Page 181 of Trouble from Abroad
“Don’t give me that look.” She points a stern finger at my nose. “I wasn’t groomed, thank you for asking before assuming. He was twenty-six, so inmen years, he was younger than me.”
My eyes widen, not at all convinced. Legal or not, that’s still dodgy.
“I started it. And I was very persuasive. I don’t tell this story often because people get stuck on the numbers, and that’s the wrong part. But, babes, I wasn’t some clueless girl being manipulated. I was a horny, wildly determined woman who seduced a man by bringing him coffee in tank tops that rivaled my bikinis.”
I groan into my hands. “Not making it any better, Callie.”
She leans in, voice softening. “That’s your prerogative. But the truth is, that man changed the way I saw myself. He was imperative in making me the woman I am today. In making me love myself as I am. At first,I was so scared of him seeing the parts of me I tried to hide—the soft stomach, the stretch marks on my thighs, the underside of my ass that I thought was too big. I’d try to cover them, and he’d move my hands away. Not roughly, always gently. I’ll never forget the day he whispered, ‘Don't ruin this moment by thinking you’re not what I want.’”
My breath hitches. I wasn’t expecting that.
“He’d kiss the parts of me I hated,” she continues. “So much he convinced me they were his favorites. He used to say, ‘Men jerk off to Playboy, but when it’s time to fuck, we want s’mth’n soft to hold.’”
I let out a strangled wheeze. “You were so close to a meaningful moment, and then you did that voice.”
She grins and repeats it in an even raspier, exaggerated growl: “‘S’mth’n to hold, darlin’.’”
I collapse back onto the sofa, torn between laughter and tears.
“Anyway,” Callie says, fanning herself, probably reliving the memory, “after that, he could bend me like a pretzel, and I didn’t give a single damn about what folded where. Because that man wanted me. Me.”
She leans in, dropping the theatrics. “That’s what you deserve, Mia. Not a man who tolerates your body. Not a man who grades you. Let alone a man you hired. We’ll find you one who looks at the full picture, sees the woman attached to the body, and craves the whole damn package.”
She clutches my hands tighter. “You are beautiful. And a hot piece of ass.”
As if those words could magically flip a switch inside me. My gaze drops, and my words quicken. “It’s not that simple, Cal. I wish it was, but you know it’s not. It’s alifetime of ‘no’s.’ Of never finding your size in shops on the high street, of sales staff pretending to smile while pitying you.”
My throat tightens. I barely manage a breath before I let it all out.
“It’s growing up the third wheel,” I say softly. “The plus-one to the friend who always got chosen first. Always the extra. It’s the dressing-room light that makes you flinch. The waiter who asks if ‘I’m sure I want dessert.’ The doctor who blames your cough on your weight. The photos where you hide behind someone’s hair.”
I could go on and on, but Callie cuts in, soft and certain. “I know, babes. I’m not exactly petite either. We’re big girls. I went through some of those struggles growing up too. But I guess I got lucky with the people around me; they didn’t let me hate myself for my size. In fact, they were annoyingly loud about how hot I was.” She gives me a cheeky wink. “Somewhere along the way, I learned to love every fucking curve, dip, and crease of this body. I love every inch of me, Mia. I really do. And a man only gets the privilege of enjoying all this”—she runs her hands down her sides—“if he actually appreciates it too. And believe me, hun, plenty do. I have to fight some off with a stick.”
Facts. I testified to that tonight.
“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.
