Weighting for Christmas Page 7

  He has to help me into the front seat of his truck. He grabs my ass and pushes me up, even though there is apparently a thingy on the truck that I’m supposed to use as a step. I’m in heels for fuck’s sake and I’m wearing a dress. Trucks and dresses do not go together, but I do eventually find myself buckled in the passenger seat.

  “What’s your address?”

  “Huh?”

  “Where do you live, Kate?”

  “In an apartment.”

  “That’s not overly helpful. What street do you live on?”

  “23rd.”

  “Okay,” Chad encourages. “What is the rest of your address?”

  “510.”

  “That’s your apartment number?”

  “Mm hmm.”

  “Again, not helpful.” He reaches for my purse, pulls out my wallet and finds my driver’s license. “There we go,” he grins. “Now I can drive you home.”

  “Hey!” I shout. “You can’t see that!”

  “Why?”

  “Because it says how much I weigh,” I snap.

  “I know how much you weigh, darlin’,” he chuckles. “And,” he adds with a wink, “I just hoisted you into my truck.”

  I let him drive me home because, well, what other choice do I have?

  “But my car!” I whine.

  “We’ll get it tomorrow, after you’ve slept and had a lot of coffee.”

  “Okay.”

  We travel in silence and Chad miraculously finds a place to park big enough to fit his huge package.

  “I can walk. I’m not a baby,” I snap as he tries to carry me.

  “Fine. Walk.”

  I’m surprised to find that walking is very difficult. I take off my shoes and I’m a tad steadier, but then I step on a pebble. “Owwww,” I whine some more.

  “Here,” Chad smirks and lifts me up and carries me in his arms.

  “I’m too heavy,” I protest. “You can’t carry me.”

  “Obviously, I can,” he puffs.

  I can tell he’s struggling, but my foot hurts and I’m tired, and it feels really nice leaning against him. By the time we get to my apartment door and he puts me down, I see the beads of sweat dripping down his forehead.

  “See!” I gloat. “I was too heavy for you to carry.”

  “Did I drop you?”

  “No,” I mutter in reply.

  “Then you aren’t too heavy.”

  “Hmph!”

  Chad already has my keys so he unlocks the door and follows me inside, closing the door behind him. I throw my shoes on the floor and drop my purse on the first chair I walk by. Then, I collapse on the sofa, Grace’s gift still clutched in my hand.

  “That was a long way from the truck,” I mumble almost unintelligibly.

  But Chad understood and laughed loudly. “It was, was it?”

  “Mmm hmm.” He falls down next to me on the sofa and grabs my hand in his. “You are absolutely drunk.”

  “Am not,” I defiantly reply. “Want me to prove it?”

  “Sure. How are you going to do that?”

  “Well,” I begin. “I can walk a straight line.” I leap off the couch and begin placing one foot in front of the other, like I’m walking an invisible tightrope. “See?” I sneer.

  “Can you repeat the alphabet while walking?” Chad challenges.

  “Of course I can.” I can hear myself speak and I might just be slurring my words a little. “Here I go. A B C D E F G, H I J K Eminem I P.” But now I have to pee. “Hold on.” I hurry down the hallway in the direction of my bedroom, but the faster I go the longer the hall is. I start to whimper. “It’s so far away.”

  “What are you doing?”

  I’m looking up at Chad and I can’t understand why he is above me. “How did you get up there?”

  “Up where?” he asks with amusement.

  “There.” I point to him.

  “I am standing up, Kate, and you, are lying on the ground, your legs flailing in the air.”

  “Is that why I can’t get to my bedroom?” I ask.

  “Yep. Need some help?” He offers me his hands and I grasp them and he pulls me upright. “Steady,” he chuckles as I sway back and forth. “Now take a step. And another. Good girl.”

  I’m in my room and I hustle into the bathroom and make it just in the nick of time, the gift bag tossed aside on the bathroom floor. Now that I’m alone, I’m curious exactly what she gave me so I pick up the bag and tentatively remove the black lacey bra and thong. They are so pretty and so sexy, but I can’t imagine ever wearing them.

  “Why not?” I ask to my reflection in the mirror.

  Yeah, why not?

  Five minutes later, I have knotted my long hair in a bun on top of my head, removed my clothes and plain underwear I was wearing and am in the black lace. I’m too scared to look at myself in the mirror… so I don’t. I walk into my bedroom and lie down on my bed. The cotton duvet cover feels cool against my bare skin, and wearing this there’s a lot of skin. I roll around a little and then stand up… slowly. I think I need coffee.

  Somehow the hallway is a little more manageable as I walk to the kitchen. After I flick on the light, I fill up the coffee maker and start it brewing. As I reach up for my favorite mug, I sense someone behind me. My muscles flinch and I freeze like a statue, cemented in place, the only thing moving is my chest as I try to calmly breathe in and out. His scent gives him away – warm and musky, with a little sandalwood maybe.

  Chad is here.

  “How did you get in?” I ask, still not moving an inch. His low rumbling laugh confuses me.

  “Kate, do you remember anything from this evening?”

  I close my eyes and try to concentrate, but my brain is fuzzy. I need coffee. I finally grab my mug and place it on the counter as I glance at my attire.

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  “Birthday dinner,” I mouth. “Presents. Wine.” Yep. I remember the evening now, just as I remember trying on the lingerie Grace gave me, the outfit I now wear… in front of Chad.

  Here is the dilemma I face. I have my back to him – I’m wearing a thong. If I turn around to face him, my lacey bra is practically invisible. Why did I drink so much? Why did I get changed? How did I forget Chad was here?

  “So,” he murmurs.

  I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. He’s close… very close.

  “What’s this little outfit you have on? I like it very much.”

  Mortified isn’t a strong enough word to describe the humiliation I am feeling. How could I have been so stupid?

  “It’s my present from Grace,” I mumble under my breath.

  “She has great taste.”

  Can you hear someone smile? I swear I heard him smile.

  I feel the tips of his fingers flutter down my sides, below the band of my bra and all the way down my thighs.

  “Your skin is so soft, like silk.”

  “I’ll let Dove know that their lotion does as it promises,” I squeak.

  “Mmm. You smell good, too. Turn around Kate.”

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  As slowly as I possibly can, I inch my way in a circular direction. When I hear his audible gasp, I swing back around, tears filling my eyes in humiliation. I have no idea what he’s thinking and I don’t think I want to know either. The very idea of him seeing me like this is more than I can handle.

  “Kate. Kate. Kate! Turn around and look at me.”

  I do as he demands, but my head is lowered. I just can’t. Chad reaches out and places a finger under my chin and lifts. I have no choice but to see the disgust I am sure is in his expression. But that’s not what I see, not at all. I must be mistaken. It can’t be. What I see is passion… desire… lust. I see the tip of his tongue swipe across his lower lip and suddenly I can’t breathe.

  NINE

  “You’re my client,” he breathes against my neck between feather-light kisses behind my ear. “I should be more professional, but…”

  His l
ips are warm against my skin. I’ve never felt this sensation before – the way shivers run down my spine that makes me feel chilled, but at the same time my insides are warm and my cheeks flushed and hot.

  Chad’s hands are on my waist, squeezing deliberately… sensually, his hands seemingly scorching my flesh wherever he touches me. It is the most exquisite sensation, and as embarrassed at my appearance as I am, I never want it to end.

  His hands snake around me and pull me half a step so that I am pressed firmly against him, my body and his molding together. He pushes his denim-clad thigh between my legs as his lips press against mine. His hand trails up my arm and shoulder and his fingertips rest on my cheek. My lips move against his as I taste him. In this moment, I realize that I’ve been waiting for… hoping for… dreaming of Chad for many weeks, although my subconscious must have protected me from my desire… to protect me from the disappointment I was sure to experience. Men like Chad don’t fall for women like me.

  The thought is like a bucket of ice water poured over me and my shoulders drop and my head lowers, forcing my lips to withdraw from his.

  “Kate? What is it?” His tone exhibits genuine concern for me.

  “This,” I whisper, “This isn’t real. It can’t be real.”

  “I assure you it’s real, Kate.”

  “Men like you…” But I can’t say it out loud.

  “Men like me what?”

  “I’m out of your league.” Admitting that to him is harder than I ever could imagine. I have never felt more ashamed than I do now.

  “It’s true,” Chad agrees. “You are most definitely not in my league.”

  If my heart could physically break, his statement would most certainly have ripped it apart. To know it myself is one thing. To hear him say it, entirely another.

  “I’ve known for some time that you couldn’t ever think of me as anything more than your trainer, a big dumb muscle guy with nothing between my ears.”

  “What?” His words confuse me.

  “You are so out of my league,” Chad repeats as he kisses me softly.

  “Hold on,” I say. “Are you saying that you think I’m too good for you?”

  “You are.”

  “No, that’s not want I meant. I didn’t think you’d ever look at a woman like me with anything but disgust for my size.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Chad scoffs with amusement. “You are the most attractive woman I have ever met!”

  “But I’m fat!” I almost choke on the word.

  “Come on.” Chad grabs me by the hand and literally drags me down the hall to my bedroom. He glances around the room until he sees the closet door. We shuffle across the thickly carpeted floor and he yanks the door open to reveal the item he was searching for – a full length mirror attached to the inside of the door.

  “Look!” he demands.

  “Why?”

  “Look in the mirror!” Chad’s voice is raised and I’m shocked by his command.

  He shoves me so I’m standing in front of the mirror, my pale white skin a stark contrast to the black lace that barely covers my bits. His fingers are pressing into my shoulders holding me in place so I can’t retreat like I fiercely want to. If there’s one thing I do not want to see, it’s my own body.

  “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” Chad sighs.

  “I’m looking,” I grunt. “I can see what you see.”

  “No. That’s the problem. You can’t.”

  “I see my dimpled thighs and my flabby stomach. I see the flaps on the underside of my upper arms. Believe me, I see it.”

  “That’s not what I see at all,” Chad disagrees vehemently. “I see strong legs that can run and lift heavy things, and are long enough, and flexible enough, to wrap tightly around my hips. I see arms that help you to work hard at your profession, and I want to feel them clasped around my neck. I see a stomach that is healthy and enjoys food, that isn’t starving and showing ribs, that maybe one day will cocoon a baby. I see glorious breasts that I want to lose myself in and nipples that are ready to be licked and sucked on and thoroughly enjoyed. I see an ass that is firm and round and a long strong back that is soft and silky and holds your head tall and proud.”

  I stare at myself as I ponder his words, and then, without the ability to stop myself, I burst out laughing. I can’t help it. I can’t control it. I can see that Chad is confused, and perhaps a little wounded after his proclamation, but the laughing will not stop.

  “Like to let me in on the joke?” he mutters.

  “I laugh at inappropriate times,” I stammer between outbursts. “When the mood gets serious, I deflect.”

  “Some serious deflecting,” he frowns.

  “Sorry,” I just laugh more. “Can’t help it.”

  The truth is I have no idea what to say. I have never, in my entire life, had someone tell I’m beautiful, let alone in the dramatic way and using such sensual imagery as he has just done. I’m also very light headed… and tired, so very tired. I shuffle over to the bed and lie down, curling my knees up and letting every muscle in my body relax.

  “Mmmm,” are the last words I hear. They may have been said by Chad, or by me, I’m not sure. But as I wriggle into a comfortable position, and my heavy eyelids give up the fight, I feel the bed dip next to me and that scent that I’ve come to know and love fills my senses and I’m gone… out for the count.

  *****

  Let’s be real for a second. The point of sexy lingerie is to wear it until it comes flying off in the heat of the moment. It was never designed to be slept in, or if it was, it was designed by a man!

  At some point during the night, I have no recollection of when or how, my sexy lingerie came off. I don’t drink often, but when I do, I seem to have lost all memory the morning after, and today is no exception, except…

  I’m lying in bed, warm and cozy under the duvet, the first minutes of the sunrise sending a glimmer of light through the window, when I hear a noise in what I assume is the kitchen. I grip the duvet in a moment of panic, and then, as if the fog is clearing slightly, a picture flashes into my mind. I’m standing in front of the mirror and Chad is right behind me, his hands on my waist. Real or imaginary?

  I hear another clang and if my nose is correct, I smell bacon. Bacon? He’s cooking? I glance at the clock. It’s only seven and I’m still exceedingly tired. I contemplate my options. Do I truly have any options? I’m naked and in bed, and he is making breakfast.

  Like a sprinter dashing off the blocks at the beginning of the one hundred meter hurdles, I leap from the bed and run to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I pee, wash the black streaks of mascara off my face, untangle and brush my hair and put it back up into a ponytail, and shrug into my thick, flannel bath robe and tightly tie the sash around my waist. Listening at the door for noises, I hear nothing so I quietly unlock it and venture back into my bedroom. It’s empty, so I attempt to calm my nerves and pretend to casually walk down the hall to see what exactly Chad is up to.

  “Aw,” he frowns as I enter the small galley kitchen. “You’re awake. I was going to surprise you.”

  “That’s sweet,” I reply, “but I’m awake and up. Besides, you’ll never make it as a cat burglar,” I laugh.

  “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “No big deal. I wake up for anyone making me breakfast.”

  “Anyone?” he turns to look at me with a cheeky grin on his face.

  I just coyly shrug and grin back at him. I really can flirt with the best of them.

  “Well, sit down and let me finish up. It’ll just be a few more minutes.”

  I walk around the counter and sit on a barstool and try to look cool and collected as I watch him flip bacon and stir eggs, but the truth is I’m racking my brain trying desperately to remember what happened last night.

  “How did you sleep?” he asks.

  “Great.”

  “Did I snore too loudly?” he chuckles.

  “I didn’t hea
r you if you did.”

  “I hope scrambled eggs are okay.”

  “I like scrambled eggs,” I remark.

  He’s making small talk. I don’t know if he’s trying, or if this is him in the morning… the morning after. After? Oh Lord. Did we…

  You’d think I’d remember if we did. I mean, come on, it’s Chad!

  Chad. He’s in his jeans, top bottom undone, and bare feet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier in my life. Although, I have to question his common sense. He’s frying bacon on the stovetop shirtless. Not sure how smart that is, but I’m enjoying the view nevertheless.

  “Toast?”

  “Mmm, please,” I reply.

  “Light or dark?”

  “Medium,” I laugh. “With lots of butter.”

  Chad busies himself with the toaster and multiple slices of bread while I reach for the steaming pot of coffee. There are two clean mugs on the counter and I take one, filling it with the liquid of the gods.

  “While you’re up,” I ask, “would you mind grabbing me the half and half from the door of the fridge?”

  “Your wish is my command.” And in an instant, a carton is placed in front of me.

  “Thanks.” I add a couple of splashes to my coffee and then bring the mug to my lips and sip, reveling in the hot liquid as it glides down my throat. “Mmm. You make good coffee.”

  Breakfast is ready and Chad places two plates on the counter and slips onto the stool next to me. He places a knife and fork and a napkin next to my plate and some next to his.

  “Morning, beautiful,” he whispers against my cheek and then kisses me.

  “Morning,” I blush. “Thanks for breakfast. It looks good enough to eat.”

  “Dig in.”

  I pour him a cup of coffee and place it front of him and then do as he says. It’s delicious and we eat in silence. I’m trying to find a tactful way to ask him if we had sex last night, and Chad is just inhaling what appears to be a pound of bacon and a dozen scrambled eggs. We finish at about the same time, even though my plate of food is a quarter of the size of his.

  “I’ll do the dishes and then take a shower, if that’s okay with you,” he says.

  “I’ll do the dishes seeing as though you cooked, and of course you may take a shower. Clean towels are in the bathroom on the shelf.”