Page 24 of Trouble from Abroad
“I hate that you didn’t hear this enough before, so please hear me now. You’ve got curves, you’ve got flesh, and you’re beautiful, babes. Just the way you are. Get this through your head: you’ve never been the punchline. You’re not a project. And there’s nothing in your body that needs fixing.”
I smile because she’s sincere, andit’s coming from a good place. All of my teeth are on display before I can stop it. “Thanks for saying all that,” I mumble.
Callie gasps, turns to an empty corner of the room, and addresses an imaginary friend. “Did she just bury a dismissal inside a thank you?” Then she turns back to me and drops a bomb: “Honestly, we can fix this in-house. I dare you to walk into Preston’s room right now and sit on his lap. Let’s skip the escort and give Dr. Grump a reason to smile. Maybe a heart attack too.”
My pre-teen instincts kick in, and I smack Callie full force with the nearest pillow. She yelps and topples over, champagne flying, the carpet catching the worst of it.
Not as big of a mess as the one I’ve landed myself in.
Is Callie onto me?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
preston
The stairsin this house are out to get me.
Only this time, I’m at the very top step, gripping the banister, hanging on for dear life. If I fall from here, I’ll land back in the basement, at the quiet sanctuary of my library, and possibly lie there with a concussion. I was having a perfectly peaceful night, up until five minutes ago. And frankly, the brain damage scenario beats walking into a humiliating confrontation with two women I shouldn’t be eavesdropping on.
I was done reading, heading to my room when I heard the door, followed by giggles and heels clicking against the hardwood.
I should’ve kept walking. Announced myself.
Instead, I stayed.Haven’t I learned this lesson earlier?
Mia told Callie to keep her voice down. That I might be sleeping. Another missed opportunity to show myself and be a decent human being. Missed my shot at that again when I inched closer to listen better.
To secrets. Private things.
Things you can’t unhear.
The kind that starts with“bang the awkward out of me”and spirals from there.
And Callie’s contributions? Those confessions alone will earn me multiple sessions of hypnosis, because they’re beyond what therapy can do for a person.
Now I’m glued to the wall, an overgrown, ethically compromised Spider-Man, praying I don’t sneeze or breathe too hard.
As I try to retreat, quietly and carefully, Callie says, “I’ll save you from hiring a man-whore to teach you how to fuck.”
That’s it. The end of whatever moral high ground I thought I still had. My breath catches in my throat. I don’t blink for a full ten seconds. I might be permanently stuck in this position: knee lifted, foot in the air.
But then Callie adds, “There’s nothing in your body that needs fixing,” and some of the tension goes out of me. I find my footing, unfortunately on a loose board, which betrays me with a loud creak.
Fuck.
Perfect timing though, because hell breaks loose in my living room, and I just roll with it. There’s a dramatic yelp, the unmistakable splash of something spilling, and Callie’s hysterical laughter trailing right behind it.
I panic-move, and another step up is all it takes. I stride in, doing my best impression of someone who hasn’t just been standing here being the dictionary definition of a creep.
Mia appears, breathless, heading back from the kitchen. She stops cold when she sees me. “Oh God. You’re awake.”
“I was reading downstairs,” I say, too fast and defensive, but she’s too flustered to notice.
She holds up the paper towel as if it explains everything. “I was just… Her drink… I need to clean the?—”
“You don’t need to clean,” I say, stepping in and taking the roll from her hand. Our fingers brush. Hers are warm. “I’ve got it.”
I kneel beside the champagne-stained carpet, blotting as if I didn’t just hear every word of the most chaotic conversation of my adult life.
