In Every Way (11 page)

I wake up to the sound of my stomach growling. Before two days ago, it’d been so long since I felt the true sensation of being hungry. I’ve always eaten breakfast, lunch, and dinner with plenty of snacks in between. Food has been my best friend for years, and when I truly think about it, I can’t remember the last time my stomach actually
growled
. Now, the pang and cramping of an empty stomach has been my annoying companion for two days.

It sucks. I feel as though I’m focused on food twenty-four hours a day now that I’m trying to lose weight. It’s all I think of—even more than I think of Josh, which is a lot, if I’m being honest.

I grab my phone and turn off the alarm, which is set for fifteen minutes from now. I don’t wake up to its annoying wail anymore; I wake up to the hunger.  It’s clawing and nagging at my stomach, begging for a crème horn or an éclair. My mouth waters at the thought. I climb out of bed and head to the bathroom where my shiny new purchase sits in the middle of the floor. A scale.

I take a deep breath and step on it.

No difference from yesterday.

My shoulders fall and hot tears sting my eyes. How is this possible? I went down one pound on my first day of dieting, and now, nothing. I barely ate eight hundred calories yesterday.

Stepping off the scale, I get dressed in a purple flowy tank top and some black leggings. Depression seeps into my bones, even though I know it’s unfounded. I was the fool who thought I could actually lose weight in one week.

I remember those weight loss classes I took one year at the community college summer classes. They said one pound a week was an ideal goal. Fifteen pounds in a week? Who am I kidding?

I hold back tears as I finish getting ready for work. I’ll stick to my eight hundred calories and add in more exercise. I’ll go walking for my lunch break and keep doing weight lifting in the back room with heavy boxes of merchandise.

Maybe after a month of dieting, Josh will be truly interested in me. I sigh as I say goodbye to Grandma and head to the garage. There’s no way I will lose enough weight in time. He’ll lose interest before then. But that doesn’t mean I should stop trying because maybe by the time I’m thin, I’ll find someone else to date.

The thought alone keeps me motivated to continue dieting, even though I hate every second of it.

For the next three days, I take a powerwalk during the half hour of my lunch break, and it’s kind of a terrible idea because I get all sweaty. But I keep at it, knowing I’m burning more calories when I’m moving. It doesn’t matter what Grandma always says. She may be happy in her own skin, empowered by her fat or whatever she calls it, but I hate it. I hate knowing that guys don’t like me because of my weight. I hate feeling so ugly compared to other girls my age. As I walk along the strip, I glance at my reflection in the shiny windows from the stores near Aiden Jane. It could be worse, I guess. My side profile isn’t too bad; it’s the width of my ass, the love handles on my back that are the worst of me. The flab on my arms is gross. Mesmerized by my reflection in one store with silver film over the glass, I stop and lift out my arm, shaking it a little. The flab wiggles and my stomach twists in disgust.

Still, I try to think positively by telling myself it could be worse. I’m not like, morbidly obese. Just overweight. I can fix this. I can change my life around and find a real boyfriend, not just one in books. This will be okay.

I meet my own eyes in my reflection and try telling myself that, in my head of course. I’m not going to say
It’ll be okay
out loud like a weirdo.

The thought alone makes me smile.

“Hey, you.”

I look up, and there he is, the guy who’s been in my head all week, only now he’s here in person. He’s wearing jeans that hug his thighs perfectly, and a pale orange shirt with some surf logo on the upper right corner. His lips press into a thin smile. “What’s up?”

Suddenly every coherent thought in my brain turns to mush and floats out of my ears, leaving me mute and frozen to the boardwalk. Josh’s brows pull together. “You okay?”

“Um, yeah,” I say. I have to practically gasp for breath, and that’s when all my senses come flying back to me. My heart is pounding, but it was already beating pretty fast from my power walk. My legs feel like jelly, but they’ve felt that way since Wednesday, probably because I’m eating as little as possible and it’s screwing with my metabolism. “I just feel a little weak.”

“Have you eaten today?” he asks. I flinch, but he doesn’t look like he’s trying to be an asshole. He’s peering at me with this serious look in his eyes. “I always rush off to work before I get a chance to eat,” he says, puling two protein bars out of his pocket. “Today we were so damn busy I didn’t get to eat at all, so I ordered a pizza and ate it while helping customers.” He chuckles, then holds out the protein bars. “You want one? You look kinda pale.”

As if right on cue to betray me, my stomach rumbles so loud we both hear it. My cheeks redden and I reach for the stupid protein bar, because yeah, I’m pretty damn hungry. “Thanks,” I say, ripping open the package even though I’m humiliated to be eating in front of him. “We’ve been busy too.”

No, we haven’t, but he doesn’t need to know I’m purposely dieting. That would just call attention to my flaws, right? Or would it give him hope that I’m trying to become a better person and maybe he’d like me for it?

I spend so long wondering the answer, I forget what he just asked me.

“Sorry, what?” I ask, looking over at him as we walk back toward Aiden Jane.

He scratches behind his ear, then leaves his hand on his neck for a second. He reminds me of those male models in underwear ads who pose like that, one hand across their neck like they have a cramp or something. No matter how sexy it might look, it’s still kind of weird. I smile.

“I asked if you know what today is,” Josh says again, peering at me with a little twinkle in his eye. We’ve been emailing once a day, but just about random stuff, nothing too serious. I know exactly what day it is, and I’ve been fighting off anxiety about it all morning. It’s Friday. The party at the barn day, and I’m only two pounds less than I was last Friday. You can’t even tell.

“It’s Friday,” I say, not looking at him as I take a bite of the protein bar.

“Well . . .” Josh says, bumping into me with his shoulder as we walk. “Are you coming with me to the party tonight?”

“
With
you?” I say, taken aback. “I never agreed to that.”

“Well, you agreed to consider going so, why wouldn’t you let me drive you?”

I stop short, because apparently my brain can’t walk and process this information at the same time. “You really want to take me? What if we live far apart?”

“Where do you live?” he asks.

“Cherry Street.”

“Perfect, I’m in Shady Grove.”

“That’s like ten to fifteen minutes away,” I say. “In the opposite direction of the barn.”

“It’s nothing. I’ll come get you. Email me your address, okay?” He bumps into me again, a flirty look in his eyes. “Or you know, you could text me, but you’ve been so secretive with your number. I guess I haven’t earned the right to have it yet?”

My lips stretch into a smile and I can’t even help it, I’m grinning like a total dork. “You can have my number,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But no writing it on bathroom stalls.”

He scoffs, putting a hand to this chest. “Why would I risk having to share your attention with some random guy?”

Damn if I’m not starting to believe that maybe he’s actually serious. If he’s faking it, being all nice and flirty just for a joke, then he’s playing the long con here. I hold out my hand and he gives me his phone. I type in my number and press call, waiting until it goes through to my phone. Then I end the call and hand it back.

“What time are you getting me?” I ask.

He shrugs. “That depends if you’ll have dinner with me first.”

Eating in front of Josh Graham? Yeah, right. I shake my head. “Party only.”

He makes this exaggerated frown. “Eight?”

I try not to smile like a crazy person. “Sounds good.”

***

I have good news and bad news.

The good news is that my hair looks fan-freaking-tastic. I’ve managed to pull off a messy beach waves look after watching about fifty YouTube tutorial videos.

The bad news? I’m practically about to throw up every time I think of what I’m doing tonight. I’m going to a party with Josh. In Josh’s car, as if it were almost a date. I am freaking out.

But at least my clothes look great, or as great as a chubby girl possibly can look, and I’ve given myself a manicure for the occasion. It’s probably overkill, but on the off chance that maybe Josh actually does want to be my friend, I want to look good.

My doorbell rings at seven fifty-five and I nearly jump out of my skin. Grandma knows I’m going out “with friends” tonight, but she’s not here. Luckily, she’s out with Julie in what they call a “ladies’ night” that will keep them busy at bingo until probably midnight. So at least the awkward introduction phase won’t have to happen tonight.

I grab my phone and purse and rush to the door, pausing before I open it so I can take a deep breath and gather myself. A terrible fear races through my mind the second I grab the door knob. The whole popular crowd from high school could be just on the other side, waiting to throw water balloons at me and laugh at how pathetic I am for thinking Josh would actually want to take me anywhere. The thought sends me into a panic, and I tiptoe over to the window in the dining room that looks out into the front yard. All I see is a black Ford truck parked in front of my house.

Whew.

I go back to the door and pull it open. Josh is standing there wearing jeans and a dark T-shirt. “You’re early,” I say.

“You’re hot,” he says, his lips quirking into a grin. He holds out his hand to me. “Ready to go?”

I swallow the lump in my throat and step out onto the porch, closing the door behind me. Josh’s hand just stays there, extending toward me as if he wants me to take it.

So I do.

His fingers wrap around mine, all warm and calloused as we walk toward his truck. When we get there, he pulls open the passenger door and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest. I climb inside, and turn to close my own door, but he’s standing there, watching me.

“Thanks for letting me take you out,” he says, his dark eyes peering into mine. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

Every hormone in my body lights up when she lets me take her hand. I’d merely been pressing my luck by offering it to her, and I fully expected she’d scowl at my outstretched fingers and march past me. But she didn’t.

Now I can’t stop grinning as I drive us to County Road 59 for what will surely be a party to remember.

I’d been persistent in asking her to come with me, but up until our little moment on the strip today, I was almost certain she’d bail on me.

But she didn’t, and she’s here, and she took my hand, and now her floral scent is filling the cab of my truck with the sweetest smell on earth. Being in Bess’s good graces feels like a dream come true. Now I have to make sure I don’t screw it up.

“How was the rest of your day at work?” I ask. It’s a pretty safe topic, so I shouldn’t be able to turn her off by talking about it.

“We got kind of busy before closing. Some thirteen-year-old girl wanted a ton of stuff her mother wouldn’t buy for her. It got kind of hilarious.” Bess sighs, turning her gaze out the window. “I can’t stand bratty kids.”

“We get our fair share of those,” I say, nodding. “And parents are always bitching that the trendy surf brand shirts cost twenty-five dollars and I’m like dude—they cost us twenty dollars wholesale so get over it. We’re not the ones screwing you.”

She makes this sardonic smile. “Working in retail is such a joy.”

“I’m glad you came with me,” I say. We’re at a red light, so I reach over and poke her in the arm. It’s pathetic and probably something ten-year-olds do to their crush, but what can I say? I’m so excited to be with her that I can’t function properly.

“Thanks for taking me. I never thought I’d be hanging out with a guy like you.”

I straighten. Her words weren’t said with venom, but they still feel kind of mean. “What does that mean? A guy like me?”

She lifts her shoulders. “You know . . . popular.”

“I really wasn’t that popular,” I say, shaking my head. “Colby was the high school god of popularity, not me.”

“But you’re his best friend. You hang out with that whole crowd, so, you can’t really deny it,” she says, lifting her eyebrows to signal that she’s won this argument.

“I wasn’t that bad.” I roll my eyes. It never really occurred to me that I was even a part of the popular crowd until a couple of years ago when Abigail’s little kid friends all knew who I was. They called me and Colby “high school royalty” which was just weird. Maybe the girls like Mindy and her crew pay attention to that status, but I never did.

Bess looks over at me, her eyes narrowing. “Josh Graham. You and I spent the same four years in high school together and you never even knew I existed. Don’t act like the privilege of being Mr. Popular didn’t get to you.”

“Damn.” I flinch under her cold gaze, but soon it fades and she’s looking at me normally again. “You’re right. I’m sorry. If it helps, I wish I did know you in high school. You’re far more beautiful than the bitches I did know.”

Now she’s the one who flinches. She turns back to the passenger window. “You don’t have to say stuff like that,” she murmurs so quietly I almost can’t understand it.

“Stuff like what?” I say, feeling emboldened to keep talking. “You don’t like compliments?”

“Not when they’re forcefully given,” she says, still not looking at me.

“I speak nothing but the truth,” I say. My hand leaves the steering wheel and I want so badly to touch her, run my fingers through her hair, or even grab her hand again. But I think better of it and reach for the wheel. “You really are more beautiful than the girls from high school. You’re a hell of a lot smarter, too. I like that.”

“Josh, I’m here with you, okay? You don’t have to say shit like that. I thought we could be friends.”

“We can,” I stutter. “We
are
. Forgive me for trying to see if I can have more than that.”

“More than what?” she says, her words chosen carefully.

I pull off the side of the road and park behind a shiny new Escalade with fog steaming up the windows from whatever elicit activities are going on inside. Cutting the engine, I close the keys in my hand and turn to her. She’s watching me with curiosity and maybe a little fear, I’m not sure. “More than friends,” I say, also choosing my words carefully. “I gave you the opportunity to tell me to fuck off, remember?” I give her a sly grin and she blushes, which totally makes me like her more. “So now I’m afraid you’re stuck with me trying to win you over.”

She rolls her eyes, but a playful smile tugs at her lips. I lean over and slide my fingers down her cheek. Her skin is warm to the touch. “So until you exercise your right to tell me to fuck off . . . “

“Doesn’t look like I’ll do that any time soon,” she murmurs, her eyes drifting closed as I slide my fingers through her hair. It feels exactly ask silky as I imagined. My heart is pounding and every fiber in my body is telling me that this could be the chance I’ve been waiting for. This could be the love I’ve ached to have over the last year.

“We should go inside,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. “The longer I’m alone with you, the harder it’ll be to keep being a gentleman.”

Her breath hitches. “Okay,” she squeaks.

I can’t contain my smile as I climb out of my truck, eager to meet her on the other side.

She walks ahead of me as we make our way up to gravel road to the two story barn, its red paint faded from years of neglect. I can’t help but stare at her ass, its perfect shape and the way it wiggles as she walks. My pants grow tighter in the crotch, and I clear my throat, hoping it’ll somehow clear my head. I don’t need some advanced degree in women’s studies to know that having a massive hard on the first five minutes of our date would probably turn her off.

The barn is a primo party spot, if only because it’s far enough from the city that the roaring music doesn’t bother anyone. It kind of smells like rotten hay and burnt oil from the old tractors that linger in the field around it.

There’s strands of Christmas lights hung up everywhere and people my age packed as far as you can see. I let my hand rest on Bess’s lower back as the crowd thickens.

I lean forward, letting my cheek press against hers as I whisper, “You want a drink?”

“Sure,” she says, gazing up at me. It takes everything I have not to kiss her right here. I need to take my time, win her over the right way. She needs to know she’s not just some hookup and I’m not just some horny asshole who never noticed her in high school.

We make our way to the back of the barn, where Jerry Minoa’s parents had let him attempt to turn an old room into an apartment a few years back. There’s unpainted drywall hung in the space that’s about the size of a two-car garage. There’s a kitchen with a working fridge, and two old couches that are probably made more of dead skin cells and semen than actual couch fabric by now. Rugs cover the wooden floor, and an old box TV sits on a wooden crate in the corner where this girl is dry humping a guy she has pressed against the wall. It’s not exactly a romantic atmosphere, and I’m starting to question why I even wanted to bring Bess here instead of taking her on a real date.

A girl with red hair that must be dyed that color because it’s so unnaturally bright stands behind the dirty counter, pouring shots of tequila into disposable plastic shot glasses.

I recognize her as Jerry’s girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend, I can never remember where they stand from one day to the next. “Two beers?” I ask her, since she’s kind of the unofficial bartender of the joint.

“All out,” she says. Tequila sloshes out of the bottle as she looks up at me and then resumes pouring. “Jerry went to get more, but he just left so it’ll be a while. Shot?”

I look at Bess, who was already watching me. “You wanna do a shot?”

She curls her bottom lip under her teeth while she considers it. “Yeah, okay.”

I look back at fire hair girl and nod. “Two, please.”

She pours them and I hand one to Bess, then guide her to an empty part of the room. “On three?”

She nods and I count it down. On one, I toss my head back and down the liquid in one gulp even though the girl poured a lot more than a usual-size shot.

Bess does the same and then immediately blanches, sucking air through her teeth. “Oh God. Oh no. Ew.”

I laugh. “Was that your first tequila?”

She nods, her eyes watering. “So gross!”

I laugh and then hold out my hand for her shot glass. She slides it inside of mine and then I put them both in my pocket in case we want to use them later.

“If I’m being honest,” Bess says, leaning in so I can hear her over the music, “I’ve never actually drank before.”

“Really?”

She looks a little insulted, and I wish I hadn’t reacted like that. I shrug like it’s no big deal. “First time for everything. I won’t let you get too drunk,” I say, reaching out and sliding my hand into hers. She stares down at our entwined fingers and grins.

“Maybe the alcohol is exactly what I need.”

“Well they don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.”

The song changes to something loud and grungy, and the crowd seems to come alive. There’s yelling and cheering and, worst of all, dancing that’s more like wild thrashing of drunk people.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say, tugging Bess along behind me as I make a safe exit path through the jam-packed room.

Out in the main part of the barn, the people aren’t as packed, and the dancing isn’t as crazy. They’re playing hip hop out here, and you can’t help but bob along to the beat.

I pull Bess’s hand and twirl her around, tugging her up close to me in one smooth motion that I have to admit makes me look pretty damn suave.

Her eyes widen in surprise as she presses against me, and I slide my hands down her back to rest just on top of her perfect ass as the song switches to an R&B classic by Usher. Seizing the moment, I pull her closer and sway to the music. She slides her hands up my chest, her eyes on her fingers as she slips them around my neck. The cutest little grin plays at her lips.

I lower my forehead to hers and let my fingers trace up to her hips. She has a killer body, with curves in all the right places, and it’s doing ridiculously crazy things to my libido.

Our faces are so close, our lips just inches apart. I start to make a move, but then Bess looks away, down at the hay covered floor.

Deep breath.

I stand a little straighter and gaze off at a blank space in the wall for a second. We’re still holding each other, still swaying to the music, but I can tell she’s not ready to take it further. I let my chin rest on top of her head and she giggles.

I look into her hazel eyes, squeeze her hips, pulling her against me for just a second before loosening my grip. Any more movements like that and I might explode in my pants. Not cool, Josh.

“Thanks for coming with me,” I whisper.

Her hands inch down a bit until she’s holding onto the tops of my shoulders. “I thought you were going to kiss me,” she whispers back, her cheeks pink.

“I thought I was, too,” I say, my feet shuffling as we sway to the music. “You didn’t seem like you wanted me to.”

“Not in public,” she says, biting on her lip again. All that little gesture does is call attention to her lips, which I desperately want on mine.

“You wanna go somewhere private?” I ask, knowing she’ll probably say no.

She grins. And says yes.