He lets his hands fall to his sides. “What have I said that you don’t think is true?”
“You say things as if I’m thin and beautiful, and I don’t think pretending is going to—”
“I haven’t.”
“What?”
He steps back and folds his arms. “I’ve said you’re beautiful because you are, but I haven’t said shit about your size.”
I flinch and bow my head. “Right. I guess I misunderstood.”
Dean blows out a breath. “Abbi, I don’t get you. You’re so beautiful and so confident, and you’d be the first person in line to knock someone on their ass who made assumptions about a girl because of her size. But you have a double standard when it comes to yourself. I’m not going to pretend you’re thin because—why should I?” He must see me tense, because he adds, “I don’t say that to hurt you, though I can see it does.”
I shake my head. “No, I know I’m not.”
Dean puts two fingers under my chin and tilts my face up until I meet his eyes. I’m afraid he can see every inch of my insecurities in mine. “I say it because it’s important you understand that I see you,” he says. “You’re not thin. And you’re fucking beautiful. Not but. Not despite. Both are true. You’re the one who’s convinced one has anything to do with the other.”
I feel completely exposed. This is my biggest secret. My shameful truth. “I don’t think it’s true for everyone, but . . .”
“When you thought I was taking you to the gym for a workout, you were upset.”
I nod. “Yeah. Having you push me into some workout routine would’ve crushed me.”
“So you don’t have any plans of changing your size as we go through this?” he asks.
I blow out a breath. “I’m just sick of trying. I’ve lost weight before—ten or twenty pounds here and there—but I always gain it back, and it makes me miserable. My whole life revolves around food, and I get obsessive and can’t enjoy normal things.” I hate explaining this to anyone, but I especially hate explaining it to Dean. “Maybe I should try again, but—”
“That’s not why I’m asking,” he says, expression soft. “My point is there’s part of you that’s accepted that you’re bigger than your friends, part of you that would rather focus on being healthy at this size than chase something your body resists.”
I nod, but this conversation makes me miserable.
“I think that’s awesome.” He reaches out and brushes a hand down my arm. “It’s way healthier—emotionally and physically—than these crazy diets I see people going on, but you’re missing one piece.”
I hold his gaze for a long time before finding the courage to ask, “What’s that?”
“This is you. This is who you are. Now you need to see what I see—a big girl who’s fucking hot, who fills my mind with dirty ideas and turns me on, and who’s as worthy of the same lust, love, passion, and fulfillment as everyone else.”
My vision goes blurry with unshed tears. “You are possibly the best guy I’ve ever—” I scoff and tip my face to the ceiling. “I was going to say dated, but I guess that’s not what we’re doing. I mean, I know what this is and what it isn’t.”
He doesn’t respond, and when I have it together enough to look at him again, he’s just staring at me.
“Good talk,” I whisper. I’ve screwed this all up.
He swallows audibly. His expression is so severe that I think he’s about to go with something serious when he says, “It smells amazing. Should we go eat?”
Chapter Fifteen
Dean
The text message on my screen makes the delicious dinner Abbi just fed me churn in my gut.
Sandy: You have every right to be angry, but don’t make decisions today that you’ll regret in the future. You only have one father.
I close out the messaging app and darken my screen. I have a whole evening with Abbi, and I won’t let my dad’s wife ruin my mood.
Dinner was delicious, as expected, but instead of letting me clean up, Abbi sent me to her living room with a beer, insisting I’d done all the work the last couple of times we ate together, so she wanted me to relax this time.
I use the opportunity to watch her move around the kitchen. She exudes such confidence in that space. She owns it, and it’s hot as hell. The perfect distraction from the reality waiting for me on my phone.
When she finally joins me in the living room, I set my beer on the end table and grab her around the waist before she can sit. I scoot to the edge of my seat and guide her to stand between my knees.
“Hi,” she says. “How are you?”
“I’m good now.” I slip a hand under her shirt and brush my thumb over her navel—over the jewel waiting there. I pull in a shuddering breath over the evidence of her sexy little secret. “Does it hurt to touch it?”