All the Sauce, page 9
“I mean, it could add into it. You’re gonna have to talk to her.”
I make a face. “Yeah, ’cause that’s gonna be easy.”
Evan laughs. “I never once said it was going to be easy, but then Angie once told me, ‘The best things in life are never easy.’”
I lick my lips, still tasting her, and soon, I’m not even trying to fight back a grin. I’ve never heard a truer statement, and I grew up hearing things along the lines of “The bigger the hair, the closer to Jesus.” So believe me when I say I know good sayings. I also know a good girl when I see her. I wouldn’t have given the girls behind us the time of day. I knew from the jump they weren’t the kinds of girls I would vibe with.
Even though she wouldn’t speak to me much, Angie and I had always liked the same things. When we’d sit up in the Assassins owners’ suite, we always had nachos with cheese, popcorn, jalapeños, and salsa. She saw me do it and copied me. Though, we never acknowledged it. We also loved a great wrister. She had a sick one, and mine has all the sauce on it. I mean, shit, we vibe. We always have. I get that she ignored me and maybe even hated me, but it’s cool; we’ve grown. Angie has always been a good girl in my eyes. A stunning girl. And I’ve decided it’s my goal to make her see that.
Since I couldn’t help my brother, maybe I can help her.
And my reward will be to enjoy that body that makes me weak in the knees.
Chapter Twelve
Angie
* * *
My thoughts and dreams have been filled with three things.
Owen. Owen’s lips. Owen’s words.
Basically, everything and anything that starts and ends with Owen Adler. It’s extremely annoying when I’m supposed to be doing everything I can not to think or dream about him. Instead, I tossed and turned, imagining what it would be like to be flipped, lifted, and bent by him. I’ve thought about what his lips did to mine. But most of all, I’ve thought about how amazing it would be to believe his words. To know he wasn’t just being nice or kind. I’m sure he felt awful about what those girls said and he was taking pity on me. His daily good deed. Be nice to the fat girl he knows.
He probably went home with one of those girls.
Surely didn’t go home with me, not that I gave him a chance.
Like a damn idiot.
Lord knows I could use a good night of fun. I haven’t had sex since coming to South Carolina. I’ve dated, but I have found no one worth a damn to sleep with. Plus, I have my standards set so high, and then my insecurities are so awful, the thought of being naked in front of a man makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t imagine. Of course, I do imagine Owen naked with me. I wonder if he’d still think I was beautiful when he saw my stretch marks or my little pooch. I doubt it; no one could, which is why the only action I get is the action I provide myself.
With the help of thoughts of Owen, I outdid myself last night.
I throw a bunch of spinach in along with almond milk and protein powder for my morning smoothie. My mom would be proud that I’m actually eating something with substance, rather than a sugar-filled granola bar. I pause, our conversation about Owen’s mom coming to mind. I smile at the thought of Evan living his best life with all the love food I’m sure Elli is making him and that Owen doesn’t get to enjoy. It makes me laugh as I send my mom a picture of my smoothie.
She writes back quickly.
Mom: Oh, thank God it’s not a granola bar.
I snort as I put a top on my cup before taking a long pull of it. Tasty. I start to clean up, and I’m almost finished when I hear London coming down the hall. Or so I thought. Leroy comes into the kitchen and makes a face.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning up my smoothie mess.”
“A smoothie? It’s going to take more than that to help you lose weight,” he says, and as he moves by me, he acts as if I’m taking up all the space. He slides his body along the counter, gripping it for dear life, and I swear I want to punch him.
He’s your boss’s boyfriend, I repeat over and over again.
“Jesus, I thought Lo said you lost weight,” he throws at me, and that’s it. I turn to tell him to fuck off, or something just as mean, but he’s already out the door, his laughter taunting me.
“Ugh!”
I lean against the counter, drinking my smoothie and wishing like hell I didn’t have to deal with him. I know I could move out, but I don’t want to ask my mom for that. If I told her why I was moving, though, she’d go completely mama bear. She’d probably kill Leroy. That’s an option, actually. The problem, though, is I’d have to admit that I was fat, as he likes to call me.
“Morning!”
I look over as London floats in, her scrubs fitted and her hair down in large curls. She looks like she’s about to be Miss America rather than a senior researcher. She glances over at me and grins. “Do you like the spinach in it?”
I nod. “I do, actually.”
“Awesome. Told you! I’m so glad you’re actually eating! Iced coffee is not a meal.”
“I know,” I say with a smile, but none of this makes sense. How can London be so kind and supportive when Leroy is a dick? I look down at my smoothie as I drink it, and I struggle with what to do. It shouldn’t be like this.
“You okay? You’re spacing on me.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I have a question, actually,” I say without thinking. She looks over, smiling widely with no cares in the world. I clear my throat, and when I feel confident in my choice of words, I ask, “Does Leroy talk about me to you?”
She is visibly taken aback, her brows crashing together. “What? No? Why?”
Oh. Well, this is awkward. “Um, he made the comment that you said I’d lost weight.”
She beams. “Oh, I told him how proud I was of you! You’re doing so wonderful.”
That’s nice, but it makes no sense. “What did he say?”
She shrugs. “Nothing. He just listened.” I watch her, and I don’t think she’s lying. Or even hiding the truth. “Why do you ask?”
She holds my gaze, and I know I should walk away from this. I know I should let it be, but I want it to stop. “He isn’t nice to me. Never has been, really.”
Once more, she’s taken aback. “What do you mean? Leroy loves you. We both do!”
Oh, this is so awkward. “London, he is always making fun of my weight and mooing at me.”
“Mooing?”
I nod. “Like a cow. He moos at me.”
She laughs. “Oh, Angie, stop. He’s probably just messing with you. He isn’t like that.”
I shake my head, and her laughter dies off. “He is. He’s really awful to me.”
London smiles, coming over to take my hand. “I promise you, he’s only playing around. He would never be mean to someone we care for. You’re family.”
“I don’t feel—”
“I’m telling you, he’s only messing around,” she says more forcefully.
The grin is there, but in her eyes, I can see she’s getting upset. I press my lips together, knowing there is no point in even trying to fight her on this. She doesn’t believe for a second her boyfriend is a fat-phobic asshole. “Can you tell him to stop?”
She scoffs. “Stop what? He treats you like a sister.”
“I have two brothers and a sister. We don’t fat shame one another.”
She side-eyes me. “I thought you don’t talk to them because you’re overweight?”
My heart drops to my stomach. “I do talk to them, and they might not know, but even so, they wouldn’t fat shame me.”
“He isn’t doing that,” she says, shaking her head. “I promise you. Don’t be so sensitive. He’s only teasing you.”
Wow. Okay. “I’m not being sensitive, but good to know that you’ll listen to my concerns.”
“Angie, stop. I am,” she says, stopping me, but I move my arm from her hand. “I think you’re misunderstanding him.”
“He just said you were wrong in assuming I had lost weight. Oh, and that it will take more than a smoothie to help me lose weight.”
Something flashes in her eyes, but she only says, “Maybe you heard him wrong.”
“Nope. I know what I heard, but now that I know where I stand, thanks.”
I put my smoothie cup in the dishwasher and head toward my room. Once the door shuts behind me, I sit on my bed and allow the tears to slide down my cheeks. My only friend in this fucking town doesn’t believe me when I tell her about her shitty boyfriend. I have no clue how I am supposed to face her after that, but I knew I had to say something. Now, though, I guess I’ll have to take matters into my own hands. He says anything to me, I’m cussing him out.
I’ll also start looking for another place.
I look over at my plants, all thriving with the sun shining on their leaves. I’ll need a room just for them, but at least they don’t call me fat.
Owen would never call me fat.
I drop my face into my hands. Why did I think that? He is the last person I need to think about right now, but in my heart, I know he would never say anything like that or even allow someone else to. Nor would my family, but I’m so scared of everyone’s opinion of me. The judgment. Say I give in to Owen, believe him, we go out, and someone makes a comment. Would he realize then that maybe I’m not worth it? Then my family, they’ll love me, of course, but what if they realize that I’m not as good as my siblings? Or even my cousins?
Fuck, why do I do this to myself?
Just then, my phone sounds. I furrow my brow since it’s only a number and not a contact. With just the word Hey.
I write back, asking who it is. And right away, Evan says it’s him.
Me: Oh! Hey! How are you?
Evan: Living the dream. How are you?
Me: Alive and thriving. Are you adjusting to being home?
Evan: Yeah, I am. I started with a new therapist here, and I’m doing well. They put me on an antidepressant.
Me: Wow, okay. How do you feel?
Evan: Okay, but then I have nothing causing me pressure or anxiety.
Me: This is true. But maybe that’s what you need right now?
Evan: Maybe. Sorry. Hope it’s okay I texted you.
Me: Absolutely. I guess I didn’t save your number. I thought I had.
Evan: No big, but I do need to be honest.
Me: Honest?
Evan: Yeah, I’m actually not texting you for me. While I wanted to make sure you’re good, I do have an ulterior motive.
Me: Um. Okay?
Evan: Yeah, I’m texting you for my brother. He wants your number, but I told him I wouldn’t give it to him unless you say it’s okay. So, where are you on letting my brother have your number? And I mean Owen, not Quinn, though Quinn has always had a crush on you.
Whoa. Too much info.
First, while the fact that an eighteen-year-old has a crush is flattering, I can’t get over the bigger fact that Owen wants my number.
What for?
To tease me just like Leroy apparently is?
Yeah, no thanks.
I leave Evan on read, and honestly, I don’t have the time to feel bad about it.
Because I’ve already thought about enough crap to make me feel bad for the day.
My day goes from shit to the shitter by the end of my workday.
School was long, and I’d fought for an A on my medical coding test but was one point from it. It bummed me out, but then I got to work, only to find loads of data that needed to be done last week but was overlooked. By me. So, I spent the afternoon doing that, while also dealing with London giving me the cold shoulder since I arrived at work. It was very much one-word answers, and when she needed something, she messaged me, whereas before, she would come and chitchat while I gathered things for her. So, that’s fucking awesome. Then one of our patients relapsed on his sobriety, and now it’s being discussed that he should go to rehab over the summer. We just have to get him through the rest of the season, and I worry for him. Like I worry for them all.
The day was draining and exhausting, so the last thing I want to do is work out, but I force myself to do just that. I’m wearing sweats and sweating like a whore in church as I do overhead presses. It’s hot as hell in here, but it’s good for the burn. When I finish my set, I sit back, gasping for breath and draining some water. There are three guys here, players I don’t know. I don’t know why they always wear the shortest shorts with huge hoodies and hats, but then, I’m jealous since I’m dying here. The guys are working on the chest bench and are the farthest from me, not that I’m truly paying them any mind. They haven’t acknowledged me or even looked my way.
I made sure they weren’t Owen either, because he is the last person I want to see right now. The guy in the middle may be him, but I don’t see the six on the back of his knee. Believe me, I looked. Hard. Because that ass, Jesus. It’s thicker than some girls I’ve seen in here, and then I’m thinking of Owen’s sweet ass. I wonder if he’s mad with how I left last night. Or even because I ignored Evan when he asked for my number. I wonder how his day has gone.
Fuck, I’m hot, and not in a good, sexy way.
I check once more at the guys, and again, I don’t think they even know I’m here. I’m so hot, but…there is no way. Yeah, no. You’re fine, I tell myself. I reach for my weight and realize I’m not okay. Once more, I check, and they’re joking around, doing dude things. I doubt they can even see me with the pole that is in the way. I have to go around it to see them.
They don’t care. Do you, Pax.
I stand up, pushing my sweatshirt up and over my head, leaving me in a crop top bra. My belly only shows a wee bit since my sweatpants are so high, but when the cool air hits my skin, I feel like a brand-new woman. I look at myself in the mirror, and I can see the line of muscle in my shoulders, which makes me smile, but only a little bit. I still hate how full my hips are and the stretch marks that are all over my stomach. My sweatpants hide my pooch, and even I can’t deny that my boobs look really big in this bra.
I mean, I don’t look horrible.
I lift the weights, pressing them above my head and counting to myself, getting lost in the music that plays in the gym. I left my headphones at home, and that almost was the final straw to make me leave, but I pushed through.
I have goals.
When I finish the set, I put the weights at my feet and reach for my phone to make sure I don’t have any notifications. I don’t, but I know Evan’s text is sitting there on read. I doubt he cares that I ignored him, probably figured I didn’t want anything to do with Owen. I wish I didn’t, but that isn’t the case. I want everything to do with Owen, but I refuse to be the main source of his pity. His charity case. I didn’t realize he had this nice streak in him, but since I saw him be so incredible with Evan, I’m finding I was wrong. That’s all his mom, I bet, that compassion and kindness. I don’t know when it decided to surface, but it’s surprising for sure. I’d rather not be on the receiving of something fake.
Something forced.
But damn if I don’t wish it was all real. I look up into the mirror, and I bet he’d have something slick to say about my bra. He’d probably make a big deal of it since he told me before to wear only a bra to the gym. Wait. Huh. He said that before last night, actually weeks ago. I’d thought he might have been flirting with me, but I wouldn’t allow myself to believe it to be true. Shit, could he be serious?
Is Owen attracted to me?
Could he have really wanted to kiss me?
I have to be dehydrated again.
I put my phone down, grab my water, and take a nice long pull of it. Some escapes my mouth, running down my chin, throat, and into my bra. I roll my eyes at my clumsiness, but then I’m paralyzed in place when I hear Owen’s voice fill the gym.
“Excuse me, miss. This is a gym, not a brothel.”
I whip my head in the direction of his voice, finding him sitting on the bench, his sweatshirt gone and nothing but bare skin and muscles taunting me. His black hat is low on his head, and this grin sits on his lips that is downright fucking corrupt.
“Shit, I’d pay all day long,” the taller guy says. He looks like a surfer. “Hey, I’m D’Artagnan.”
The smaller one of the three only smiles. “You guys leave her alone. Sorry, miss.”
I can’t think, talk, or move. I go to cover my stomach, but then my gaze gets locked with Owen’s, and I know for a fact that he has absolutely no intention at all of leaving me alone. He licks his lips, and with the swagger of Ryan Reynolds, he winks at me.
He then gets up with no effort and struts toward me. I’m surprised he isn’t as toned as I assumed he was. He is fluffy. He has a little bit of a stomach and even stretch marks, which is totally unexpected. My mouth is dry, and my heart is pounding so hard, I doubt I could hear him if he tried to talk to me.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he goes to the weights, grabbing some thirty-fives and holding them out to me. I put down my water and stare at him. “I can’t do that.”
“You can,” he insists, and I take them, though he doesn’t give me much choice. He comes behind my bench, crouching down a bit, and I just look at him. “Come on, you can do it. I’m going to spot you.”
Spot me? As in, touch me? When we’re both a sweaty mess and you look that good?
Yeah, no big deal.
I feel as if I’m swallowing sand as I struggle to get the weights up, but then he helps, getting me in the perfect form. His touch is warm and kind. I feel safe as his hands wrap around my wrists, and I know he has me. Owen guides my arms up and down, and it’s hard to focus on what I’m doing when I’m watching him watch me. Somehow, though, I’m lifting it, and I’m proud to say, I’m doing all the work. He is there for reassurance, and I’m so impressed by myself when we get to ten.
Together.
He takes the weights from my hands, setting them down beside me.
I meet his gaze in the mirror when he says, “Told ya.”
