I touch my face and smile. “Maybe.”
“So, I guess you’re not in the mood to share everything, but I have to know—how did you leave off? Do you think you’ll see him again?”
The million-dollar question. I thought about it on the cab ride home last night, before I drifted off to sleep at home, and as soon as I woke up this morning. The answer’s been the same every single time. Without a doubt. “No.”
“No? Why? You did say four times, didn’t you? That means he was good in bed and he was totally hot, so what gives, huh? Is his dick crooked or something?”
“Oh my God, Tatum! No! His dick is perfectly straight and just the right size.”
“Oh, so he was tiny?” She whispers the last word as if Hudson might hear her from across town.
“How do you get that from what I said?” See? Relentless. “If you must know, he was very well endowed both in length and girth, okay?”
“So? Then why don’t you want to see him again?”
And that’s the gazillion dollar question. The other one I’ve been thinking long and hard about. After debating, I’ve come up with an answer that I’m happy with whether or not Tatum agrees. “Because I’m better than that. And before you question me, let me explain.”
Tatum slouches against the couch cushions with a look of confusion tainting her features. With an outstretched palm and a nod of her head she gestures for me to continue.
“I feel like a new person, Tay. It took hard work to get here, and while I absolutely floooooved the attention Hudson shelled out, I can’t feel good for a guy. I have to feel good for me.” What my friends don’t know is that in addition to working out my body I’ve been working out my soul. I decide to confess what I haven’t told anyone. “There was this day, about two months back, when I had to literally force my boss to keep me late so that I couldn’t get to the fast food joint before they closed.”
“Oh, Len. Why didn’t you call me? You know I would’ve—”
“Of course, I know, but that’s not the point. I didn’t want to rely on you or Ash or anyone. I wanted to win the battle over my sucky willpower.”
Tatum places a hand on my arm and smiles, allowing me to continue. “That night, once it was safe to walk the streets without the temptation of Mickey Dee’s or the sort, I went home and did some research. You’re going to shit yourself, but I ordered some of those Joel Osteen books Ashley always talks about.”
“You didn’t?” You’d think I admitted to hooking myself the way Tatum’s mouth falls open.
“I did! And you know what, Preacher Man is pretty amazing! I learned so much about motivation and self worth from those books and now I know that guys like Hudson can’t make me happy. It’s up to me to make me happy. I looked past the holy sermons about Jesus, The Lord our Savior, and grasped the deeper meaning.”
“Being?” She furrows her brows but her eyes twinkle with understanding.
“I don’t need a guy to make me feel thin and pretty anymore. I may not be perfect now and I probably never will be, but I’m the best me I can be. Hudson certainly put a little boogie in my booty and I’ll always remember him for that, but just because one hot guy gave me attention doesn’t mean I have to marry the dude, either. Maybe this is the beginning of a new era, you know what I mean?”
“The slutty, one-night-stand era?” she muses with a wink.
“Something like that.” I laugh.
She tackle hugs me and almost knocks the towel off my head. “I’m so proud of you!”
“Can’t. Breathe. Over. Here.” I manage to get out.
Tatum backs up and stares. “You’ve managed to lose and gain all at the same time.”
“Yup! Imagine that?”
“No, imagine the look on Mr. Martini’s face when you don’t accept a second date.”
Oh, yeah. That. “Well, we did exchange numbers, so you never know if we’ll cross paths again, but for now—I want to learn to love me before I share that love with someone else.”
“Wow!” Are those tears in my best friend’s eyes? Why, yes. I think they are.
“Don’t you dare cry!” I get up from the couch and undo the towel, my wet hair falling around my shoulders.
“I can’t help it,” she whines. “I’ve been telling you this for so long and to finally hear you say it yourself—I don’t know. I just feel . . . I’m so happy for you!”
“I’m happy for me, too,” I admit, honestly believing that statement to the core.
The rest of the day leaves me feeling just as hopeful and energetic. After Tatum leaves, I head over to the farmer’s market for fresh fruits and veggies so I can stick with the program. I don’t cringe at the sight of a carrot the way I used to, and broccoli is no longer a dirty word. When I’m done unpacking the groceries and tidying up my apartment, I head over to my parents’ for dinner and ready myself for more Ashley and Reynold wedding talk. Again, this was something that used to make my stomach coil until the point of agony. But now, this new outlook has me seeing things in a different light. While I’m no longer fixated on a weight loss goal, I’m one hundred percent focused on my happiness goal. As my new friend Joel would say, if you want to be happy, you have to be happy on purpose.
If Ashley eyes me with that look one more time, I might just smack the wily smirk off her face. I texted her on the way to Mom and Dad’s and begged her not to mention the Hudson situation. I have nothing to be ashamed of, but I also don’t need my parents or my brother knowing about my love life, or lack thereof.
She prodded with a few questions and I summed up my answer the way I did with Tatum at my apartment. With my two closest friends content and my unfuckwithable level through the roof, I decide that this is the time to back Mom up and express our concerns about the destination wedding thing.
“Guys,” I interrupt Reynold and Dad’s baseball banter. Everyone’s attention darts my way and I gulp down the fear of pissing Ashley off. After all, if anyone has a right to be pissed it should be me. Granted, the result was spectacular, but she was the one who took it upon herself to approach Hudson and get the ball rolling—without my permission.
“What’s up?” Reynold asks, clueless.
Ashley still has the smirk on her face, and Mom is waiting on bated breath because I have a feeling she knows what I’m about to do. Please don’t let this be a shit show. I’ve never argued with Ashley and I don’t want a reason for her to dislike me.
I shoo away the fluttering of nerves and just spit it out. “So, I’ve been doing some digging around—well, mainly some eavesdropping during my sessions with the brides—and I have a list of some really unique and trendy wedding hot spots.”
Ashley scrunches her nose and tilts her head. Shit. I overstepped, didn’t I? Insecurities knock my ballsy confidence back down to Smurf size. “But you know Rey and I have been thinking of Punta Cana.”
“I know, but—” I tread lightly and evaluate everyone else’s reactions. Reynold seems interested, Mom is cheering me on with a megawatt smile and big, round eyes, and Dad’s still stuffing his face. Ashley, on the other hand, is unreadable. “Ash, before you shoot it down, can I show you some of these?”
I excuse myself from the table to grab the binder I prepared just for today. I used to envision an elaborate wedding for myself one day, and seeing as that’s not on the horizon for me just yet, I’m happy to share the wedding planning wealth with Ashley.
To my surprise, when I scoot between my brother and his bride-to-be, their attention can’t be stolen away from the pages upon pages of swatches, menus, venue details, and honeymoon spots. Ashley becomes overly excited when she notices the page I’ve dedicated to the winery she and Reynold visited last year for their anniversary. “They do weddings? How did we not know this, babe?”
With the two of them enthralled in the binder, Mom creeps up behind us and whispers a sneaky little thank you in my ear. That afternoon—besides eating the proper, non-gargantuan portion of Mom’s baked ziti and eggplant parm—I
feel a surge of accomplishment I haven’t experienced in a while. Ashley and Reynold decide to check out a few local spots and to not put all their eggs in the Punta Cana basket. Mom is over the moon excited that Nonna, Papa, and Aunt Millie might actually get to attend the festivities, and me—I have a new pep in my step that makes me feel unstoppable.
EVER GET THIS FEELING WHEN you first pop your eyes open in the morning that your day is destined to be brilliant?
Well, I’ve had that uplifting positivity infused through my veins all week. And the destiny gods have most certainly delivered with good juju. Call it a fluke, or just a streak of good fortune, but I’m calling it it’s about damn time Leni sees the light.
On Monday, I got the call that our team at the studio was requested on a photo shoot for an up and coming swimsuit line. To say I was thrilled is an understatement. Something like this is a huge deal in the makeup world. It means my name is getting out there—somehow. And my name on anyone’s lips means great things in this industry. Doors could open, opportunities might arise, shit could get real. All pluses in my book.
Then came Tuesday, when two of my regular clients gave me rather large, unexpected tips. One loved the risk I took with her eyebrow shaping (she’d been sporting the Brooke Shields 80’s look a little too long). The other was simply in a good mood and felt like paying it forward. Thank you very much, have a nice day.
When Wednesday rolled around, I hopped on the scale for weigh-in day and found I’d lost another two pounds. There were weeks I’d lost more, less, and even zilch. But I hadn’t gained since I started and to me that’s winning. And I’m not talking about the Charlie Sheen type of winning. The continuous dropping of pounds means I’ve not only stuck to a plan but finally figured out how to change my lifestyle. Any health nut will tell you it’s not a diet, it’s a lifestyle and I’ve become a firm believer in that philosophy. Like I said, I’ve seen the light.
Yesterday my luck continued when Hudson texted me. It’s becoming a normal thing and quite honestly, I enjoy the attention, but I’ve yet to accept his offer for another “date.” One, because he’s made it clear that his definition of date is more like a booty call, and two, because, well, like I told Tatum, I’m learning to love me and it ain’t happening overnight.
I’ve definitely become more comfortable in my own skin, and part of that is because of what I see in the mirror, but the rest of it can only be explained as a come to Jesus moment. For once in my life, I get it. Looks aren’t everything. Happiness comes in other shapes and forms, and I’m not talking about that apple or pear shape analysis of the body that society makes you obsess over. I’m a cool chick and people dig me. That’s happiness; the only kind I should’ve ever cared about. So, I’m rolling with it and stringing Hudson along until he either moves on to the next curvy chica or accepts that the only thing I can offer him right now is a discounted eyebrow threading or my friendship.
Today feels no different as I step out onto my favorite path and turn up the volume to a Milky Chance tune that I adore. Stolen Dance echoes through my ears and gets my heart pumping and my arms swinging in time to the catchy beat. I always find myself mouthing the words to my favorites, and wonder if people see me and think I’m cuckoo. I honestly don’t care because I’m in my zone and as Starship would say, nothing’s gonna stop me now.
The air is crisp and the leaves have started to fall, Mother Nature’s way of readying herself to welcome the season I love best. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of dewy, fresh-cut grass and damp, musty tree bark. And then it hits me—BAM! Literally.
Holy shit that hurt! The unexpected impact causes me to fall flat on my ass. The initial pain overwhelms my skull. The world is spinning. I cover my eyes to rub the throbbing sensation away. Where did that tree come from? My vision is blurry so I blink to clear it, but it remains unfocused, further confusing me. “Mother fu—” I start to whine, but I’m stopped by a helping hand at my shoulder.
“Oh my God! Are you okay?”
I can’t make out the person or the voice because my eyes are busy scrambling around in my head. I try to look up, but something wet is dripping down my face and over one of my already clouded eyes. “Shit! Is that blood?”
“Yes, you’re bleeding. We need to get you to the hospital. Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”
No! I can’t even tell who the hell I’m talking to! “Um,” I squint and try to make his fingers out, but no dice. “No,” I wince, suddenly feeling queasy. Before I can control it, I’m yacking all over this helpful strangers running shoes. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry.” I don’t even know if he can make it out through all the puking, but guess what I do make out. His shoes. As in his. Yup! My valiant knight in shining Under Armor is none other than the Mr. Fancy Pants.
“Holy shit!” I slap my hand against my forehead and with that little bit of pressure against my already bruised head, I feel myself falling, falling, falling . . .
“Where am I?” I ask, looking around the room. It’s a hospital room, and I’m wearing a green cotton gown—with my bare ass exposed—laid up in a hospital bed. The harsh reality startles me and I jerk upright to take in my surroundings.
“Whoa! Relax. You might pass out again.” I didn’t know I had company until he spoke and now that he has, I wish I would collapse unconscious again.
“Oh, hi,” I whisper, wishing I could disappear into thin air. “What are you—why did you—” I don’t even know where to begin. My words are a muttered mess and my brain literally hurts.
Mr. Fancy Pants approaches me with a gleaming smile. And dimples. The dude has not one, but two insanely adorable indents in his scruff peppered cheeks. “I’m Lane. It’s nice to actually meet you.” His voice is soft and gravely. Exactly as I imagined it would be. You know, like when I daydreamed about him whispering sweet nothings in my ear. And Lane. Isn’t that something. Leni and Lane sounds so cute in comparison to Leni and Mr. Fancy Pants.
“Hi, Lane.” I finally drag my thoughts out of La La Land and back to the gorgeous specimen who saved me from the evil tree and who allowed me to—oh my God, I puked on his shoes. “Crap! I am so, so sorry I hurled on you.” I bring my hand up to my eyes to hide my embarrassment.
Lane laughs—a deep, throaty chuckle that sends tingles to my garden—and shakes his head. “No worries. I had to get a new pair soon anyway.”
“Yeah, you probably wore them out with all that running you do, eh?” Eh? What, am I Canadian? And way to point out the obvious. Stalker much?
“No more than you.” He smiles again, staring a bit too long at the spot above my left brow that won’t stop throbbing.
I should ask him what he’s looking at, but my mind can’t detach itself from what he just said. “You’ve seen me running?” I ask, squeaking like a shy little mouse.
His face lights up with recognition and a glint of humor in his green eyes. “Of course I see you. In fact, you’ve got quite a reputation, you know?”
“Huh? I do?” Now I really know I did a number on my head because I must be confusing his words.
He pulls the chair beside my bed closer to me, sitting and making himself comfortable. “Yeah, the other runners call you Karaoke Girl.”
Other runners? Is there some secret club? And Karaoke Girl? What in the ever loving—?
Sensing my confusion, he answers, “You sing out loud to your music. It’s cute.”
“What?” Okay, I’m dreaming, right? Or I’m dead. That’s it! When I hit that tree I died and went to heaven and now God is allowing me to live out every single one of my fantasies because he cursed me with the chubby gene and I deserve everlasting happiness in the afterlife.
He leans back in the chair, flashing another bright, warm smile. “Why do you look so shocked? We find it rather entertaining.”
“We?” I was once starved for attention. Now that it seems all eyes are on me, I take it back.
“The regulars.” He sniffs as if I should know what he’s talking abo
ut. When I shake my head in misunderstanding, he continues, “We’ve been rounding that track for the last few years and what started out as a hello every now and then turned into a sort of, I don’t know, common ground, I guess.”
Understandable. I get that comradery vibe in the park, too. Funny, though, since I never actually thought to talk to one of the regulars and I never witnessed Lane speaking to one, either.
“But I always see you alone.” Except of course that one time, with that one chick that I’d rather not bring to your attention since you haven’t brought her around again and I’m secretly hoping you broke up, if she was indeed your girlfriend. And now she’s moved on and you’re all sad and you’re here and you saved me and . . . will you marry me?
My thoughts trail off but Lane goes on. “Nah, not true.” He shrugs his muscular shoulders. “You and I just never seem to be on the same timetable, but after we pass each other I usually catch up with Ronnie or Saul. Other times it’s Jenny and Karen.”
“Huh,” I muse. “There’s a whole world of you people out there that I never knew about.”
“Don’t be crazy. You know who they are, too. Ronnie’s that guy with the four dogs. Saul is the red-headed dude with the dark shades. And Jenny and Karen are the twins. Karen usually has her jogger stroller. The little guy in there is her son, Liam. And Jenny—” He huffs before he can finish his thought, his voice lingering on her name. I bet she’s the girl I saw him with that time.
Instead of allowing him to reflect on this Jenny, I cut him off. “Well, I still feel like an outsider to your secret runner’s society. I don’t know jack about all of these regulars, but they all seem to know me, is that right?”
“They sure do!” His thick chest rises and falls with silent laughter.
“Hey! So, I’m some comedy act to all of you?” Madeline Moore, the perpetual butt of the joke.
Lane notices my embarrassment and reaches over to rest his hand on my arm. I almost pass out again from the gentle gesture. “Not at all. Like I said, it’s cute. And you have a really sweet voice.”
Moore To Love Page 6
