”
He’s silent for a moment, most likely waiting for me to elaborate. When I say nothing more, he presses, “Interesting?”
“Yes,” I confirm, laughing again. “Interesting.”
He laughs lightly. “Are you going to fill me in, baby girl?”
“Well,” I say, hesitating for a moment. “I worked out with Becca and in the middle of the workout I received a text message from Richard that made me feel like shit. Then, I went to a sex toy store, bought a crap load of toys and sexy outfits, and Becca took a crap load of sexy photos while I tried everything on.”
He’s silent for a beat. “What did the text message say?”
“Seriously?” I ask, giggling. “Out of everything, that’s what you focus on?”
“Yeah, beautiful,” he says. “What did it say?”
“It said that I should come and meet you in person, that once you see me, I’ll be out of your system.” My voice cracks on the words, and tears sting my eyes as I try to hold back the hurt and anger and fear that’s filling me up, threatening to drown me.
The line is stone cold silent for a second before his quiet voice comes through. “What the fuck? Why would he think that?”
“Because …” I stall, letting out another awkward laugh.
Joshua lets out a long sigh. “Don’t shut down on me, baby girl. There’s no need to feel awkward. Not with me. Tell me why he’d text you that bullshit?”
“I’m …” I hesitate, not sure I want to answer that, but holding my breath, I do it anyway. “Because I’m overweight.”
“You don’t look overweight in your photos,” he says. “You look curvy and sexy as fuck.”
“Well, I am. I’ve lost a lot, but I still have more to go.”
“How much do you weigh?” He sounds confused.
My stomach is in knots. “Does it matter?”
“Nope, just curious,” he says, and his voice … his voice sounds genuine.
The moment he says it, a smile lights up my face. “You’re pretty awesome, you know that, right?”
“I think you’re pretty awesome, too,” he says. “So when are you coming to see me?”
“Does two weeks give you enough time to get me approved for a visit?”
“Yeah, it does.”
“Okay, let me just check my calendar.” Putting him on speaker phone, I tap on my calendar, pulling it up and scanning through my deadlines. “How about I come on October ninth and tenth? It’s a Friday and Saturday.”
“Sounds perfect,” he says. “Do I get to see the sexy pictures?”
I laugh sharply, my body heating at his words. How does he do that, melting my nerves away with just a few words? “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Because no one’s going to see them,” I say on a laugh. “Ever.”
“One day you’ll be sending me sexy pictures, beautiful,” he says confidently. “You’ll be doing it because you want to, without me asking, and it’ll give you a thrill doing it. I promise you that.”
“I … uh … I …” I’m not sure how to respond to that. I start stammering and stuttering, my face heating and flushing. Oh God, I feel like such a damn fool. I guess my nerves aren’t completely gone after all.
He laughs, genuinely amused. “I fucking love how shy you are. You’re perfect, you know that? All sweet and innocent. I love that about you.”
“Really?” I ask disbelievingly, because I honestly can’t believe someone like him would want anything to do with a shy and innocent girl like me.
“Really,” he confirms, and then pauses for a beat. “Now tell me about your new toys.”
10
Problem Areas and Fat Arms
I’m sweating.
Full on, shirt staining, hair soaking, sweating.
It’s not pretty.
So much for this whole working out thing getting easier as time goes on. I’ve reverted back months to the can’t catch my breath, dripping wet fat girl trying to lose weight.
I glance at my timer. Ten minutes and thirteen … no, twelve seconds to go.
Shit. My legs aren’t going to make it and my ass … oh my God, my ass is on fire. Squats suck. They suck so hard.
It’s a little after three o’clock in the afternoon, and I’ve been at my legs work-out for nearly fifty minutes. I probably shouldn’t even be doing it today, not with the crazy list of things I need to get done before taking the trip to Pennsylvania tomorrow, but my nerves are shot, and I thought the work-out might calm me.
It hasn’t.
With every goddamn squat I do, I add another two items to the list. Most important so far: a doctor’s appointment and finding a wireless bra that will go through the metal detector at the prison.
“You’re doing squats again.”
The voice startles me so much that I jump, yelping, and nearly drop the dumbbells. Turning to the stairs, I see Richard standing there, his dark blonde hair mussed, dressed in track pants and a tee.
“Shit you scared me,” I mumble, turning back around and adjusting my stance. “When did you get back?”
“Ten minutes ago,” he says. “Don’t you have packing to do?”
“Yeah.” I squat down, slowly standing back up. “I’m almost done, though.”
He lets out a chuckle, the sound grating. “So, you’re really going to go.”
“Yes, I am.”
Richard strolls through the basement then, adjusts the weight bench to an inclined position, and sits down, before reaching for the forty-pound dumbbells. “When are you coming back again?”
“I’ll be back Sunday.”
He nods, saying nothing further as he begins a set of incline presses. He’s watching me, smirking, looking as though he’s trying hard not to laugh as I squat, and squat, and squat.
My timer buzzes—finally. I go to my phone, setting it for a new ten-minute session, before swapping my twenty pound dumbbells for tens, and then I lunge, and I lunge, and I lunge some more.
My workout becomes awkward. I want to jump out of my own skin. I don’t know what to say, or what to do. I feel as though I barely know the man anymore. He watches me, his face expressionless. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I hate the feeling of his eyes on me while I’m working out.
It’s uncomfortable.
It’s unnerving.
It’s …
“Why don’t you work on your problem areas like those fat arms?”
His question freezes me and my hand weights clatter to the floor as my gaze snaps to his, taking in his hard, compassionless expression as he presses out another rep.
“What did you just say?”
He merely shrugs. “You’re always doing squats and lunges, but it’s those arms you need to work on.”
The nonchalance of his voice twists my stomach up in knots. Anger boils in my veins.
I glare at him.
And glare at him.
And then glare at him some more.
It’s not Richard’s fault that I’m fat. It’s nobody’s fault but my own that I gained the weight, that I couldn’t find a healthier way to deal with the stress and depression, but that doesn’t give him the right to talk to me the way he does.
“I worked on arms yesterday,” I mutter eventually, somehow managing to hide the sharp pain his words cause me. “It’s really not my fault you only ever show up on leg days.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Some of us have to work, Vic.”
A moment of silence and more anger simmers, masking the pain spreading through my chest. “It’s too bad you still don’t see what I do as work. Maybe if you did, maybe if you supported my career even a little, we wouldn’t be where we are now.”
He lets out a deep sigh. “I’ve always supported your writing.”
I laugh once. “Oh, yeah? Name one of my books, any one of them.”
More silence.
I’m dumbfounded. I don’t even know what to think. Twenty-three published books and the man can’t even name one. I swallow thickly, pushing down my feelings.
“That’s what I thought.” Carefully, I pick up the weights and place them on the rack, before picking up my phone and turning off the timer. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment.”
I walk upstairs, leaving him there. I shower and dress, somehow managing not to let the tears fall. I grab my purse from my office before I head out the door. Richard is still in the basement when I leave and I don’t bother to tell him that I’m going.
Getting in the car, I glance at the clock as I start it up. I still have an hour before my appointment but not enough time to go bra shopping. So I head over to the post office, hoping there may be a new letter from Joshua, because I sure as hell could use something to smile about right now.
Sure enough, there’s a letter sitting in my post box, along with a delivery slip. I head up to the counter, collecting the package, not even bothering to look at it before rushing out to my car and tearing into the letter.
October 1, 2015
Smile, you’re beautiful!
Only nine more days until I finally get to see your sexy ass. I’m so fucking excited. I feel like I’ve known you all my life, but I can’t stop thinking about the moment when I get to hold you in my arms, hug and kiss you. It’s going to be epic, I can feel it.
So what are you thinking about, my beautiful angel? Me? Well, I’m thinking about you. I’m always thinking about you, twenty-four-seven. I was in a pretty dark place when you started writing me, but you’ve made my life brighter. I don’t think you really get this, but you truly are an angel to me. You’ve made me happy even while I’m stuck behind these fences. You’ve brought light back into my world, and I’m so fucking thankful for that.
Please know that I see you for you, I appreciate you for you, and I’m never letting you go.
I hope that doesn’t freak you out, if it does, I’m sorry, but it’s true. You’re too precious to let slip away.
So I’m really hoping I timed this letter right. If I did, then today you should have also received a package from my parents. I hope you don’t mind that I gave them your address. It was just a lot easier to have them send the present I had made for you and fill out all those customs forms. Mailing stuff to Canada is harder than I thought it would be.
Anyway, did you get the teddy bear I had made for you? I hope you did and you like it. One of the guys here makes them. The JV on the chest is for me and you, and the guy who made it said he made a little backpack for it with a heart on it. I didn’t get to see it before it was mailed. Could you send me a picture of you with it?
I was talking about you with my mom today. I talk about you a lot. She said she noticed a difference in me since I started talking to you. Have you noticed it? She said I’m calmer. I feel calmer. It’s your voice, I think. It’s soothing.
I wonder what it’s going to be like when we kiss for the first time. I think it’ll be electric, but I’m nervous to be honest. I haven’t kissed a woman in years, and I’m not sure if I’m going to be good at it anymore. What about you? Are you nervous?
I can’t believe we’ve only been writing and talking for a little over three months now. Some days it feels like I’ve always known you. I wish I could talk to you right now, but you’re busy editing your next book. I’m so fucking excited to read this one. I can’t wait for you to send me a copy. Can I get the very first one? I think that would be so cool to have the first printed copy. If not, no worries. Just thought it couldn’t hurt to ask.
Did I tell you my sister is p
rego? I’m so excited for her. It’ll be her third kid. Sucks that I won’t get to be there when it’s born, though. Still, it’s exciting.
Well, it’s lunch time here, so I’ve got to go. Know that you are beautiful and smart and sexy, and I’m so fucking grateful to have you in my life. I can’t wait to finally meet you even though it feels like I’ve known you all my life.
Yours always,
Joshua
Carefully, I fold the letter, placing it back in the envelope, before turning to the box. I try to open it, but there’s so much tape keeping it closed that I end up having to stab it with my keys a few times before I make any headway.
And then—finally—I get the box open.
I tear into it, excited to see the teddy bear. Pulling it out, I let out a little gasping squeal. It’s purple. Purple. The bear is knitted, made with a soft wool. So cool. I can’t believe another inmate actually made it.
And it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, and Jesus, that tiny backpack is awesome.
I’m not sure how long I stare at it, checking out the details in the stitching, when I remember about my appointment. Reluctantly, I put the bear back into the box, and start up my car.
I go to the doctor, refill my birth control pills, and then I head to the mall, on the hunt for a wireless bra, which is a surprisingly challenging task. It takes me three stores and at least twenty bras before I finally find one that’s somewhat comfortable. I’m in the fitting room, about to take the bra off, when my phone rings.
Pulling it out of my purse, I glance at the screen.
Joshua.
I answer it, accepting the call.
“My beautiful angel,” he says, his voice, light and happy. “I can’t wait to see you. Only two more days.”
“Hey, you,” I say, forcing a smile, my mind—unfortunately—still on my fat arms. “Thank you so much for the bear and letter. I love them both, so freakin’ much.”
“I’m glad you like them.” He’s silent for a moment. “You okay, baby girl? Your voice sounds a little off.”
If I Could Do It Again Page 8
