Book Boyfriends Wanted 2: His Curvy Wife

Book 2: His Curvy Wife

Melody

I’ve learned there are two kinds of plus-sized women. The first one is like my sister, Willow. Willow was chubby growing up. She had those cute, chubby, baby cheeks, and those adorable chubby thighs, but when she outgrew the baby stage, they hung around.

Girls like Willow were lucky once they became adults, though, because by that time they’d developed thick skins. They took all the name-calling and teasing and turned it into armor to protect them against the people who thought they were less than simply because the scale said they were more than.

Willow was sarcastic and sometimes mean, but she wore her weight like a badge of honor. She no longer cared if she didn’t get asked out because she knew how to take care of herself. It didn’t matter if she was overlooked because she threw it back in their faces. Willow, and women like her, were powerhouses in the chubby girl world. They were the champions telling the rest of us to stand up and be proud. The ones wearing tight clothes and two-piece bathing suits and showing off all their assets whenever they felt like it.

The other kind of plus-sized women were like me. Average, or even thin, growing up. I never had a date ask me if I wanted salad instead of pizza or was told I shouldn’t eat that extra cupcake at a birthday party. I could sit on the couch and read a book or watch TV and no one ever suggested I go outside and get some exercise. I was invisible because I was what the world accepted as normal.

But as an adult, I had to learn not to be mad when those things happened. When a waiter raised his eyebrows when I ordered extra cheese on my burger. Or when a mom pursed her lips when I grabbed the biggest piece of cake at her daughter’s birthday party. Or when no one looked my way with interest when I walked into a bar, but everyone turned and stared at the woman in the blue dress, devouring her with their eyes.

Not that I blamed them. The woman was stunning. She had long legs and one of those Pinterest-worthy butts, and she was all perky and perfect.

I sighed and swirled the straw through my drink. It was so easy for women like her. I envied them. The ones who knew how to flirt and could dress up and look sexy without even having to think about it. I didn’t even want to imagine the layers of Spanx and slimmers I would need to look like I was twice her size.

“I need lessons on how to be sexy,” I said to myself.

“No, you don’t,” someone said from behind me.

I spun on the bar stool and sucked in a breath. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were there.”

“Then who were you talking to?” Hudson Grant was the owner and bartender at O’Kelley’s. The bar was also one of only two bars in MacKellar Cove, the town in the Thousand Islands of upstate New York that I called home.

I grew up in MacKellar Cove, fell in love in MacKellar Cove, and had my entire life in MacKellar Cove. I loved it here and couldn’t imagine ever living anywhere else. But there were definitely things I didn’t like. For example, the best bartender in town was close friends with my soon-to-be ex-husband.

I shrugged. “Myself, I guess.”

Hudson leaned on the bar and smiled. He was a good-looking guy, and a good man. He was four years older than me, so we didn’t grow up together, but we’d become friends over the years. The shaved head under his baseball hat and the full beard he hid behind gave him an edge of badass, but if you looked closely, his eyes were far too kind to be an ass. “Melody, you don’t need lessons on how to be sexy. No woman does.”

“Not one who looks like her,” I said with a nod toward the woman who’d captured the attention of all the men in the bar. Three were walking toward her, and the rest of the bar watched, waiting to see if they’d get a chance. Even the women stared at her. No one was immune to how attractive she was.

Hudson followed my gaze. His trailed down the woman’s shapely legs to her red heels and back up her blue dress to where she was almost falling out of the top. She was gorgeous, and she was flaunting what she had. I didn’t hate her, but I was jealous as hell of her. I’d never looked like her.

“See, this is the problem. Women don’t have any idea what sexy really is,” Hudson said, wiping his towel across the smooth wooden bar top.

I scoffed and spun back to him. I tilted my head, my dull brown hair falling over my shoulder. “Are you honestly going to tell me that woman isn’t sexy?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not. She is. But not for the reasons you think.”

“Oh, really?” I asked with a laugh, propping my chin up on my hand. “Enlighten me.”

“When you look at her, what do you see?”

I turned on my stool and looked at the woman again. “Long, thin legs. Killer heels. A sexy dress that hugs her slim body and accents her boobs and her ass. Gorgeous hair. Pouty lips. Bright blue eyes. Shall I keep going?”

Hudson shook his head. “You just described her. You told me what she’s wearing and what she looks like.”

“So?”

“That’s not what makes a woman sexy,” Hudson said.

I spun on my stool, but he held up a finger to me and walked a few people over to serve drinks to the customers waiting for their Friday night relaxation.

I turned back to the woman and tried to see something else. What else made her sexy? What else made any woman sexy?

“Have you figured it out yet?” Hudson asked a minute later.

I faced him again and shook my head. “Nope. I think you’ve been drinking tonight.”

Hudson chuckled. He never drank, and everyone in town knew it. At least, not while he was working, and he was always working.

“It’s her confidence. That’s what makes her sexy.”

“What?” I blurted.

“That woman could be wearing jeans and a tee and every man in the room would still want her—”

“Yeah, because she’s hot.”

Hudson nodded and gave me one of those smiles he gave people when they’d had too much to drink and thought they could drive. Right before he took their keys and called them a ride home. “She is. I agree. But it’s the way she presents herself. She’s not hot because she has a nice body or is wearing a great dress. Personally, I think she looks a little silly in that dress when it’s snowing outside, but she didn’t ask me. She has confidence, and she’s sure of herself. That’s why every man in the room is looking at her.”

I turned back to the woman and looked more closely. She was beautiful, but Hudson was right. I’d seen other women just as pretty as her but with half her confidence who didn’t command the attention of so many men. I’d also seen women who looked nothing like her and had men drooling because they knew they were hot.

“You see it now, don’t you?” Hudson asked.

“Yes,” I grumbled. “I was hoping it would be easier than that to feel good.”

Hudson patted my hand and walked away. Guess the good advice from the bartender was over. Of course, he was also one of my husband’s best friends, so he probably didn’t want to get in the middle of it. Of any of it.

I sipped my drink and looked out at the crowd again. Willow was still on the dance floor with some guy. It always amazed me that she could meet a guy, sleep with him, and part ways without a second thought. And even more shocking was that she met men she didn’t already know. Whether they were guys who were older or younger or guys who didn’t live in MacKellar Cove, my little sister managed to avoid awkward hookups in a way that made it almost look like it could be fun.

I shuddered. Just the thought of sleeping with someone else made my skin crawl. I fell in love with Ramsey when we were in high school. He was it for me from the day we first met. Not that he felt the same. I was in the background for longer than was sane, but I loved him.

We started dating in high school, but when he went away to college, we broke up. The break up didn’t last, but it was long enough that I decided to try dating other guys. I went to homecoming with a guy from my math class. He was cute, and smart, and funny, but when he touched me, I felt like I was going to be sick. He wasn’t Ramsey. No man was Ramsey.

I told myself I had to find a way to get over it, but I never did, and when Ramsey and I got back together a few months later, I thought I’d never have to. I knew I was going to marry him.

But now, I was thirty-five and staring down a divorce from the only man I’d ever wanted. Life sucked.

“Hey,” Willow said, taking the seat next to me and my drink. She drained my glass in one gulp and exhaled. “You should come dance.”

I shook my head. “I don’t really want to get in the way of you two.”

Willow shook her head. “He left. His friend’s wife freaked out.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. It sounded like code for his wife, but I wasn’t going to lecture my sister. “I’m getting tired.”

“You are not going home,” Willow said firmly.

Even though there were five years between us, Willow was always my best friend. When she was born, I acted like she was my baby, protecting her and caring for her. As she grew up, I stayed close, wanting to protect her still. I will always regret that I couldn’t keep her from developing that thick skin. That I wasn’t in the same school as her to defend her against the Kathy Rogers of the world who thought it was funny to torment my little sister forever.

Willow was also the only one I talked to. She knew I wanted to go home because Ramsey was there with Amber. We worked out a visitation schedule, and when it was his turn to spend time with her, I did everything possible to give them space to play and talk and be together in the only home Amber had ever known. Which meant I left.

“I’ll go in the other room,” I whined. Willow was right. I hated to admit it, but I’d become like a junky lately, desperate for any little piece of Ramsey I could get.

I really thought the holidays were going to be the hardest part about getting divorced. Surviving Thanksgiving and Christmas without my best friend and partner by my side was easy compared to what came after.

The holidays were all about Amber. That was how it should be. She was spoiled rotten by both of us, and she was the one who made everything easy. Focusing on her made forgetting what was missing easier. Not foolproof, as evidenced by my Christmas Eve meltdown when I realized the gigantic play castle I bought her was something Ramsey would have been able to put together in about five minutes but took me the better part of three hours.

But after that, it was easy. She was overjoyed with her presents, and her first long break from school was a chance for us to spend time doing silly things like snowball fights and dressing up like our favorite princesses.

It wasn’t until after the break, when she was back in school and I was back to the boring life I’d adopted over the last few months that I realized just how wrong I was when I thought getting through Thanksgiving and Christmas was going to be the hardest part about getting divorced. Oh, no. Those holidays had nothing on Valentine’s Day.

Damn Valentine’s Day. The day Ramsey and I always got a babysitter, usually my sister, and went away. A night in a hotel, a luxurious dinner alone, and an opportunity to reconnect.

When we were first dating and then first married, those nights were a luxury, a chance to spoil each other. Once Amber was born, those nights became our best chance to have sex. To rekindle the fizzling romance that held us together for so long. It never mattered what was going on with us when Valentine’s Day rolled around. We were in love, and we put everything else aside to show each other how special and important our relationship was.

And for the first time in more than fifteen years, I was going to be spending the holiday alone. I’d already spent our tenth anniversary alone, crying myself to sleep and praying Amber didn’t wake up and ask why I was so upset. Spending Valentine’s Day without Ramsey just might kill me.

“You’re not leaving,” Willow stated firmly. “You’re staying here with me, we’re going to drink and have fun, and then you’re coming home with me tonight.”

“But—”

“No buts! Ramsey is with Amber. There is nothing you need to go home for. He left you. He moved out. He didn’t want more kids. You’ve always wanted a huge family. That’s why you two bought your house. That’s why you let him walk away. That’s why you’re going to find someone else and give my perfect niece some brothers and sisters. Because you deserve it.”

I took a deep breath and nodded. Willow was right. I knew she was right. I hated it, but it was true. I always wanted a big family. After our own less than stellar upbringing, I wanted to have a boatload of kids and make them feel special and amazing and perfect, things Willow and I were never given permission to feel.

“Another drink, Hudson!” Willow shouted toward where Hudson was serving drinks at the other end of the bar. If he wasn’t there, two to three bartenders handled things, but with him tending bar, he kept the other employees on the floor running drinks and serving food.

Hudson nodded to Willow as she walked behind the bar and grabbed a bottle. Vodka. Willow and I both liked vodka. She poured a healthy two fingers into my glass and grabbed one for herself. She added a splash of Sprite and enough cranberry juice for the drink to turn pink, then pushed mine toward me.

We lifted them and clinked our glasses, not needing words to know we were both thinking of the other’s happiness with every wish we’d ever made. I turned the glass up and let the alcohol fill my mouth. The fizz threatened to come back out of my nose and the sour cranberry juice made me pucker, but I swallowed it anyway.

Willow’s drink was gone in two gulps, and she stood behind the bar encouraging me to finish mine. She refilled them as Hudson headed our way, then she led me onto the dance floor.

I drank and laughed and spun and danced. I let the freedom of having zero responsibility take over and let me enjoy my night off with my sister. We sang at the top of our lungs to the songs we knew, and swayed together when a slow song came on. And for just a little while, I let myself forget my heart was broken and the love of my life had left me.

Two guys watched us as we danced. They were cute, and I didn’t think they were locals. They smiled at us, and when Willow winked at one of them, they both approached us.

“Hey,” the one guy said to me. He was the taller of the two with dark eyes, full lips, broad shoulders, and a narrow waist. Ramsey had the same shirt the guy was wearing. I’d gotten it for him for Christmas a couple years ago.

I forced a smile. “Hi.”

“I’m Mitch,” he said, extending his hand.

I stared at it for an embarrassingly long time then shook my head and reached for it. He smiled at me, and I went back to tugging on my fingers, a nervous habit I’d done forever.

“Oh, sorry. I, uh, didn’t realize,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out what he knew that I didn’t know. He was staring at my hands. I looked down, but they were the same hands I’d always had. Sure, they weren’t smooth like a twenty-year-old’s hands, but there wasn’t anything wrong with them. Short, painted nails. Proportional fingers. And…

Oh.

My rings.

“Um, yeah,” I said, trying to figure out if it was a good excuse or if I should play it off.

“You’re married?” Mitch asked.

I hesitated for a second then nodded.

“Well, I mean, if it doesn’t bother you…” He shrugged.

Was he serious? “If what doesn’t bother me?”

He shrugged again. “If it doesn’t bother you that you’re married, it doesn’t bother me either. We can still hook up.”

“Are you kidding me?”

He shook his head. “Married women never ask why I didn’t call or when they’re going to see me again. I didn’t know, but if I did, I still would have come over.”

“Why?”

“Um, what?” he asked, confused now.

“Why would you have still come over? If you knew I was married. Why did you come over at all?”

“Um, well, I, uh…”

“Go away, Mitch.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, racing away.

I shook my head. My buzz was gone, and I was tired. I motioned to Willow that I was going to get a refill and reclaimed my bar stool.

Willow kept dancing with Mitch’s friend. I sat on my stool and watched them and the other people in the bar. Enjoying their Friday night. Blissful. Lucky.

I just wanted to go home and hide under my covers. Hide and never come out again. That way I didn’t have to face creepy guys who wanted to sleep with married women and sexy women who could sleep with any man and my husband…who was never going to sleep with me again.

Dammit.