Big Beautiful Little (3 page)

Lance turned his attention away from his friend at the mention of his ex-girlfriend. He could talk about it now, but for a long time the breakup had been a touchy subject.

“Well, it didn’t matter what I wanted. Katrina did go, didn’t she?” Lance said. “I’m not the kind to force a woman if she doesn’t want what I have to offer.”

“Maybe she just outgrew it,” Trey said. “I mean, she was kind of young when you met, and sometimes it seemed like you were more like her daddy than her boyfriend.”

If you only knew, friend…

“But what about this girl who just took off?” Trey continued, turning the subject away from Lance’s ex. “Did you even get her name?”

“Yeah, Tiffany. A cute name—cute and soft. Like her.”

“Damn.” Trey drained the rest of his drink and stood. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think if that girl comes back in, you need to make sure you set up a date.” Trey winked as a wide grin split his handsome face. “I know you, Lance. Once you get an idea of what you want, you don’t let go until you get it. I can tell you aren’t going to have a moment’s peace until you do.”

“Well, I kind of doubt she’s coming back.” Lance rose from the sofa and effortlessly crumpled his drink can in his fist before tossing it into the recycling bin. He could hear the door to the gym opening. Duty called, and Trey had to leave for his shift on the police force anyway.

Up front, Lance found two new potential clients—blondes with crop tops that showed off their sculpted abs, and skintight workout pants that molded their firm bottoms like a second skin. They also wore faces coated in makeup. Lance knew their type; these were women who worked out
before
they came to the gym. For them, the gym wasn’t a place to get fit, but a hook-up club. He tried not to show his distaste as he welcomed them to Summit Fitness.

“Do you do Cross Fit here?” The blonde to the left asked, leaning to tie a shoe that didn’t need to be tied as she made the inquiry. Her crop top gaped a bit, revealing very ample—and very fake—cleavage.

“Yes,” he said. “Cross Fit, Pilates… we also have spinning classes, aerobics…”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” said the other blonde, flipping her hair. “So, uh, what’s your favorite?”

“I’m the owner, ma’am,” Lance said. “I don’t play favorites. All the programs here are good. If you’d like a tour…”

“The
owner?
” The blonde who’d just flashed her cleavage gave him a dazzling veneered smile. “So you probably have a lot of free time, huh? Jenna and I just moved here and we’re looking for someone to show us around. Any chance the gym tour can extend to after hours?” She batted her fake lashes. “We could make it worth your while.”

“No, ma’am,” he said, swallowing his distaste as he mentally juxtaposed Tiffany’s sweet shyness with this bold flirtation. “My schedule is pretty full the rest of the day. For the rest of the week, for that matter.”

“Oh.” The blondes said the word in unison, but then scanned the gym, their gaze falling on several other prospective targets working out on nearby weight equipment.

“Well, whatevs,” said the shorter of the two. “We really don’t need a tour. Just show us what we have to do to sign up.”

Thirty minutes later, Lance pocketed checks from each of them for gold memberships to Summit Fitness and went to file the day’s applications. When he came to Tiffany’s unfinished one, he stopped. She’d filled out her name, address, and telephone number before she fled. He noticed something else then as well. Her gym bag. She’d left it behind when she’d rushed out.

It’s unethical,
he told himself. He looked down at the application. Maybe it wasn’t. He owed her an explanation, or an apology. Or maybe she owed him one for suggesting that he was the kind of person who would flatter women to get their business.

He stared down at her phone number. He’d call her, Lance decided. He’d call Tiffany Barlow and straighten all this out. And then maybe he’d get to see her again.

Chapter Three: Mixed Signals

The day that Tiffany had picked to turn over a new leaf was turning out to be a complete bust.

She’d gotten up that morning excited about taking another step along the path of self-improvement that began when she’d decided to get over Nick and move to Seattle.

First on that list: Stop procrastinating. So she’d picked up the newspaper and found the ad for the gym that she’d seen the day before. There it was, on 4A, and she’d felt proud for clipping it out. She also clipped a coupon for the organic market on the corner. Two more goals on her list were about to be ticked off—join a gym and shop organic.

Then she’d worked on her third item—be more assertive—by standing up to Nick, who’d called to ask if she could make the car payment. That had been a little more difficult. A little part of her still melted at the sound of his voice. Whenever he said, “Hey, Tiff,” with that silky Texas drawl, she could almost forget that this was the man who’d dumped her for her best friend.

She’d tried to take the high road after they left by letting him keep the car she wouldn’t need in Seattle on the condition that he assume the loan. That still hadn’t happened, but he’d been making cash payments directly at the finance company. But recently those had stopped.

He’d apologized again for not assuming the loan. It would have to wait until next month, he’d said; he was running into a cash flow problem and needed to see if Tiffany could catch this month’s payment. Again. He’d pay her back the following month, when he assumed the loan.

This time, Tiffany had told him no. Money was tight for her, too, and a deal was a deal.

“If you want to be a bitch about it, fine,” he said. “Just remember, it’s your credit.”

“Nick, you were the one who left,” she said. “And you’re the one with the promotion and the raise. So why can’t you just fulfill your obligation and pay the loan like you promised?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Nick had hissed. “And there’s no need to be a cunt just because you’re still jealous of Ruth Anne.”

The spite in his voice reopened old hurts. Sure, when they were together Nick had been thoughtless. But since breaking up with her, he’d become almost cruel. It was so like him to turn things back on Tiffany, even when he was wrong. But she had to push through. She wouldn’t let Nick use her, she’d told herself, and she wasn’t going to let him ruin her plan for self-improvement.

In retrospect, Nick didn’t have to. The arrogant gym owner had done that.

She’d felt utterly defeated when she’d arrived back home from the gym, her mood so foul that she’d uncharacteristically snapped at a neighborhood canvasing for a school fundraiser. Once inside, Tiffany had slammed her purse down on the coffee table, kicked off her shoes, changed her clothes, and headed to the kitchen. She stopped when she reached the refrigerator, telling herself that ice cream was not the answer. She could almost hear Dr. Coleman’s voice agreeing as she opened the freezer compartment.

“When we crave comfort and have no one to comfort us, we often comfort ourselves. For you, Tiffany, food is comfort. Eating is how you self-soothe. I know your weight is a real issue for you, but you’re never going to get a handle on it if you don’t break the cycle.”

She pushed the voice out of her head as she reached for the emergency pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey she’d stuffed behind the frozen broccoli and organic black bean burgers.

She was furious with herself for losing her cool, but angrier at the audacity of the gorgeous gym owner who thought he could compliment her into a membership. He was a typical jerk, the kind Dr. Coleman had warned her to avoid.

“There are people who will single out insecure people, Tiffany. They single them out, and they exploit them. Don’t be a victim, Tiffany. You need to empower yourself.”

Tiffany plopped down on the sofa, wrapped herself in a blanket, and was about to pry the lid off her ice cream when her cell phone buzzed inside her purse. With an irritated sigh, she reached in and clicked the answer button as she put it to her ear.

“Hello,” she said.

“Tiffany Barlow?”

“Yes?”

“I thought that was you. You have a very distinctive voice.” The speaker was male, his voice deep. Tiffany felt a knot of anger forming in her stomach. The nerve.

“This is Lance Sawyer, from Summit Fitness.”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” she said. “I recognize your voice, too.”

There was a pause. “I wanted to talk to you about today.”

Tiffany cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder as she opened the ice cream. “What about it?” She tried to sound cool, nonchalant.

“I owe you an apology,” he said. “It was highly unprofessional of me to compliment a potential client in my workplace, not to mention potentially unethical.”

Tiffany swallowed a spoonful of ice cream before putting the carton down and moving her phone to her other ear.

Dr. Coleman had told her to be more forceful, less afraid.
You’re an adult,
she’d said.
Take back your power
.

“So you’re apologizing to cover yourself because you’re afraid I’ll complain of harassment.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” The voice on the other end of the line had grown stern. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“Oh, right,” she said. “Well, fuck you, buddy. I don’t believe you. But here’s the good news. I’m not going to sue you, so there’s no need to cover your ass.”

She took a deep breath, wondering if shaking hands were a symptom of empowerment. On the other end of the line, Lance Sawyer had gone quiet. But she knew he was still there. She could
feel
him on the line.

“Where I come from, it’s rude people who need to cover their butts, young lady.”

“Young lady?” Tiffany sat up. “Just who do you think you’re talking to?” Her tone was as indignant as it could be for someone with a naturally childish voice.

“Obviously a young lady determined to think the worst of someone trying his best to clear up a misunderstanding.”

“Mr. Sawyer,” she said. “You don’t know me well enough to make that kind of assumption. And frankly, I’m not interested in hearing anything else you have to say.”

“Tiffany,” she heard him try again. His tone was not solicitous now, but firm. “Listen.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said. “This conversation is over.”

She hung up on him, and for several long moments sat staring at the phone, but not because she was angry. His voice, his tone, how he’d called her young lady… it was as if he were mocking her all over again. She subconsciously squeezed her legs together, trying to deny the fact that after all this time just the thought of a dominant man could soak her panties.

She closed her eyes, remembering Dr. Coleman’s advice.

“Tiffany, this need you have… this secret desire—as you put it—for a nurturing, dominant male authority. I think it is at the root of your problem. It allowed you to trust Nick, allowed him to hurt you. That kind of mindset may have been okay a hundred years ago, but times have changed. You need to stand up for yourself, or else you’re just going to make yourself vulnerable to any man who says the right thing.”

“No, I’m not,” Tiffany said aloud. “Not again. My days of needing that are over. I’m strong.” She picked up the carton of ice cream and dug in. “I’m strong. I can take care of myself.”

The mantra didn’t make her feel any better. Neither—she realized—did the ice cream. As she sat staring at the empty container a half an hour later, she had the sinking feeling that moving to Seattle wasn’t going to change anything if she couldn’t turn her mantras into action. How much had she paid Dr. Coleman? And for what? She was still fat, still insecure. The only thing that had changed for her was her address.

Well, she wasn’t going to let it get her down. She was going to take control of her life. She was going to get mentally and physically strong. She would be one of those confident women who wore Lycra pants and jogged two miles before breakfast.

She picked up the newspaper from the coffee table, deciding that her mistake had been choosing a regular gym. What she needed was one specializing in women, some place like Curves. She was sure she’d seen a women-only gym advertised, and moments later she was circling one of the ads when she heard a knock at the door.

Silently cursing the kids and their neighborhood fundraisers, Tiffany rose and walked to the door, preparing to unload on whatever poor kid was standing on her stoop. But her voice died in her throat as she stood staring stupidly at a completely unexpected visitor.

Lance Sawyer had obviously changed before coming over. He was wearing blue jeans that hugged his thin hips, and a black t-shirt that clung to a chest that was well-defined without the excessive exaggeration of some men who spent all their time in the gym. He’d combed his black hair, too, and a lock of it fell across his forehead. He was staring at her, and this time she noticed his eyes. Gray-green.

He was holding something and lifted it up. She realized then that she’d left her gym bag.

“I figured you might want this back, and since I was in the neighborhood.”

Tiffany leaned against the doorframe.

“You were just driving by?”

He paused. “No. I won’t lie. I didn’t feel like our phone conversation was productive. So I got your address off the application and drove over.”

Tiffany regarded him silently for a moment. He was unbelievably handsome—hardly the stalker type. And even if he were, she was hardly the type of woman a man like him would stalk. She debated sending him away, but then felt a stirring of guilt. He seemed very determined to make amends.

She slowly stepped away from the door. “Do you want to come in?”

“Thanks.” He walked past her. She bit her lip as she shut the door and looked at him as he passed. He looked just as good from the back; his perfect physique made her feel even more imperfect. She hugged her arms around her torso, thankful for the knit blue maxi skirt, soft beige shell and oversized sweater she wore. It was the outfit she always wore when she was upset or stressed or sad. Soft clothes that enveloped her like a hug, yards of fabric that billowed and hid her. Clothes she could hide in.