by Elise Faber
“You look pretty cute like that,” he said, smiling down at her. He squeezed her against him and ran his hand up and down her arm. “You definitely make me feel overdressed.” He set aside his spatula and pulled off his tie.
“Do you want to change?”
Hutch just shook his head. “Nah, this is almost ready. Want to get us something to drink? Glasses are above the dishwasher.”
“Sure. What would you like?” Charlie moved to the cabinet and retrieved two glasses.
Hutch used the edge of the spatula to cut the giant omelet down the middle. “It’s 1:00 a.m. and we’re having eggs. How about orange juice? It’s in the fridge.”
Most brands of orange juice were 120 calories per serving, so she poured Hutch a glass and filled her own with ice water.
When he turned around with two loaded plates and saw each glass, he just rolled his eyes. “Follow me,” he said, carrying both plates to the living room.
“We’re not eating in here?” she asked, looking back at the cute breakfast nook.
Hutch continued striding to the living room. “It’s 1:00 a.m. and we’re having eggs,” he echoed. “The only place to do that is on the couch.”
Charlie couldn’t argue with that, so she followed him and took a seat on one end of the old-but-comfy sofa.
“I’m guessing this is from your parents’ house?” she asked, nodding to the couch as he handed her a plate and fork.
A little bashful smile, so at odds with his size and beauty, claimed his face. It made his size and beauty that much more breathtaking. “It’s from our basement, which — in our house — is sacred space.”
“The basement?”
Hutch severed a bite of omelet and speared it with his fork. “Yeah, that’s the Man Cave. That’s where Dad and I have always watched football on Sundays. Dave joins us now.”
“Who’s Dave?” Charlie smiled at the contentment that shone through his eyes.
“My bro-in-law. Violet’s husband,” he said around a mouthful. Then he nodded to her. “Eat, woman.”
His order made her laugh, but she took a steaming bite of the omelet he’d made her all the same. And it was good. Really good. “Yum,” she muttered, coming alive to her own hunger.
“It’s not that great. You’re probably just half-starved,” he said, wolfing down another bite.
Charlie swallowed and cleared her throat. “First of all, anytime someone else makes it for you, food is pretty great,” she said, hoping he heard the gratitude in her voice as she helped herself again. “Secondly, why are you always on me about eating? What are you, a dietician or something?”
“Yes,” he said, completely straight-faced.
“What?” Charlie asked, nearly dropping her fork.
Hutch shrugged. “Well, I’m not registered, but I majored in human nutrition, and if I hadn’t gone pro, I would’ve taken the exam for my certification and maybe gone to grad school for my CNS.”
“No kidding?” She attacked the delicious omelet. No wonder he knew how to cook.
“Hand to God,” he said, raising his fork in a pledge. “So it’s my professional opinion that you don’t eat enough.”
Charlie felt her cheeks sting. She made herself take another bite, but she couldn’t taste it anymore, and she had to force it down her throat.
“Tell me what you’re thinking?” he asked gently. His evergreen eyes were so intent, she had to look down at her half-full plate.
“My weight’s always been an issue.”
“What do you mean?” He looked at her like she was speaking Icelandic. “To me, you look a good ten pounds under weight. I’m guessing you have less than fifteen percent body fat.”
Charlie just shook her head. “I could always run fast, even as a kid, but when I hit puberty, my body just…”
“Developed?” His eyes were wide and incredulous. Charlie set down her plate and sunk into the couch cushions. She wanted to disappear. “Wait. Don’t shut down, Charlie. Tell me. I want to know.”
Blushing furiously, Charlie grabbed a throw pillow and clutched it to her. “Maybe I don’t want to tell you if you’re just going to judge,” she leveled.
“Whoa,” Hutch said, raising his hands. “I’m not judging. I care. It’s not the same thing.”
She stared at him for a good ten seconds. Then she took the plunge. “When I was fifteen, I heard my coach tell one of his assistants that if my boobs got any bigger, I’d never be able to clear the hurdles.”
“Son of a bitch,” he hissed. His eyes flashed with a murderous light. All at once, he was an avenging angel again, and Charlie felt bad for any defensive player who’d have to face off with him in the fall.
“Anyway…” She sighed, almost overcome by the fever of her embarrassment. “…I started trying different diets, and when that didn’t work, I tried making myself throw up when I thought I ate too much—”
“Holy crap, Charlie.” Hutch’s hand reached across the couch and snagged hers. His face had softened, and it was all she could do not to crawl across the space that separated them and sink into his arms.
“Well, that didn’t last long,” she said, making herself tell him the rest. “The third or fourth time I did that, my mom caught me, and she freaked. She told my dad. We had the whole teen-intervention thing. They threatened to pull me off the track team. Yada yada…”
Hutch crooked a brow. “What’s yada yada? Did you get help?”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she stressed. “In order to stay on the team, I had to see a therapist — for like a year — and by then everybody chilled out because I’d figured out how to eat to stay lean but strong at the same time.”
Hutch didn’t look satisfied, but he rubbed her hand in his, still watching her. “Yeah, but…” His voice trailed off, and he seemed to consider his words. “…what did you weigh in college? Were you running and winning at this weight?”
Charlie thought about the last time she’d weighed in at practice. She’d gained a couple of pounds toward the end of track season, and her college coach had given her a pointed look. School was almost out; she was graduating; and she’d let her nutrition and training habits slide a little. But seeing the look in her coach’s eyes had scared the shit out of her. She’d wondered what would happen when she didn’t have a meet to train for.
“No,” she said simply. But even as she sat there, truth was dawning on her with a cold light.
“Charlie, what did you weigh when you were in competition?” he asked softly. “You’re like 5’6?”
“I’m 5’5,” she corrected. How could she not have seen this sooner? “I was 116 at my last weigh-in. Two pounds heavier than my usual weight.”
Hutch’s eyes focused on her body, hidden behind the pillow and the bulk of his clothes. He shook his head. “What do you weigh now?”
Charlie didn’t want to say it aloud, but she recognized that she had to, for her sake more than Hutch’s. “This morning I weighed 102.”
His eyes went wide. “Shit, Charlie.” He exhaled. “What happened?”
For a moment, Charlie could only shake her head. “I don’t know.” Her voice was just a squeak, and her eyes blurred with tears. She said she didn’t know, but that wasn’t entirely true. “When I graduated and stopped running with the team, I was so worried I’d just balloon up like most people do when they go to college. College for me was so structured. I did so much stuff with the team, and I trained all the time. I didn’t have to think about it too much.”
She caught a tear with the tip of her finger before it could fall and embarrass her, and the next thing she knew, Hutch had pulled her into him, his chest against her back, and he was wrapping his arms around her.
“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” he whispered, squeezing her to him. The sensation of being held in his arms, so strong and comforting, made her nearly come apart at the seams. But she rallied instead, shaking her head.
“No, I think I need to say this out lo
ud. Your questions made me realize I’ve let this sneak up on me. When the scale started dropping last summer, I was just relieved, and it happened slowly,” she said, understanding hitting her in waves. “I had to buy new clothes, but I was interning and interviewing, so I needed a new wardrobe anyway. It didn’t seem like a big deal.”
“Other than passing out Tuesday, what else’s been going on?”
Shit.
Charlie hadn’t had a period in three months. And since she hadn’t had sex in more than six, she hadn’t let it worry her. She looked down at her nails. Beneath her manicure, she knew they looked terrible. And there’d been more hair in the shower drain and in her hairbrush than there should be.
Shit.
“A few things,” she admitted.
“Have you been tired?” he asked.
“A little.”
“Skipped any periods?”
Charlie blushed. “Yes.”
“You know that means you’re losing bone and muscle, right?”
She sighed. “Well, I do now.” Humiliation began to eat at her, and she covered her face.
Hutch held her tighter. “Hey, it’s okay, baby… It’ll be okay,” he murmured. “You’re trying your best to be perfect. Only you don’t need to be perfect. You just need to be.”
Silent tears spilled from her eyes. “How do you know this?” she rasped. “How do you know I’m trying to be perfect?” Train. Study. Compete. Work. Charlie couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t striving to be perfect. A perfect athlete. A perfect student. A perfect employee. Thinking about it now, Charlie realized she feared making a mistake more than she feared cancer or rapists or loneliness.
How sad is that? Tears, raw and sudden, spilled from her eyes.
“Violet.”
Charlie turned around to face him, using her napkin to wipe her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Violet was a ballet dancer. Do you know how many ballerinas have eating disorders?” Hutch snorted. “It’s like a freakin’ prerequisite.”
Charlie pulled away. “I don’t have an eating disorder,” she said stonily.
Hutch opened his mouth to speak. Then he closed it. Charlie set her jaw and glared at him. He nodded diplomatically. “Fair enough. How about we call it…” Hutch deliberated for a moment, never taking his eyes from her as he did. “…a nutritional blind spot?”
Lucky for him, Charlie actually laughed. “That sounds a lot better.”
Hutch released a breath of relief. “Anyway, I watched my sister go through hell when she was a teenager. Anorexia nearly killed her, and she spent stints in two different facilities before she was out of the woods.”
Charlie bit her lip at the look of pain in his eyes. “Jesus, Hutch…”
He just nodded. “That’s what got me interested in nutrition, in helping people who are sick — whether with a disorder or chemo or diabetes — learn how to eat right and heal their bodies.”
Fear tightened around her throat. She swallowed hard and asked her question anyway. “Is that what you saw when you first saw me? Someone who need help?”
“What?!” His eyebrows shot to the ceiling. “Hell, no. I saw a hot girl who could outrun the life out of me. I didn’t start to worry about you until you passed out.”
“I didn’t pass out,” she denied again. “I never lost consciousness. I just got a little dizzy.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. Hutch moved quickly, leaning down and stealing a kiss before she could respond. “And I’m lucky you did or I never would’ve caught up with you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
HE LEANED IN again, more slowly this time, and waited for her to meet him halfway. She did, without hesitation, pressing her lips to his and anchoring herself against his broad chest. She kissed him once. Twice. A third time. Then she pulled back.
“You see right through me,” she confessed. He’d walked her through a jarring self-discovery, and now she wasn’t quite sure how to face him. Charlie decided she had nothing to lose in admitting as much. “It’s pretty embarrassing.”
Hutch’s eyebrows climbed in surprise.
“Oh, I think of the two of us, I’m the one who’s embarrassed himself the most, don’t you?”
“Uh… no?” she said, pulling a face.
He just laughed, and she felt his laugh vibrate through her hands still on his chest and up her arms. The gentle sound soothed the sting of her shame.
“I chased you for miles. I followed you home. I came back that night even after you sent me away. I sent you flowers when you told me you couldn’t see me anymore. I called and harassed you at work,” he said, counting off each offense on his fingers. “I stalked you at my own party, and then I locked you in the bathroom until you finally gave in to me. I’ve embarrassed myself seven different ways to get close to you. I’ve made a fool of myself, and I don’t even care.”
Charlie leaned back, tapping her bottom lip in mock contemplation. “That is pretty embarrassing.”
Hutch yanked her to him as she dissolved into laughter. He kissed her neck, murmuring, “Impossible… impossible woman” while she laughed. Hutch leaned back against the arm of the couch and took her with him, nuzzling her ear and burying his nose in her hair.
“You make me crazy,” he whispered. “I’ve never wanted to be with anyone this much.”
Her giggles evaporated, and she rubbed her lips along his collarbone. “Me, either.” It was the truth. With Hutch, she felt such a tension of urgency and peace that she couldn’t catch her balance. Half the time, she couldn’t even catch her breath.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, kissing down her neck again. “I’ve wanted you here since the moment you told me your name.”
“I like it here.” She sighed above him, loving the feel of his hard body beneath her, wanting more of it. Charlie pulled back again and gazed down into his eyes. His hair was coming loose, falling back on the arm of the couch, and she reached down and tugged at one liquid-gold lock. And then she found herself confessing again. “You make me feel things I’ve never felt before.”
His eyes went darker than she’d ever seen them. “Like what?”
He didn’t blink. And the beauty and power of his gaze both held and caressed her.
“You make me feel seen.”
“Charlie…” He breathed her name before sealing his mouth against hers again, and then he lifted her, cradling her in his arms. They were in his bedroom in five strides. He pulled back, panting. “I’m taking you in here so we don’t fall off the couch making out. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I do want to,” she murmured against the rough caress of his cheek.
He spilled them onto the bed, beaming with laughter in his voice. “Charlie, you blow my mind.”
Rolling on top of her, Hutch ran his fingers through her hair. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, gazing at her as though he couldn’t believe his eyes.
She reached up and dragged her fingers through his mane, freeing it once and for all from the slim hair tie. “I could look at you all night and still not get enough,” she admitted.
“Good, then you won’t make me turn off the light.”
Charlie glanced at the soft-lit lamp by his bedside that cast a pale golden light over the room. She couldn’t go back on her word now, but after their talk about weight and nutritional blind spots, she wondered if he’d still think she was beautiful when he saw what clothes kept hidden. Her modest breasts. Her jutting hipbones.
“Hey, now, why the nervous look?” he asked, drawing her chin back to him.
She wound her fingers through his hair and held on. “Well, I’m nervous now,” she conceded.
His eyes filled with mischief. “Oh, because I want to leave the light on?”
Charlie nodded.
Hutch scooted off until he lay on his side next to her, his head propped on his arm. He laid his other hand in the middle of her belly and just held it there, the warmth of it imprinting through the th
ick fabric of the hoodie.
“And you’re worried that if we leave the lights on, I’m going to somehow find you less attractive than I do right now? Is that right?”
She nodded again, but this time she bit down on a smile.
The fingers on her belly began tracing small, stationary circles.
“I see. Hmm… What to do…? What to do…?” He affected a frown of consternation as his fingers continued their slow orbits.
Muscles deep inside of her responded to their rotation in ways that Charlie hadn’t known they could.
“You see, baby, I want to unwrap you like a present, but maybe we have to take this one step at a time.”
With the next rotation of his fingers, the hem of the hoodie rose just a little, letting a sliver of her abdomen peek through. He traced it with his pinky, and shivers shook her from head to toe.
“Well, that’s certainly not hideous,” he said, gazing admiringly at the exposed flesh. “Better taste it just to be sure.”
He leaned over her and pressed his lips to the flat expanse of her belly before running the tip of his tongue across her.
“Hutch…” Her voice was so hoarse it sounded strange to her own ears.
“No, no.” He shook his head, his lips still touching her, his hair now tickling the skin of her waist. “We mustn’t rush these things.”
He pushed the hoodie up higher until her lower ribs met the light. “Well, well,” he murmured, kissing his way from her belly button to the apex of her ribs. “You, my dear Charlotte, have been to the beach recently, and you wear a bikini. I can tell because most people’s tummies are not the color of honey.”
Hutch let his tongue follow the outline of her rib cage. “And I’d bet my life savings that they aren’t nearly this sweet.”
Charlie swallowed, her mouth dry and her breath choppy. All the blood in her body seemed to be rushing south, and she reached for him, crumpling his collar. “Come up here,” she demanded.
Hutch just shook his head. “Not done. Not nearly done here, babe.” He traced his fingers under the waistband of the sweatshirt. “Let’s see what’s under here.”
His hand traveled beneath the bulky fabric and over the rise of her right breast, the nipple there already a taut, insistent little pebble.
