Love Handles (39 page)

“What happened?” Bev asked when she saw his decimated kitchen.

He came up behind her and hooked his hands around her waist. “I thought I’d lost you, so I had to keep busy.” Then he swore, remembering the bathroom. The drop-cloths over his bedroom floor. He’d have to keep her so distracted in bed she didn’t notice.

“I kind of did the same thing,” she said. “I would have done anything to keep Fite up and running. Since it was all I had left.”

“You did amazingly well. Your grandfather wasn’t crazy after all. I should have trusted him.”

Bev gazed into his eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

“Unfortunately. His evil plan for me to seduce you turned out to be just the thing.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “You’re not a bad boss and you’re very creative with the bennies.”

She tensed. “But that’s all over.”

He turned her around in his arms. “Bev . . . ”

“Being the boss, I mean.” She rolled her eyes. “See? This is what I’m talking about. I haven’t convinced you of diddly squat.”

He let out his breath. Pulled her close. “Just keep telling me. It’ll sink in eventually.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He smiled. Felt her up. “Good.”

“No, you’re just being polite. That’s why I made you choose. So you’d know, in your bones.”

He pressed his hips against her. “Oh, my bones know.”

“I’ll work a few more weeks. Then it’ll be yours again.” She pulled out of his arms and ran a hand through her tangled hair, frowning. “You got a working shower in this place? I’d really like to—”

He snorted. “A few more weeks. Right.”

“So you know I’d rather have you than Fite.” She went over and stuck her head in the fridge. “I wonder if I can get a job at Levi’s or something. I can’t imagine going back to teaching now.”

He shook his head, smiling, and captured her from behind again. “You do whatever you like. Buy a doughnut shop. Teach molecular biology at Cal. Hang out in my bed, naked, while I bring home the bacon—”

“Bacon is right, you sexist pig.”

He sighed, enjoyed the feel of her, the fit of her. “I can dream.”

She turned in his arms, beer in hand, and went up on her toes to kiss his chin. “You don’t believe me. About proving my love.”

He smiled into her eyes. “I know you, Bev. You want to look like you’re doing the right thing, but there’s no way you’d give up Fite now. At the end of the day—” he gave her a deep, sweet kiss, “—you’re lookin’ out for Numero Uno.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She bit her lip, trying to scowl, but her face split into a wide, adoring grin. “And you don’t have a problem with that?”

“Nope.”

“Because you’re the same way.” Her eyes sparkled. “Admit it.”

He tilted his head and looked at her. “You bet I am,” he said seriously. “At the end of the day, I’m looking out for you too.”

Then he began a kiss that was so sweet, so deep, and lasted so long, Bev didn’t notice his bedroom was painted three different colors until the next morning.

Epilogue

I
t was almost ten-thirty when Bev walked through Fite’s front door. She wore an outfit from the first Fite Gear delivery, dark purple sweats with a long, stretchy jacket tied around her waist with a Fite logo on her butt—like three other women on the BART train with her that afternoon.

She didn’t walk up right away to Carrie, who was on the phone, turned slightly to the side. Bev needed a minute to compose herself. Catch her breath.

“Bev!” Carrie slammed down the phone. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” She ran around the desk and came over, arms wide.

Bev accepted the warm impact with a smile and tried not to lose it. Lately all she did was cry. “You looked busy.”

“I am. Liam is promoting me to Trim Buyer.”

“That’s perfect for you.”

Carrie drew back and dropped her arms. “You look fantastic.”

“Thanks. Is that a new design?” She pointed at the green pendant around Carrie’s neck.

She nodded brightly. “My best-seller.” She lowered her voice. “Liam doesn’t mind me selling on Etsy as long as I don’t mention Fite.”

“Good for you,” Bev said. “So, where is he?”

“Office. He’s been holed up all day, throwing that ball against the wall, driving everyone crazy.”

Annoyed, Bev looked at her watch. “He promised to be waiting for me out here.” She did not want to go into any enclosed, private spaces with him. No matter how many times he promised to keep his hands to himself, next time he saw an opening he’d be on her like spit on lipstick. “Will you please tell him I’m here?”

“Hey there, Ms. Bev. Long time no see.” George came up behind her dragging a dolly into the lobby. He was trying to frown and grin at the same time.

“How’s your wife doing?” she asked him. “Any luck with the chiropractor?”

“Those quacks got her wrapped around their greedy little fingers. All in her head. And my wallet.” He dumped his package in front of Carrie, waved, and went back the way he came, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Carrie shook her head at Bev, the phone at her ear. “It went straight to voicemail. He must be on the line.”

She refused to wait for him. Being at Fite again was harder than she’d expected. “I’ll go find him.” She pushed the door open and went down the hall to his office, surprised to see new carpeting, bright lighting, fresh paint. Guess the money was flowing in. He was doing fine. Without her.

His door was closed, which was more of the ‘too much,’ so she walked in without knocking and tried to keep her pulse steady when she took in the sight of him leaning back on his chair with his stocking-feet up on the desk.

“You look busy,” she said, closing the door behind her.

He frowned at her between the gap in his feet, his handsome face framed by wiggling toes. “What are you doing here?” He dropped his feet to the floor, muttered something into the receiver and hung up the phone. “You promised to let me take care of things on my own.”

“It’s Tuesday afternoon.” She walked in and sank into a chair. Her feet were killing her. Really, Fite needed to work on their walking shoes. “We had a deal.”

“Not—” He tilted his head and stared at her. “Still?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said I had to set a good example.”

He came around the desk. Smiled slowly. “Too late.” He dropped to his knees and slid his hand over her rounded belly. As always, his touch set her nerves on fire. “Letting the staff knock you up is hardly setting a good example.” His mouth found the hollow between her breasts and trailed kisses down her shirt.

She pushed her knee into his ribs. “This is why we meet in the lobby, remember?”

“I thought you’d love the excuse to stay on the couch.” He drew back and frowned, his brown eyes intense. “Which is where you should be. Or in bed.”

“Dr. Jane said I could still walk with you once a week, as long as I didn’t feel contractions.”

“She doesn’t know you hiked through SOMA to get to that walk.”

Bev kissed the tip of his nose. “She worries too much. And so do you.”

“I’d airlift you home if I could.” He gripped her shoulders and pushed them apart. “Now I have to call a cab.”

“As if I’d let you.”

“Oh, bossy again, are we?” He raised an eyebrow. “Nice try, but as of yesterday at eight a.m., I am the boss of this here establishment until you and Baby Fite come back to work.”

“Yeah, well, I still own this here establishment.”

“Community property state, babe. Fifty-fifty.”

She exhaled in frustration and slumped back in the chair, feet sticking out. “More fine print,” she said. “I swear, from now on I’m not signing anything.”

He laughed and held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll carry you to the sofa upstairs.”

She lumbered to her feet. “Forget it. You may be cute but I’ve learned my lesson. Four months of bed rest. You have no idea what I’m going through. From now on you may admire me from a respectable distance.”

He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her tight. “This is about right,” he said, eyes full of love, and kissed her gently on the lips. “It’s selfish of me, but I’m glad you came.”

She buried her smile in his neck. Inhaled his scent, practiced her love bites. “Better make it worth my while.”

He growled and moved his mouth over hers, kissing her like a man who knew she was going to let him carry her wherever he wanted.

Just one more time.

Love Handles

© 2011 Gretchen Galway

http://www.gretchengalway.com

Cover design © 2012 Gretchen Galway

Cover photos from Shutterstock (Four Oaks and kropic1)

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Author.

All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. 

About the Author

Gretchen Galway writes romantic comedies because love is too painful to survive without laughing. Raised in the American Midwest, she now lives in California with her husband and two kids.

You can find her online at
www.gretchengalway.com
, or via email at
[email protected]
.

And if you enjoyed this book, please consider lending it to a friend—all of her books are DRM-free—or leave a review online. Feedback from readers like you is priceless.

Thank you for reading!

Also by Gretchen Galway

THIS TIME NEXT DOOR

©2012 Gretchen Galway

*Previously published as
The Geek Who Loved Me
*

Sometimes love is right under your nose…

Readers first met Mark Johnson in
Love Handles
as Liam’s brilliant but awkward younger brother. In
This Time Next Door
, Mark the software engineer decides to break away from his computer and get a life, starting with the petite woman who’s moved in next door. But when he meets her large, blond housemate, Rose, he starts to dream… bigger.

Twenty-six-year-old Rose Devlin may shop in the plus-size department, but she’s never had a problem attracting men—with disastrous consequences. Recovering from her latest mistake, Rose has sworn off casual flings and moved to California to grow up, help her best friend, and make something of herself.

When Rose asks the cute-but-geeky Mark to help her land a job in high tech, she never expects to unearth his quiet strength, stunning accomplishments—and hidden talents. With a secret in her own past, Rose tries to keep her distance, but she finds that nerdy Mark isn’t so nerdy when the lights go out. And that maybe, just maybe, she’s not too grown up to risk one more disaster… 

Excerpt of
THIS TIME NEXT DOOR

©2012 Gretchen Galway

CHAPTER 1

IT WAS THE FIRST TIME ROSE had ever been asked to take off her clothes for a job interview.

“You want me to strip?” Rose asked, surprised. “All the way?”

The woman in front of her wore a measuring tape around her neck and had hair like a snowball, white and round.
Like me
, Rose thought.

“What kind of bra are you wearing?” Snowball asked, looking her over.

Rose glanced down at her chest, unusually compressed for the occasion. “It’s a sports bra. Brand new. I thought, since you’re looking for a model for workout clothes, I should—”

“Panties?”

Rose paused. “What about them?”

“What kind of underpants?”

This is a very odd conversation
. The receptionist had sent her up to the engineering floor for her appointment, and Snowball had ushered her down a hallway without any preamble, not even a quick exchange of names.

“They’re just… regular,” Rose replied. “Not a thong or anything.”

“Control-top?”

“No.”

The woman nodded. “Good. We’ll need to know your real numbers. We’ll add on a little for the bust. Just strip down to your underwear and let me know when you’re ready.” She nudged Rose deeper into the storage closet and pulled the door shut between them.

Rose looked around. She’d imagined something a little more glamorous than a dim closet overstuffed with clothes on racks and sagging shipping boxes. Maybe the fashion industry in San Francisco was as casual as everything else on the West Coast. And, of course, Fite Fitness was just a fitnesswear company, not couture or anything.

She unzipped her knee-high leather boots and pulled them off, unwound her favorite silk scarf, then stripped off her low-rise black pants and magenta wrap sweater and folded it all into a neat pile. Wearing only her underwear and jewelry—a trio of long silver necklaces and assorted bangles—she peered into the small mirror on the wall to check her lipstick.

Satisfied, she pulled open the door and strode out into the workroom.

It was drafty. She hoped she didn’t have to wait out here like this for very long. Snowball was nowhere in sight, so she walked down the hallway and past a row of long, flat tables covered with patterns, bolts of fabric, piles of clothes. “Hello?”

A bald man in his fifties with purple reading glasses glanced up from a table. With a start, he dropped his pencil and stared. Then he looked around.

“Where’d she go?” Snowball was saying behind her. Then, “Oh!”

“Plus-sized fit model on the loose,” the man said, propping his forehead on his hand and going back to his work.

Another head popped up from another table off to the side. The woman’s eyes went wide.

Rose turned to Snowball. “Sorry. Was I supposed to stay in the closet?”

There was a snort from the man at the table.

“Most girls prefer a little privacy,” Snowball said.

Shrugging, Rose walked back to the closet, head high. “I’ve never done this before.”