Fat Chance (32 page)

"I do, I'm just stupid," he says, looking into his lap. "I just got caught up, I guess, in having someone in my life who actually wanted me around, you know? You were my first experience with that, and I was young and stupid, and greedy maybe. Confused."

"That's fair. Maybe I was too, I don't know. But I did see you as a brother, Rick, and that would have been too much, to change it into anything else."

"I know," he says. The bitterness has left his voice, and now he sits before me as a man; his shame is visible to me, because I know him, because I know what it has cost him to sit here and say these things to me.

"So, what now?" I ask, watching Drew walk around the corner. He stops several tables away, watching for me to give him some clue of what I want from him. I shake my head, just the barest movement, but he sees, and instead he heads back to the taco joint.

"I don't know," Rick answers, and over his shoulder, Drew is giving his cup to the cashier, making small talk and laughing, watching me closely.

"What do you want from this?" I ask Rick, leaning forward.

"I don't know that either," he says. "Do you think the past can be undone?"

"My therapist says so," I laugh, nodding slightly to Drew, who has been watching. He steps away from the wall, making his way over toward where Rick and I are sitting.

"You know, maybe I need that guy's phone number," Rick says, laughing as I reach for my purse. Taking one of Dr. Caswell's cards from a zippered side pocket, I slide it across the table to Rick, smiling up as Drew approaches the table.

"Should I leave again?" he asks, looking between Rick and me, trying to judge how things stand between us.

"Nah, man, we're okay," Rick says to him. "I'm Rick, Cass's brother."

Looking over at me for guidance, Drew follows my nod and extends his hand to Rick. "Andrew Kingsley," he says.

They chat for a few minutes, leaving me to my thoughts as I clear the rest of lunch from our table and carry it the few feet to a garbage can.

"You sure you're okay?" Drew asks me, as Rick walks away from our table.

"Yeah." I nod, smiling as Drew laces his fingers with mine. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"So, now you've met the twins," I say, looking up at Drew from where my head is resting in his lap. He's hovering above me, watching the news, just like he does every night after dinner.

"Yep, energetic, those two," he answers, distracted. The news anchors are babbling on about something called extreme parenting.

"Yes, they are. And you've met Rick," I continue, turning slightly to curl around him more comfortably. He reaches out, dropping his arm lightly down my side, curling his hand around my hip and giving me a light squeeze.

"Sure did." Behind me, the low baritone of the male anchor is now going over stock market information, and Drew has lost interest. He looks down at me finally, raising his eyebrow. "Are we getting somewhere?"

"I met all your family too, at the hospital." Moving my face forward slightly, I press a light kiss to his bare stomach, above the soft cotton of his pajama pants. His breath catches, and I smile to myself as his fingers tighten momentarily on my hip.

"They like you," he says, his voice taking on a cautious note.

"I met your parents," I murmur, drawing tiny little circles with my fingertips, moving slowly up and down his side.

"Did you, then?" he asks, smiling as he flinches slightly, when I find a ticklish spot.

"I did."

"They like you, too," he breathes, trying to focus as I allow my fingers to slide down his arm, turning onto my back to massage the hand he'd been resting on my hip.

"Mmhmm, I like them too," I say, digging the tips of my fingers gently into his palm and working my way back up to his forearm, enjoying the way his breath quickens when my hands are on him.

"That's good," he says, the fingers of his other hand finding their way into my hair.

"So it's your turn now," I tell him, bringing his hand up to kiss the pads of his fingers.

"My turn? Well, then, get up and let's go to bed," he laughs.

"No, I mean it's your turn to meet the parents." Looking up at him, I gently settle his hand on my stomach, waiting to see what he will say.

"Okay, good," he laughs, slipping his hand back up my waist to cup my breast.

"Really?"

"Oh, absolutely," he murmurs, working his palm over the fabric of my shirt, causing my nipple to rise up and harden under his hand.

"Oh," I murmur, realizing now that the conversation I'd wanted to have is now cancelled. There's no way I can get him to focus now, and I curse my restless habit of petting him, because it always ends up the same way, gasping and panting instead of talking.

I have to give him credit though. We do talk afterwards, usually.

"I've been waiting for you to suggest it," he murmurs, watching my face as he slips his hand under my shirt to stroke lazy patterns on my skin. I catch him smiling victoriously, just before my eyes flutter closed.

"Oh," I murmur again, trying to stay focused. "So you'll do it then?"

"Yeah," he laughs, rolling a peaked nipple between his fingers. "Of course I will. We'll take her for fondue, where we went before."

"Uh huh," I groan as his hand makes its way lower. "She'll like that."

"Good, then, this is settled?" He asks, waiting for me to nod helplessly before reaching toward the hem of my skirt and drawing up my thighs.

"I have a surprise for you," I gasp, pressing my hands to his, stopping him. "Hold on." Jumping up, I rush into the bedroom, smiling over at the rumpled bed, still mussed from his greeting when I got home from work earlier. The jeans he'd been wearing are still puddled beside the bed, with a glimpse of the turquoise panties I hadn't bothered to put back on peeking out from beneath.

He groans in frustration as I close the bedroom door, and I laugh, shouting for him to wait. He groans again, just to be dramatic, and this one I ignore. Stalking over to my dresser, I yank my shirt over my head, stopping to shove my skirt down over my hips, facing myself in the mirror on the wall.

I'm still as round as always, but somehow, I see things differently now. I don't see overlarge, pendulous breasts. I see my roundness as sensual now, and I do feel incredibly sexy. Running has helped some, and I can see places where my body is beginning to firm up a little; I have also lost a few pounds, though not many. Running my hands over myself, I can smile appreciatively at my form in a way that I never could before. Thick thighs, but they are powerful on a run. Heavy arms, but they don't complain in the downward dog anymore at yoga class. Round, soft hips, but they cushion the power of Drew's passion, when he loses himself in the sounds of my pleasure and forgets to be gentle.

"Oh no!" Drew shouts from the living room, and I freeze, listening. "My woman has vanished!"

Laughing, I shout back, "Be patient; you're like a toddler!"

"Well get your ass back out here, then," he laughs. "I need something warm and soft to play with!"

"I think there's a teddy bear in the closet!" I yell through the wall.

"Woman, I will come through that door!" he roars, and I shriek, laughing as I lunge for a drawer handle. "Wait, wait!"

"Aarrrrggh," He groans, a strangled sound. It is the only sound he makes, though, and I am reassured that he will remain on the couch.

Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I dig to the back of the drawer and pull out the red silk lingerie, still sporting the tags from Chubby Central. Clipping them with a fingernail clipper lying on the dresser, I stuff them back into the drawer and hold up the lace straps of the gown.

"Okay, you can do this," I whisper, watching my naked form whisper back to me from the mirror over the dresser.

Lifting the gown, I drop it over my head, settling the elastic waist slightly lower than my breasts. This allows the short silk skirt to flutter around my hips, settling just below the area of my body that Drew loves best. In back, a peek of my rear is revealed, just below the hem of the skirt, another peek flirting above the lacy upper part of the skirt, and the smooth expanse of my back is left bare.

Lifting the lace panels on the front, I spread them carefully over my breasts, keeping the waist of the gown low, which exposes a deep "v" that lowers almost to my belly button and flatters my cleavage nicely. I tie the panels loosely behind my neck, enjoying the tickle as they sway gently over my skin with my hair.

"Okay," I say again, meeting my own eyes in the mirror. I look scared; this is the first time I've ever put on something like this, and though it does flatter my body, I am fighting waves of the old insecurity.

I take the time to slick on a pale red gloss that makes my hair look rich and my eyes look bold, then I turn and saunter to the bedroom door before I can change my mind.

Opening the door, I step out in the living room, forcing my eyes to come up and meet Drew's hot gaze.

"Oh my holy God," he whispers. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"You don't like it? I can throw it out, or something --" I mutter, feeling heat come to my face.

He surges up from the couch, crossing the room and coming to place his hands on my waist, slipping over the silky smooth fabric of the gown and coming to rest on the bare skin of my back.

"Oh, no," he says, stepping back, urging me with him into the living room. "Wherever you got that, I am ordering you right now to go back as soon as possible and buy more."

"Ordering?" I ask, arching a brow as our banter allows me to forget my fears. "Who are you to order me, mister? And in my own home too? This simply cannot be allowed," I retort, placing a hand on his bare chest, carefully avoiding the still healing incision a few inches below one flat nipple. Pressing slightly, I push him back to the couch, and then I release him.

With my hands on my hips, I toss my head, making my hair flutter around my shoulders, smiling wickedly as his eyes widen. So far, I have always followed his lead, learning what he likes, letting him teach me how to please him. But tonight, I will not be the one following orders.

"Sit," I command, laughing quietly to myself as he obeys.

"Woman," he warns. "Cass."

"Nope, I come," I say, pausing to watch his mouth fall open. "When I'm ready. Oh, but I forgot to tell you, you're rather overdressed." Turning, I walk away, knowing that this gives him full view of the back of the gown, the saucy little peek of bottom below the hem. He gasps, and I hear the rustle of his movement.

"Now that's better," I laugh, peeking over my shoulder in time to see his pajama pants flutter to the floor. I spin, slowly enough to keep my balance but still quick enough to swirl the skirt of my gown up around my hips, revealing the lack of any other barriers.

His eyes widen again, his tongue slipping out to moisten his lip. He swallows, watching me hungrily.

"Are you ready now?" he asks, and I take wicked pleasure in the tension of his body, the obvious effort it takes him to remain still.

"Oh, I'm ready," I whisper, laughing as I walk toward him, swaying my hips. Placing one knee to his right, and the other to his left, I hold myself apart from him and run the tip of my tongue down over his collarbone in one long stroke, up the column of his throat and over the curve of his chin.

He groans desperately, his hands settling on my hips, urging me closer.

"Now, I'm ready," I repeat, allowing him to lower me onto him.