Not My Type

Not My Type

by

Emma Caruso

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this book may be reproduced
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without permission in
writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in reviews.

Cover
Art:

Dreamstock Images

Publisher’s Note:

This is a work of fiction. All names,
characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s
imagination.

Any resemblance to real persons,
places, or events is coincidental.

Copyright 2014 Emma Caruso

To my friends; they know who they
are.

To the boys who tortured me in high
school: you can fuck off.

Chapter One: Elsa and
Joe...and Spike

Elsa Starling lovingly spread another
thin layer of butter over her toast; the kind with the seven
million healthy seeds baked right into the bread, making it nutty
and crunchy with every delicious bite. Her mouth watered with
anticipation as she carried her toast balanced on her coffee cup
into the living room, ready to fire up her laptop and get to
work.

Elsa reflected on her mostly perfect
life as she happily munched her pre-breakfast snack. She was a
successful chef in a moderately priced restaurant called the
Sandpiper in the small town of Elk Crossing, Oregon. A tourist
spot, the restaurant did great during the summer, when traffic
swelled the narrow, twisty roads on their way to the ocean where
Elsa happily sautéed and flambéed for their culinary delight. Elk
Crossing, nestled in a cove on the Pacific Ocean, was home to some
spectacular seasonal crab cuisine, and the secrets of the
crustacean were a gift Elsa was intimately familiar with. The
Sandpiper was a happening spot for the locals during the
off-season, as well. Further blessed to be a successful food
blogger, Elsa was also currently hard at work on her first
cookbook. Her agent, Martha Holmes, was convinced that Elsa was the
next Rachel Ray, with one caveat: Elsa's weight.

She sighed, her chewing slowing, as
she recalled part of the last painful conversation she'd had with
Martha on that very topic. "Elsa, honey, this cookbook is
phenomenal. The five recipes you've sent me already have been a
huge success with my family! How did you manage to turn gourmet
food into Wednesday night dinner?"

"Just a gift I guess," was her happy
reply. "I've always had a way with food, ever since I was a
kid..."

Martha cut her off. "That's great,
sweetie. Now listen, finish up the cookbook and send over the
recipes. I'll want to engage the services of a photographer to take
pictures of your dishes, and you cooking them. So see what you can
do to be, you know, picture ready, ok? You know what I
mean?"

"Picture ready?" Her heart
sank.
Here we go again
, she thought.

All her life, people had been telling
her how pretty she would be if only she lost a few pounds. At five
feet, four inches tall and nearly three hundred pounds, Elsa could
admit that she needed to lose a few. Nothing crazy. She would
always be big boned, but she knew that since she had taken over the
kitchen at the Sandpiper her weight had gone up a bit. But who was
Martha to tell her she needed to be "picture ready"? Or her
grandmother for that matter, all her life telling her she would buy
Elsa a whole new wardrobe if Elsa would just cut out the bread and
sugar. In the here and now, Elsa ripped another savage bite from
her wonderful toast, a silent "in your face" to both women who
commented on her size. Not that they were the only ones. There were
plenty of people who were willing to take her down a peg or two
because of her size. Thank goodness for Joe.

Joe Malone. The love of her life.
Tall, dark, and handsome; Elsa thanked her lucky stars that he
always said how attractive he found her. They met at the beach on a
cold, foggy Sunday. Elsa was moodily contemplating throwing herself
into the sea, the latest conversation with her grandmother weighing
heavily on her mind--pun intended. Joe was walking his dog down the
shoreline when the animal suddenly tugged on his leash and slipped
from his master's hand. Joe claimed he hadn't seen her with her
toes in the freezing water, but Spike had and made a beeline for
her. She bent down in the sand, getting the knees of her jeans wet,
and made a big fuss over him. The dog was a French bulldog, a
little black creature with batlike ears that couldn't have weighed
even ten pounds, so she wasn't afraid of being bitten but rather
hoped he didn't have an owner so she could appropriate him for her
own. Until she saw the owner jogging toward her like a Greek god
misplaced from Mount Olympus. Then all thoughts of doggie
liberation were far removed from her short-circuiting
brain.

"Hey, sorry about that, Spike doesn't
usually go for strangers," the mighty Hercules said.

Elsa was tongue tied and so
simply smiled up at him. God, the dimples. The dark hair, those
dark eyes, that perfectly chiseled jaw line. She turned her
attention back to the dog.
There is no way
a guy like that would ever look at you twice
, she scolded herself,
so keep your
eyes and thoughts to yourself
.

"Are you ok?"

She nodded and stood up. Spike danced
around at her feet, gazing up at her adoringly. His owner towered
over her. He was six foot five, and from what she could see of his
body beneath his hooded sweatshirt and loose jeans, he definitely
worked out. Sternly, she commanded herself to leave the guy and his
dog alone. "He's cute. Well, have a great day!" She put on her most
chipper voice even though her heart was heavy. Not only would this
guy never like her, no guy would ever like her. Except losers.
She'd had a couple of those already, thanks.

She turned her thoughts back to the
dog, a much safer topic than her lack of a love life. Though this
particular dog was taken, maybe she should get a pet. Then she
wouldn't feel so lonely or so bad all the time. She turned to
leave.

"Wait a sec. Hey, miss, wait a
second..." the spawn of Zeus hurried to catch up to her. He had the
dog's leash in hand once more and it surged ahead of him to sit at
her feet again. She made a scrunchy face at the little guy; he
really was adorable. Maybe his owner would tell her where he'd
gotten the dog.

"You, um...you have sand, sort
of...here," he stuttered. He had massive hands, and the one not
holding the leash reached forward to brush the sand off of her
knees where she had knelt to pet his dog. Even that small gesture,
that barest of touches, thrilled her with an electrical charge of
desire. For the first time in her life, she understood what the
romance novels meant when they said there was a spark between two
people. But she understood that it was likely one sided.
Still...no. She had to protect herself from this kind of thing. She
knew from painful experience that desiring something so completely
out of her reach only led to a lot of pain and a lot more cake.
That's how she'd made it though high school and culinary school,
after all.

"You wanted to tell me that I have
sand on me? We are at the beach you know."

A lock of his dark, wavy hair fell
over one eye and his five o'clock shadow couldn't conceal the
momentary clenching of his jaw. With his dark complexion it was
hard to tell, but she was pretty sure the god of sexy was blushing.
Because of her? She shook her head.

"Spike doesn't like just anyone. He's
a pretty tough judge of character, actually. So, I thought
maybe...we could have coffee? It's pretty cold out." Spike twisted
his head to one side at the sound of his name, his bat ears
swiveling in his master's direction.

"You want to have coffee? With
me?"

He dimpled at her again. "Well, yeah.
I do. Come on, everyone else says no."

Elsa snorted. She
found
that
hard
to swallow. Every fiber of her being told her to say no, that this
was a bad idea. But her heart told her to do it, on the pretense of
finding out where he'd gotten Spike so she could get her own little
batdog. Of course, her heart won. "Okay. I can do
coffee."

"What's your name, by the
way?"

"Elsa Starling. What's
yours?"

"Elsa. Like a lioness. I like that."
He fired a megawatt smile at her, his eyes suddenly intense. Elsa
blushed, not knowing what else to say, and dug a toe in the sand.
He didn't say anything, just cocked an eyebrow at her obvious
discomfort and continued. "I'm Joe. So, lioness, know any good
coffee shops on this part of the beach?"

They had coffee at a diner Elsa was
familiar with, not far from where he found her on the beach. Then
they had lunch when coffee resulted in engaging conversation. She
learned about his fitness obsession, his Sicilian upbringing in a
large family, his degree in art history that he no longer desired
to use, and his new business as a personal trainer. He talked about
the decision to move to Elk Crossing--to get over a bad breakup,
he'd said--and how much he loved the ocean. He listened intently to
her burgeoning career as a chef, her new blog writing hobby, and
her aspirations to one day have her own line of cookbooks,
kitchenware, and possibly a spot on the Food Network. Spike was
easily snuck into the diner down the front of Joe's sweatshirt,
where he slept unobtrusively for three hours while his owner wooed
Elsa seemingly without even trying.

In the here and now, Elsa shook her
head, thinking back to that day in the diner. How lucky she had
been to have run into a man who listened to his dog, she thought.
She gazed fondly at Spike, now a grown dog though not a whole lot
bigger than he was that day. He lay curled up on his little doggie
bed by the end of the sofa where Elsa usually hung out with her
laptop for a session of blog writing and recipe making. Though he
was originally Joe's dog, he made it plain that he preferred Elsa's
company most of the time. Joe was good natured about it, often
remarking to the dog that he had to share the girl and making fun
of Spike's traitorous nature.

Elsa put the conversation with Martha,
and distracting thoughts of Joe, out of her mind and began working
on a new blog post. This week, she was advising her readers about
the importance of spices and how and when to use them. Which dishes
worked best with cinnamon? Where was curry advised? What was
saffron and why was it so darn expensive? She happily plucked away
at the keys for a few hours, working on the blog and her cookbook,
stopping only twice to refill her coffee and grab herself a slice
of pound cake with strawberries and whipped cream.

When her eyes could no longer focus on
the screen, she shut the laptop and stretched. The whole morning
had gone by in a flash, and Elsa knew Joe would be home for lunch
pretty soon. She made her way into the kitchen to fix a chicken
salad for him, remembering he was on a strict regiment this week.
Several new prospective clients were coming in to the gym and he
wanted to be at his top form. With washboard abs and the ability to
do pull ups with one arm, Elsa assured her man he was fighting
fit.

She made enough salad for the both of
them, extra toppings on hers as usual. After a short while, she
heard Spike leap from his post in the living room and dance around
the front door as Joe came in. He greeted the dog with pats and dog
cookies from the jar of dog treats before joining her in the
kitchen. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her,
burying his face in her neck and kissing her on the tender flesh
behind her ear. She sucked in a breath; he knew how weak her knees
went when he did that. She leaned into him for a moment and enjoyed
the feeling of his hard body against her soft one before moving
slightly away and calling his attention to the lunch she prepared
for the two of them.

"Just in time! I remembered you were
on a health kick this week, so salad it is. And look...one for me
too. Aren't you proud?"

"I've got something better in mind for
lunch," he growled in her ear, his deep baritone sending shivers
through her body and nestling somewhat south of the pit of her
stomach. She leaned into him again, her hands reaching behind her
to massage the hot excitement of him pressing into her from behind.
He groaned and spun her around to face him, capturing her hands
behind her and pressing her into the counter, grinding all that
heat into her core. His eyes held her motionless while his body
ravaged hers; those expressive brown eyes that she adored,
conveying his love and his passion for her. Every day she was
amazed and grateful that this magnificent specimen of a man,
handsome as hell, and loving as well as kind, could be the one she
called hers.