Heavy Issues (17 page)

“Stop it, babe. You’re killing me here.”

“I shudder to think what explanation they’d have come up with for Cindy’s slutty nurse uniform and the pink dildo she had between her legs.”

“Oh God.” Cole closed his eyes, his shoulders shaking in laughter. He looked so relaxed, his ever-present shield down.

“A pity I didn’t scream and startle her into snapping her mouth shut. That would have been worth my while,” she said as she watched him. “And here’s the kicker. Do you know who paid for the ring? Me basically. He took the money from our joint bank account, the one he never transferred money to. So essentially I paid for that twenty-eight-thousand-dollar, bad-karma engagement ring myself. Swell, huh? Todd said he was going to replace the money, but he never did, in full at least. After the whole blowjob incident, he transferred ten grand, probably as a peace offering. When I signed him off from the bank account, he went ballistic. Not sure if it was because of the money or our engagement going under.” Probably the money. The slimeball.

Cole had stopped laughing. “Good for you. Do you need help pounding this guy into the ground? I’d gladly do it. Give me five minutes with him and I’ll have a check for you.”

“Nah, thank you. Serves me right for being such a gullible moron. I actually thought going for celibacy before the wedding was romantic.” Not that they had much sex before that, but still. It had never occurred to her that he was cheating. “He keeps calling. My mom too. They both think I’m being unreasonable.”

He had a murderous look in his face. “The only unreasonable part is you leaving him the use of his legs. I can help with that too.”

“I’m just happy it’s over.”

“Why does he keep calling you? It’s been almost six months.”

“I think he’s just pissed that I broke it off, not him. He has a reputation to maintain. And he does live beyond his means, so he’s probably double pissed that his meal ticket skipped town.”

“Fucking asshole.”

Yes, he was a fucking asshole. And she was a fucking idiot for ever considering marrying him.

“Let’s talk about something else. Something more festive. Let’s talk about you.”

“I’m not festive,” he replied with a grunt.

“Sure you are,” Christy said with a smile as she sat with some difficulty and propped her back against the headboard.

“Are you okay?”

“A bit sore.”

A devilish grin spread over his face. “From the dancing or from the fucking?”

She laughed and massaged her thighs. “Both probably. I’m not used to so much exercise.”

“You’re good at dancing salsa,” he said to her. “How did you get into it?”

“I thought we were going to talk about you now.”

“Nope, we aren’t. You’re far more interesting. How did you get into salsa?”

“It wasn’t voluntarily, I can tell you that,” she muttered. “My first sponsor forced me to learn.”

“Your sponsor forced you to learn salsa? What the fuck?”

She stared at him. Not only did he get out of talking about himself, but he’d turned the tables and was prying information out of her. Man, he was good.

Christy shook her head. “Why is it so easy to talk to you?” She sighed and, without waiting for an answer, continued, “Five years ago I was two hundred pounds, I couldn’t stop eating, and my life was a wreck. Out of sheer desperation, I went to one of those twelve-step support groups I always said I’d never go to because they were for losers and lunatics. I was at the end of my rope, so when they told me I had to get a sponsor, I did.” Besides, how much worse could her life have gotten? She had hit rock bottom and had lost the ability to negotiate with food. Up until then she’d always been able to somehow restrict her intake or go on weird, crazy diets for some period of time, never mind how short. Not anymore. She’d been done in. Food had won the battle.

It wasn’t that she’d gone on huge 30,000-calorie binges, but she’d been just eating constantly, hooked up 24-7 to her own very special IV drip. Every morning she’d sworn to herself that today was the day, but by ten a.m. she was already totally sugared up. She’d been utterly powerless. Depressed and isolated. Spending all her days in a permanent food fog, feeling drowsy and sluggish and so damn tired.

The whole extent of her social life had consisted of getting off work as fast as possible to go hide at home and eat. Buying her food, eating it, and sleeping it off had been the highlight of her day. And running after her mother and putting out fires, of course.

Her place had been a mess, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t even had the strength to face it; she just wanted to sit in front of the television, stuff her face, and space out.

“Lora, my sponsor, was a seventy-year-old grandma from southern Texas who had temporarily moved to California to be with her son and his kids. She might sound like a sweet woman, but in reality she was a take-no-shit-from-no-sucker drill sergeant from hell that always shot straight from the hip.” Lora had been a hundred-pounder, and she was very tough, probably because of her AA background. The second she’d seen how Christy had been living, she’d started ordering her around, bullying her into making changes. First on her list had been “cleaning” Christy’s food; second had been uncluttering her home. Christy had tried the I’ll-do-that-tomorrow approach, but Lora had been a tough cookie. She’d say, “
No, you’ll do it today, and I’ll help you
.” And she’d stay around until Christy got off her butt and did it. There’d been no way of getting rid of her except by doing what she wanted Christy to do.

“She had me going to meetings every day, making me drive her and other old-timers all over LA for their AA meetings and ours. You should have seen us. I had gangsta rap always playing, hoping they’d prefer to get another ride, but it didn’t bother them at all. Not happy with that, Lora decided I had to sign up for some activity because I was too much of a couch potato. She kept nagging me, said she had the afternoons free and that she’d go with me. I thought I’d sign up for whatever Lora would hate doing, and when she stopped coming, I’d drop it too and she wouldn’t be able to chew my ass for it. So I chose salsa. I thought she’d never go for it.”

Cole looked intently at her. “It backfired?”

“Like you wouldn't believe. For the next two frigging years, that seventy-year-old lady dragged me to dance lessons every Wednesday and Friday. She didn’t even miss a class. I spent two hundred and eight afternoons in a senior community center dancing salsa and mambo. And…let me count…twenty-four Saturdays in exhibitions in other community centers ‘showing off our skills.’ Damn embarrassing.”

Cole barked out a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish. We were always very short on men, but it didn’t stop them in the least.”

“You should be a salsa star by now with so much practice.”

“I was the only one there under sixty. They were all lovely, but they kept forgetting the steps, so the teacher kept repeating them. We never went past the basics.” She’d been bored out of her skull, but it’d kept her busy and not eating, which had probably been the main idea to begin with.

“How did you convince Lora to let you stop?”

“Convince Lora? No one convinces Lora of anything. She had to move back to Texas when her younger daughter had a third kid and needed her help. Thank God for unplanned pregnancies and sloppy birth-control methods. Otherwise I’d still be trapped in that hell dancing salsa.”

In spite of everything, Christy loved Lora to pieces. She’d gotten her on a food plan and working on her issues. Without Lora Christy wouldn’t have made it. Some days she’d wanted to eat so badly she really didn’t know how she’d managed. Well, she knew—it had been Lora and those damn opinionated old-timers occupying all her time. And then when she’d reached her goal weight and Christy had discovered she had no clue who she was or what to do with her life if she wasn’t either bingeing or dieting, Lora had helped with that too.

“You were as bossy as Lora on the dance floor. Only I was used to being cushioned by her big boobs every time the step required me to lean over her chest. And you didn’t have those. It threw me off at first.”

“Glad I could somehow enhance your salsa experience.”

That he did. She hadn’t gotten what dancing salsa was about until this very night in Cole’s arms.

“The hard protuberance digging into my lower back was a novelty too.”

“This protuberance?” he asked, taking her hand to his groin. He was hard again.

She laughed, tugging her hand free. “Forget about it. I’m dead. And I’m thirsty. And a bit hungry too.”

GOD, HE LOVED having her in his bed.

He kissed her. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

She covered herself with the blanket and jumped over the bed.

Cole stood up, buck naked, and extended his hand to her. “Coming?”

She kept looking around.

“What are you looking for?”

“Something to wear, of course.”

“You don’t need anything. Let’s go.”

It didn’t seem to convince her, because she didn’t move, her hands still clutching the sheets.

“I’m not comfortable strolling around your house naked.”

“Why not? I’m not exactly dressed myself.”

Christy didn’t answer, stubbornly staring at him with those chocolate eyes, her lips firmly pressed into a tight line. She began wrapping herself in the blanket, which pooled at her feet.

“Fine,” he said, breathing out. “Take one of my shirts.”

He went to the dresser, picked up a sweatshirt, and tossed it to her. She pulled it on and followed him to the kitchen.

The food issue might be under control, but she was far from comfortable with her body. While having sex, with her mind lost to passion, she was looser about it, but once the sex-induced fog was gone, she got self-conscious again, trying to cover herself up as if her body wasn’t acceptable. As if it was a source of embarrassment.

“This isn’t going to fly with me.”

Her chin shot up. “My lack of nudity, you mean? I don’t see why not; I’m accommodating enough while having sex. More than enough, actually. I don’t see why going naked or dressed around your house should be important.”

“Because you’re hiding from me. Hell, you’re hiding from yourself. Why?” He so didn’t get it. She was beautiful, heart-stoppingly so. Yes, she had some marks on her body from the weight, but they were barely noticeable. Besides, he loved a soft body cushioning his. He hated toned-up, hard stomachs and protruding bones. She should never feel ashamed of herself in front of him.

She shrugged. “You win some; you lose some.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

She stopped in front of the doors to the patio. “This place is great. Have you lived here long?”

He was getting pissed. She made him crazy; one moment he wanted to hug her, the next he wanted to yell some sense into her. Or fuck her into submission. It was confusing.

“You’re changing the subject to avoid my question, and not very skillfully at that.”

“I didn’t pretend to be subtle. I am avoiding your question,” she stated, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve been straightforward enough. Hell, I’ve been yapping about myself nonstop since we hooked up. Your turn.”

She might have a point there. Besides, that stubborn look on her face said she was winning this one. “Fair enough,” he said as he opened the refrigerator and stared at its contents. Aunt Maggie’s pasta casserole was probably out of the question. He fished out some leftover chicken and put it on the kitchen table. A bottle of orange juice and a carton of milk too. “I’ve lived in this house for around four years. I’ve always been very partial to this side of the lake, so when the city council decided to develop it, I jumped in. James too.” He scanned his fridge again. “Okay, apart from chicken and cheese and bologna to make sandwiches, which I guess aren’t an option, we have watermelon balls and some yogurt. What do you want?”

“I love yogurt. Is it sugar-free?”

He had no clue. He took a look. “Sorry, no.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Watermelon balls are fine.”

He took the fruit from the fridge, and after placing the platter in front of her, he brought her a bowl. “Dig in. Don’t be shy.”

She poured some juice in the bowl and added some watermelon balls. Then she hopped up to sit on the counter. “Tell me something else about you.”

“What do you want to know?” he asked as he grabbed some mayo and lettuce and began making himself a chicken sandwich. He cut some extra pieces of chicken and brought one to her lips. “Open up.”

She did, and he felt stupidly proud that she’d taken food from him.

God, get a grip. She’s fucking your brain into mush.

“Oh, I don’t know. Do you like running the family business?”

“Sure. And that’s lucky because my dad didn’t give me any options. When I came home from the marines, I told him I was staying home for good and that I’d like to work with him in the company. He slapped me on the back and said, ‘About time.’ Next thing I know the old man had reserved a condo in the Eternal Sun Resort in Florida and was retiring. Dumped everything on me.”

He fed her some more chicken, mesmerized at the sight of her mouth opening for him, of her tongue innocently darting to catch the oil from his fingertips.

“Why did you leave the marines?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to her effect on him.

He shrugged. “It was time.”

He’d loved the military, but one could only tempt death so many times. And his father had needed help.

“What about the shrapnel scars? How did that happen?”

“I did several rotations in the bomb squad in Afghanistan.”

Her eyes popped open. “And…”

“And shit happens, sweetheart.” ’Specially when you were an explosives expert in a hellhole full of crazy fanatics and warlords. Something good had come out of it, though. His proficiency in explosives had let him into the business of high-profile demolitions, making his dad’s company quadruple its profits.

After she refused more chicken, he leaned on the counter, crossed his feet at his ankles, and watched her finish her watermelon balls while he ate his sandwich. He made a mental note to go shopping. If Christy was going to be spending time in his bed, he needed to be able to feed her properly.