Bigger (The Nicky Beets series) (20 page)

Busted.

“OK, so I just wanted to eat some Thai food and pass out in a coma,” I
said. “The difference is he was there on a date. I was just picking up
take-out.”

“Well then why did you run away?” she asked.

“Helloooo? Because he was with Candace? Like I’m going to breeze in there
to pick up food while they’re sitting there stroking each other.”

“They were stroking each other?” Rox asked.

“Yeah. Well, she was, like, petting him. It was gross.”

Rox sighed again.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I probably would have run, too.”

I laughed, a little amused by the memory of myself running in terror away
from my ex-boyfriend and his love interest. Suddenly, I remembered flinging the
cinnamon bread onto one of my neighbors’ lawns and I laughed harder.

“I might be losing it,” I chuckled.

“At least you’re laughing. That’s got to be a good sign. Your ass is
gonna be back in yoga on Monday, right?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, remembering my new eating and exercise plan.
“Definitely.”

The next day I went shopping for groceries, very carefully.
This is not a pig-out
, I kept reminding
myself.
This is eating sensibly and
happily.

I pushed a shopping cart up and down each aisle, slowly, taking in
everything on the shelves. I bought makings for a nice marinara over noodles, a
tangy asian chicken meal, sausage with sweet pepper rice, and even some veggies
– Brussels sprouts were my favorite, so I got those. I added some
asparagus, broccoli and artichokes, and lastly, a bar of dark chocolate before
deciding that was all I needed for now.

Once everything was put away in the kitchen at home, I thought about
making dinner, but realized I wasn’t hungry yet, so I put on my workout clothes
and headed to the track.

A few miles of jogging felt really good, all over. My lungs felt alive
and my calves were burning. I drove home and showered before putting together
dinner – the aforementioned marinara over noodles, with sautéed Brussels
sprout halves. I served myself a modest portion on a small plate, snapped a
couple of quick photos for a post, and ate slowly. When I’d finished, I decided
I’d had enough and wrapped the rest up to take to work for lunch.

After cleaning up in the kitchen, I turned on my computer and uploaded my
photos so I could tell my blog readers about my new philosophy and share my
recipes. I checked the comments from my previous “Fuckall” post and was shocked
to see there were almost two hundred responses. They were mostly sympathetic,
although many had found the post hilarious, too. I shook my head in equal parts
embarrassment and wonder.

Marinara over noodles & sautéed
Brussels sprouts

I realized two things today.

1.
    
I can’t continue living my life, eating the
way I’ve been eating, or I won’t want to live at all. There are few enough
pleasures in life right now as it is. I just want to eat like a “normal”
person.

2.
    
The key to health and weight loss, for me,
may be eating when I am hungry and stopping when I am full. I know this is not
exactly a novel idea. Some people do this every day, but I’m afraid I will have
to learn it.

So the new plan is: Eat what I
want, when I want it, and stop when I am satisfied. I’ll continue to exercise,
and we’ll see what happens. If nothing happens at all, I’m totally OK with
that. I’ve lost seventy-two pounds in a rather short amount of time, and I feel
pretty happy with how I look. I’m not perfect, and I’ll probably never be.

After I published the post, I curled up on the couch with a book, but
found myself staring at a wall instead, deep in thought. I felt happy with the
change I’d decided to make in my diet, and wondered what Chuck would have
thought, if he’d been here, since my low-carb meals had been so frustrating to
him. The idea made me sad. He wasn’t coming back. I’d have to figure out that
part of my life on my own, too.

Chuck had obviously moved on with someone else, so it was time I faced
the fact that eventually I’d have to re-enter the dating scene if I didn’t want
to be alone forever.

Roxanne approved wholeheartedly of my new food plan – excepting the
fact that it included whatever I wanted to eat, which included wheat.

“I’ve told you before and I’ll say it again – wheat is like death
for Type Os,” she lectured, peering over the low cubicle wall between us. “But
I do think this is a much more reasonable plan for you. I’ve been saying all
along, just eat in
moderation
.”

“I know, but until now I don’t think I knew how to do that. Or
could
do that,” I tried to explain. “I
think I had to reset my eating; remove myself from the food I was eating before
because it was so far in the opposite extreme from what I should have been
eating.”

“Well whatever it is, I’m glad you’ve figured it out,” Rox said. “You
look great and you’re getting healthy, which is all that matters.”

The day went well. No more candy machine raids, which Rox knew about from
reading my blog. She’d shaken her head disapprovingly, lips pursed. “You see
what happens when you deprive yourself?” she chided.

And I accompanied her to yoga, as promised, and I was happy to. Phil was
considerably more tolerable these days. I wondered if this was in response to
my weight loss or if he’d simply accepted the fact that I was going to be a
permanent fixture in his class. He’d taken to ignoring me altogether rather
than shooting dirty looks toward my ass when I was just trying to do a decent
downward dog. But, as usual, I sweat rivers all over my mat and Roxanne ended
her workout with barely a glow.

As we parted ways, I reached in my purse to find my cell phone and turn
the ringer back on – we always turned our phones off during class, lest
we risk the wrath of Phil.

To my shock, my cell phone told me I had a missed call from none other
than Junior. He’d left a voicemail. I shook my head in disbelief. That
clueless, clueless man.

“Hi Nicole, it’s Junior,” his message began. “Hey, I wanted to see if …
well, you know, I think I was kind of an ass the other night, and I wanted to
see if I could make it up to you. I know it’s last minute and everything, but
if you’re up for it, I’ll be down at Paco’s tonight, drowning my sorrows. Hope
I see you.”

What to make of this message? He had, indeed, been an ass, and I was
frankly surprised he even realized it. He was probably not Mister Right, but as
Laurie would probably whisper in my ear,
He’s
Mister Right Now
. I could go home, alone, and eat dinner, by myself, and go
to bed – again, alone. Or, I could possibly be entertained by a dumb man,
who said dumb, dumb things and who was very, very good in bed.

“Paco’s at 9,” I text-messaged Junior, then climbed into my car and drove
home. I showered off and didn’t bother drying my hair or putting on makeup. I
heated up a small portion of leftovers and ate them, re-thinking my decision to
hang out with Junior. Why on a Monday night? Was he spending time with me on
weeknights so he could date hotter girls on weekends? I shoved the thought away
as I rinsed my dish in the sink.

I opened the door to the darkened, near-empty cantina. Junior was not
there.
Shocking
, I thought.
I’ll stay for one drink and then I’m out of
here if he hasn’t shown
.

I ordered a screwdriver – an old standby from my college days
– and just as I was taking my first sip through the straw, I felt a pair
of arms slide around my waist and someone put their hot mouth on my neck. I
pulled away, surprised, to see Junior standing beside me with a ridiculously
huge grin on his face. Why did this man have to be so devastatingly
good-looking? He was wearing a button-up shirt with the collar open and sleeves
rolled up to his elbows, and the five o’clock shadow on his face just made him
even more edible.

“You came!” he said, sliding onto the bar stool next to mine. “I wasn’t
sure you’d be here.”

“I usually show up when I say I’m going to be somewhere,” I explained.

“Awesome!” Junior waved down the bartender and ordered two shots of
tequila and a beer. He slid one of the shots toward me and announced, “To …
apologies, and rekindling our … whatever it is.”

“No thanks,” I said, pushing the shot back toward him. “I have to work
tomorrow so I think I’ll just stick to my screwdriver.”

Junior’s face fell almost imperceptibly, but he acquiesced. “Fair enough!
Waste not, want not.”

He tossed both shots back in a matter of seconds and took a long pull on
his beer before turning back toward me. I was watching him, curious.

“So, I pissed you off, somehow,” he started.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“Whatever I did, I didn’t mean to,” he said.

I looked at him for a moment, considering whether it would be worth it to
even try to explain his own stupidity to him, but in a fit of optimism, I
decided to go ahead and give it a shot.

“Look,” I said. “I’m not one of your buddies who you can invite over to
your apartment and then ignore. I barely know you. Offer me a drink. Don’t act
insane, like you have a thing for underage girls. Don’t invite strange men over
if I’m there and act like it’s totally normal. Don’t tell me what you think I
want, because you’ll be wrong.”

Junior looked properly chagrined and was facing the bar, staring at his
beer.

“I was an idiot,” he agreed. “I don’t know how to act around you –
you’re gorgeous and you seem so confident. You intimidate the hell out of me.”

I was incredulous.

“
You’re
intimidated by
me
? Are you blowing smoke up my ass?
From what I’ve heard, you’ve fucked half the women in Berkeley.”

Junior shook his head. “I’m sure Laurie’s full of half-true stories about
me. Yeah, I’ve been out with women. I’m a single guy, that’s allowed. But
you’re different than most women.”

He’d reached one hand over to my knee and was sliding it up my thigh as
he moved his face closer to mine for what was probably going to be a
mind-numbing kiss, if previous experience was any indication. Electric currents
were shooting up my leg and through my body as he pressed his mouth to mine and
Frenched me like I really was the hottest chick he’d ever met. He was like food
to a starving person. I leaned into the kiss and he slipped a hand into my
hair.

“Let’s go outside,” he suggested breathily. I nodded dumbly.

He tossed a couple twenties on the bar and pulled me by one hand out the
front door and toward a picnic bench nestled under a tree in a dark area of the
parking lot. With surprising strength, he lifted me onto the table so that I
was sitting facing him, and he pressed his muscled body into mine. He grasped
my hair, pulling my head back so he could kiss my neck. His other hand reached
down to rub me between my legs.

I pulled his hand away and we continued making out passionately. Then he
put his hand there again and I pulled it away again. He stopped and looked at
me, breathing hard. He lifted me off the table and set me on the ground and
then leaned down to continue kissing me. One of his hands slipped down the
front of my pants and into my underwear, where he proceeded to try to stimulate
me in the most awkward manner I’d ever been stimulated. I pulled his hand out.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, nibbling on my earlobe.

“Nothing,” I said. “I just don’t want to do that in public.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Come on. Have you ever had sex in public?”

I pulled my head back. “No.”

“Take off your pants. We can do it right here on this table,” he said as
he rubbed one of my breasts through my shirt. “I want you now.”

I looked at the table, which was littered with cigarette stubs and carved
with various visitors’ intials.

“No …” I said. “I’ll get splinters in my butt, besides which I don’t want
to do it outside of Paco’s.”

He reached for my jeans and unfastened the top button, so I swatted his
hand away.

“No.”

“Come on,” he said, taking another stab at reaching his hand into my
pants.

I pushed him away again and wriggled out of his grasp. “I said
no
!”

Junior drew back in surprise. I was watching him, angry, adjusting my
pants and my shirt. A girl shouldn’t have to say
No
so many times, and when she does, she starts to get a little
nervous.

“What is it with you?” I asked him. He just stared at me. “Why did you
call me to come meet you here on a Monday night?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, dumbly. His cell phone began to ring in his
pocket and he pulled it out and looked at the screen before shoving it back in
his pants.

“I should go,” he said.

The look on his face could mean only bad things. Guilt, panic, and
surprise were oozing out of his pores. I suddenly knew what was going on here.

“Was that your girlfriend?” I asked him. I should have realized all along
this guy was up to no good.

Junior stood with his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground.

“Just tell me the truth,” I said. “It’s not like there’s anything serious
going on here. You have a girlfriend, don’t you?”

He looked up at me for a moment before answering, “Yes.”

“All right,” I said as I gathered up my purse and looked for my car keys.
“Well this ended up just about how I expected it would. Good luck getting your
shit together some day.”

“Thanks,” the idiot muttered.

So it appeared Junior was unable to be Mister Right Now, much less Mister
Right. The guy was some kind of vagina-grabbing maniac who couldn’t just be
happy with one girl; he needed God-knew-how-many. I shuddered to think of the
number of women who might be in his rotation at any given moment.