Big Girl Panties (11 page)

Logan threw his head back and laughed. He was proud to take the ribbing. “I'll remember that next time I hear your hamstring pop.”

When they parted ways at the end of the night, Holly thanked everyone for a wonderful time and Amanda immediately invited her to another game as her guest. Holly eagerly accepted and they exchanged numbers. Logan's lips formed a tight line. He had the nagging feeling Amanda was not convinced that Holly was just a client. He worried he may have made a colossal mistake in introducing them. And if Amanda was making plans to take it to the next level, he didn't know where the hell that level was, or worse yet, how to stifle it. Still, he said nothing.

H
olly's one step from delightful, don't you think?” It was really more of a statement than a question.

“It isn't going to work, you know.” Chase got right to the point, hours later, exhausted from postplay with his wife in addition to the game itself. He pulled her to him, her naked back snug against his torso, and wrapped his arm around her.

“What do you mean?” Amanda asked, sounding remarkably innocent.

“You know very well what I mean. Stop meddling.” His baritone rumbled a stern warning next to her ear, and a chill went up her spine.

“You're starting to sound like Ricky Ricardo. What's next? I'm going to have some esplainin' to do?” She wiggled in against his thighs, fitting to his mold. “Don't worry, Ricky, I won't try to get into the show.”

Chase ran his large hand the length of Amanda's thigh to a still-warm round globe and caressed. “That's pretty funny. I remember that show. That Lucy would do some wacky stuff. And we both know what happened to her when Ricky had enough of her nonsense.” He gave her a halfhearted, loving smack and she gave him an enchanting giggle before he returned to his point. “The girl is very nice, cute even,” Chase said. “But if you insist on doing this, someone is going to get hurt. And it's going to be her. This one's a client for Logan, nothing more.”

But Amanda was unfazed and gave Chase a little
tsk-tsk
from her half of his pillow.

“Am I going to have to explain about vehicles to you again?”

“What the hell are you talking about, woman?” Chase yawned, losing interest as soon as she used the word “explain.”

“You don't see it. Logan doesn't see it, although he certainly should. He and I believe in a lot of the same principles when it comes to cosmic wheels and karma and such; you know that. Holly probably doesn't even see it. But I do. Oh, I do. All the women he's ever introduced us to have been these walking, talking carbon-copy bombshells. He exchanges them as soon as he tires of them, which I assume is right after he sleeps with them, or once they manage to string a sentence together.”

“You were the one who made him bring her along. And you sound almost jealous. Is there something I need to worry about?” Chase possessively tightened his arm around her, more out of habit than concern.

“Of course not, silly. I'm just trying to illustrate for you the higher forces at work here. He meets her on a plane coming back from a trip he didn't really need to be on. He just happens to take her on as a client, even though last I heard, he's been turning down new clients for a year, no matter what your name is or what team you play for. Not to mention, I can't even remember the last time he entertained the thought of training a woman, yet suddenly he's running to her house in the middle of the night on a phone call. He calls her his ‘ugly duckling' and somehow makes it sound like a term of endearment.”

“He calls all the women he trains ugly ducklings.” Chase yawned again, unmoved and unimpressed.

Amanda's eyes grew wide. “I beg your pardon? He called
me
an ugly duckling?” she demanded hotly.

Chase released a small chuckle and kissed the top of her head, deliberately neglecting to outright confirm or deny. “Well now, that would be lunacy. It's a stupid figure of speech, a motivator. Not the best, I'll be the first to admit. He likes to get to the swan part. He's got a thing about birds, I guess. He used to tell me I was a phoenix rising from the ashes. Can we get some sleep now, please?”

“There is a huge difference between those two comparisons, don't you think? One is a mythical sacred firebird, the other an ostracized misfit.” She stiffened in his arms, becoming increasingly bothered with each justification her husband made. If Chase thought she was going to let him go to sleep at this particular juncture, he needed to think again.

“He once called Roger Clemens a penguin.” Chase yawned again and made the effort to appease her. “That's hardly flattering. Or was it a lemming? That's not even a bird, is it? I can't believe we're having this conversation. I told you I agree that it's stupid.”

“You're damn right it's stupid. But even if he does say it, does believe it, what in heaven's name is he waiting for? To start showing her off, I mean. You saw her tonight. Her clothes don't even fit. And I'm not even talking about just a little loose. It looked like two of her could've fit in those jeans.”

“Now he's supposed to be her personal shopper?” Chase retorted.

“No, of course not. But he should be encouraging her to unveil herself. Unless of course he has some hidden reason for wanting her to stay all covered up. Especially if, as he says and as you agree, he has no personal stake in any of this. Wouldn't it help her self-esteem and his own cause to show the world how much she's progressed? For crying out loud, did you see that shirt? You couldn't even tell if she had boobs hiding under there.”

“There were definitely boobs,” was the sleepy burble. “She's probably not thin enough for him yet. Good night, love.”

“Excuse me? What the fuck do you mean by that?” Amanda sat up now, fully awake and completely perturbed. She didn't want to believe her friend would deny chemistry on that basis alone. And that her husband would so casually condone it. Chase opened both eyes but remained on his pillow, his tone now humorless.

“Amanda Walker, what's gotten into you? You know I hate the F-word. You're a lady, not a sailor on shore leave. And you are getting way too involved in this. It's none of our business what type of women Logan likes or the fashion statements his clients make. Now, I am bushed, and I really want to get some sleep. Come back here.”

But Amanda refused to lie back down, incensed that somehow her own fuller figure might be viewed as substandard by Logan or anyone else. Crossing her arms, she continued to fume. “I can't believe you and I would be friends with someone who refers to women in terms of ugly birds until he waves his magic wand over them. Not thin enough? What a hateful thing to say. Forget
me
. Why would
you
be friends with someone so superficial—”

“That's it.” Chase growled and sat up, giving no further warning. Taking his wife's arm, he sent her over his lap with a forceful tug. Despite her one word of protest—“No!”—his strong square hand came down, initiating her second spanking of the night, only this one was for the sake of his sanity and not their mutual pleasure. Amanda felt the difference in his delivery immediately as he peppered her bottom with firm, well-placed swats, indicating he meant business. He fired off a quick scolding—he was no longer interested in analyzing the shortcomings of his friends and was tired of her fussing. As soon as he heard her frustrated acquiescence and tearful plea for him to stop, he helped her sit up beside him. She promptly lay back down, presented him with her back, and scooted over to her side of the king-sized bed, indulging in an offended pout.

Chase quickly followed, turned her around to face him, and silenced any further protest by lowering his lips breathtakingly onto hers, an act that even in her chagrin she responded to with fervor. Minutes later, as he tore his lips away from hers, he shook a weary finger at her. “We don't go to sleep angry. I know you mean well, angel. If you are right about Logan and this girl, then nothing you can do will help or hinder their getting together. Right or wrong?”

“Yes,” she begrudgingly admitted, her thoroughly kiss-swollen lower lip still protruding.

“You wouldn't have wanted someone getting this involved in
our
affairs, now, would you?” Chase asked with a worn-out but still fiendishly roguish smile, tracing his thumb across her cheek to check for any stray tears.

“No,” Amanda huffed, refusing a total surrender by turning back around, yet allowing him to reposition her into the very spot where their conversation started, snug and secure against him. She murmured under her breath, “But a little push never hurts.”

As Chase drifted off to sleep, the last thing he remembered, after thinking his wife had way too much time on her hands, was to tell her, “If anyone knows about pushing, it's you.”

Chapter Nine

H
olly lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling with fingers tightly intertwined across her stomach, a position she had assumed a thousand times before, throughout her childhood and adolescence. When in the darkness, she would pray to God. She would pray to feel the love of the detached unyielding people who created her. She prayed to be understood and appreciated and given a chance to succeed, even if she didn't exactly know what her definition of success was. And daily, without fail, she would ask God to please let her be thin. Not forever, she would pray, just for a few days. Just long enough so that she might know what it's like to bare her midriff, shop for a bikini. To look forward to attending the sort of event that required a sleeveless clingy little black dress, after receiving the countless invitations that were sure to accompany her new willowy figure. To show off her legs in a tight miniskirt with stiletto heels and not look like a moose trying to ice-skate. To have lecherous jerks gawk and stare, not because they were snickering at her rolls of fat, but because they were marveling at her beauty as she gracefully breezed by them without so much as a backward glance. To feel light on her feet as opposed to like a bull in a china shop, lumbering instead of walking. For one stinking day to not have to give a second thought to clothes and scales and judgments. It wasn't too much to ask, and she would give anything back in return.

She knew that prayer by heart, although it had been a long time since she called upon it. Once she married she had been free to abandon it, secure that she had someone by her side who accepted her and then loved her, in spite of and even because of her socially perceived shortcomings. Bruce had never bothered with and was likely incapable of eloquent pronouncements about beauty or desire, but he did tell her he loved her every day with sincere affection. For Holly that was more than enough, and her prayers became ones of gratitude and thankfulness. About three seconds after they lowered him into the ground, she stopped praying altogether.

Thank God she was no longer the praying kind, she thought. After tonight, she wouldn't even know what the hell to ask for.

Holly tried to reconcile the events of the evening. The way things were changing was too radical. Or was it that she'd been living in a state of suspended animation since Bruce's death? Eight years ago, she had been living in the woods in Ontario and could count her social circle on one hand. Twenty months ago, she was virtually alone watching the man she pledged to stand by forever take his last breath. Now she was dining with baseball heroes. A week ago, she didn't even know what a Chase Walker was, and if she'd had to venture a guess, she would have said it was some new fitness craze for geriatrics or a funky alcoholic beverage involving a shot and a beer. She thought back to sitting at the table in the restaurant, how surreal it all seemed. How surreal her life had become since getting on that plane and sitting down next to that man. How Logan was able to make her
feel
again, even if that feeling was intimidation and caution that morphed into admiration. And now she could add disconcertment. There were too many variables she just hadn't counted on.

Originally, Holly thought “personal trainer” was just a polite term for “drill sergeant,” a mean-spirited taskmaster whose only goal in life was to try to kill you in the most wretched yet civilized ways possible. It was only your hatred for him that sustained you. When she accepted Logan's proposal, she had been more than willing to hate him. Holly only excelled at hating herself. When she first met Logan, she was sure he would fill the role of hate magnet nicely. It would be like a mutual-torture society. He could hate her imperfections for her, and she could hate everything else. Sure, he was charming and hotter than Lucifer's loincloth. She could consider that a bonus, for the days when she didn't particularly feel like hating anybody.

So he was good-looking. Big deal. Good-looking she could handle. Anyone willing to take out a loan could achieve beauty. Tuck this, suck that, take a bit off here. Change colors on a whim. But character? It had no price tag; no amount of money could buy it. When Logan turned out to be a genuine human being and an all-around nice guy, Holly felt like she'd maybe turned a corner and possibly even made a friend. All he expected of her was that she participate in her own life. She had made the conscious decision when she started training that her best course of action was to just show up, refuse to whine, and focus on staying alive, no matter what atrocities he forced her to endure.

And the simple approach worked better than she ever imagined. Holly learned that she loved the feel of her strength bursting out of her. To have a totally different kind of pain, the kind that, after she gritted her teeth and got through it, would stop. He knew just how to create that pain and at the same time confirm to her that it was worth it. But she hadn't counted on all the touching.

Sweet Jesus, the
touching
. So subtle at first, the strong encouraging hands over hers to help her pump out the last few repetitions in a set, when fatigue began to set in. His hands weren't really pushing the weight for her, but instead, there was almost a transfer of energy from him to her, to help her get it accomplished. He adjusted her shoulders, arms, legs, and sometimes hips to make sure her form was perfect, helping her attain the maximum benefit from the exercises and minimize risk of injury. Holly understood the science behind it. She also understood that it had been a long time since she'd felt a man's touch, and Logan's touch was becoming more and more electrifying. She worked harder and harder to keep her efforts from requiring his assistance. She began to growl and snap when he even pretended he was going to help her finish her set. She tried doing it in a way that sent the message that she was digging down deep for more energy to do it herself, and it usually worked.

There was no way, however, to escape
the stretch.
And after all this time, she still hadn't gotten used to it. In fact, they seemed to last longer, had become more intimate. He never rushed; he would not rest until he was satisfied that Holly's every muscle was given the best chance for a full recovery. It had become the most exquisite torment. The only thing she considered worse than the touching was the stopping of it. He was the meanest drill sergeant Holly had ever met. She endured this agony three times a week and tried like hell not to arrive too early.

She was becoming more and more dependent on his company, no matter how much she fought the touch, an uncomfortable feeling at best. Sitting at that restaurant table tonight, the odd man out at a mini-convention of genetic miracles, was more than she'd bargained for.

Feeling too wound up to sleep, Holly got out of bed and retrieved her laptop. As she got back in bed and powered it up, she tried to remember the last time she'd even turned it on. It had to have been over a week. She was trying to rein in her habit of playing Café World on Facebook. Holly had joined the popular networking site when one of her Canadian friends from work e-mailed her that it was a great way to keep in touch. When Holly stumbled across the virtual restaurant she could create and man, it nearly became an obsession. All the delicious food she could prepare and serve to imaginary patrons held so much appeal. She spent days setting up her perfect little café with just the right ambiance. When she almost missed her gynecologist appointment because she was waiting for her onion soup to finish, she knew she had a borderline problem. She did enjoy keeping up with all her friends back in Toronto though. Maybe she'd spend some time writing a few e-mails. It would be a refreshing change of pace to be able to report some good news. She could tell Tina she had dinner with Chase Walker, with the added benefit of Tina's being unable to overwhelm her with a thousand questions all at once.

Just one peek at the café first. Maybe set up a dish on her stoves that would take several days to cook.

Holly was totally unprepared for what popped up when she logged in to her Facebook account.

She had a friend request. It was from Logan Montgomery. Her gasp was audible.

She was shocked. Why had he even bothered to look her up?

“He probably adds all his clients,” Holly said, rationalizing out loud. Still, she hesitated to confirm his invitation. The opportunity to get another glimpse into Logan's personal life was appealing yet dangerous. He was already consuming way too much of her gray matter when she was alone.

Holly clicked on
CONFIRM
and then went straight to his page.

She was greeted by the familiar smiling face in his profile picture, taken at some sort of party or nightclub. He was wearing a navy blue suit, a look she had never seen on him before. She hungrily stared at it, not having to worry that he would catch her marveling at his chiseled perfection. His toffee eyes were so warm they could melt a girl if he kept them on her too long. His dazzling smile was a testament to his never-ending enthusiasm, beckoning for her to join him in it. She already knew she would never build up an adequate immunity to his dimples.

The statuses he posted were all upbeat and encouraging, full of self-improvement tips and Zen-like sayings. There was no self-absorbed bragging or blowing of his own horn. None of that was necessary. His wall was teeming with posts from hundreds of “friends” who obviously held him in the highest regard. Athletes expressed gratitude to him for various issues he'd helped see them through; charity leaders thanked him for either time or money donated. Women gushed about how great it was to see him, nearly begging him to “get together again.” Each and every post was politely answered by him, graciously confirming that it was his pleasure to be a part of something so worthwhile. That he was glad he could help. That he had a wonderful time as well. That he looked forward to seeing so-and-so again, without ever actually committing to when that would be. She went into his information section and an inadvertent sigh of relief escaped her when it made no mention of any significant relationship status. His religion was “spiritual.” His politics were “liberal leaning toward Democrat.” He liked popular music and action movies, with a few comedies thrown in. He didn't watch much television. He was well-read, with his favorite books either classics or self-help. She couldn't contain her glee at the discovery that one of his favorite books was
Brave New World
. Jesus, it could have been written about him, with its World State of Alphas and eternal peacefulness and everyone happy. Of course, the similarity ended with the use of soma, as Logan held a clear disdain for any mind-altering drugs in general. Even Holly knew that. Suddenly, it felt like he was in the room with her. Logan Montgomery had successfully entered her bedroom, without even setting foot in it.

With shaking hands, she opened his photo albums and was immediately thankful she was sitting down. With one click of her mouse, she was launched into a plethora of masculine excellence. All stages of Logan were represented. The at-work Logan, as she knew him best. The social Logan, at parties and holidays and sporting events, dressed both casually and in black tie. Lots of the photos had him standing beside celebrities and professional athletes. Holly felt a pang of stalker's guilt when she opened an album of him on vacation in Fiji.

“Holy moly.” She exhaled loudly. “That's what's hiding under his clothes?!”

She shamelessly ogled pictures of him on the beach wearing nothing more than a pair of board shorts. For the first and probably only time in her life, she wished a man was wearing a Speedo. She had little doubt Logan would be able to pull off a banana hammock with ease. He was bronze and glistening and defined, with an expansive, smooth chest and clear-cut abs that fed into what Holly just knew was a perfect package. In fact, the way his obliques separated at his hips, it was practically an advertisement leading her to make the assumption. At least that was what Holly told herself to assuage her vulgar musings. Holly's staring began to resemble a game—trying to find one single flaw. Maybe some scar from a booster shot gone bad, some hideous mole with hair growing out of it, a crooked toe, anything to bring him down to her level. There was nothing. She would have to be content believing he had a hairy ass or a testicle that hadn't dropped.

Chase and Amanda were in some of the photos of Fiji as well. Chase looked equally impressive, a few inches taller than Logan and beefier. Amanda, while not exactly thin and covered up a bit more in a one-piece bathing suit with matching sarong, still managed to look like she'd stepped out of
Vogue
. Her long black locks, haphazardly pulled back, only enhanced her heart-shaped face and cobalt eyes.

And then there was the woman.

Holly felt her throat tighten.

She was stunning. Tan, tiny bikini, not an ounce of fat on her, a mane of flaxen flowing hair, round baby-blue eyes. She was Logan's ideal counterpart. They were sitting poolside at a swim-up bar, sharing one of those tropical drinks, the kind that arrives in a giant glass and uses two straws. They looked so perfect together, all smiles and dimples, like they could have been taking the picture for a Sandals beach resort brochure. Holly couldn't even recall the last time she bought a bathing suit. There were pictures of them dressed up at a fancy restaurant, the blond woman's tiny white sequined dress leaving little to the imagination, except maybe how many miles her legs went on for. Logan's unforgettable, tuxedoed handsomeness would encourage any woman's imagination to run wild.

Holly leaned back against her pillows, frowning. Penguin suits were for weddings and awards shows.
Who wears a tuxedo to dinner on vacation? People like Logan Montgomery do.
It probably wasn't even a rental, but tailored to meet his numerous fancy-schmancy needs. But even that wasn't the worst part; she came to the stark realization after she left that photo album and continued to look at his other pictures. There were other women as well, much to her disappointment. Not many, but all with several striking similarities. First, there was enough blond hair represented in the photos to make Holly want to consider a stock purchase in peroxide. But even more unsettling was that all of these blondes were tall and thin and busty. Worse yet, they were as unblemished as Logan was. Except for the would-be supermodel who appeared to have some sort of zit on her chin that her makeup just wasn't covering enough. Probably had PMS and was back to being perfect in a week. Some of the women Holly vaguely remembered seeing somewhere before.