#TripleX (21 page)

I wondered if wives were allowed to have a few “friends with benefits.” Christine would claim that my neighbor, Pete, and I were headed in that direction, but she was so wrong—couldn’t be more wrong, actually. Pete and I were just friends. The only benefit I had from our friendship was that he had some pretty damn kinky ideas for my books. Returning my thoughts to Abby and her frozen and fiery vagina, I added my two cents:

(Middle-aged Mom)
Me:
Excuse me, I have to pipe in here. I just can’t help it. I’m nosy and feel like I need to help ya out. In no way, should you buy condoms that may burn your girl’s “down there.” That’s not an area you really want to burn—if you know what I mean… Unless of course, you’re talking in the metaphorical sense.

They stared at me for a moment, and then finally the hottest of the hot spoke first.

Northwestern:
Dude, ain’t nothing on Abby gonna “burn” for you.

Greek letters:
Fuck off.

(punching him)

Northwestern:
That’s what she said.

(laughing)

Greek letters:
Well what kind should I get then? Think I need lube? Something like that?

(Middle-aged Mom)
Me:
Honey, at her age, she shouldn’t need lube if you’re using your tools right—she might need it if you’re visiting in through the back door.

That pretty much solidified my newfound friendship with a few Northwestern fraternity boys. They convinced me to eat breakfast with them at the Subway in Wal*Mart, which broke two of my personal rules. (1.) Never eat a meal at Wal*Mart. (2.) Never eat breakfast at Subway. I had to admit; the breakfast wrap was pretty damn good—and healthy. Win-win.

I spent a good hour and a half schooling two of them on how to please a woman. Greek letters, who incidentally turned out be Jason, was adorably sweet and shy, almost too innocent and naïve. I ended up giving him a copy of one of my books that depicted a hard-ass older brother who nailed chicks left and right. Jason could use a little more alpha. Abby fell for his sweetness, but all girls like a little manliness every now and then.

Northwestern, Nick, knew what he was doing and how to do it. I found myself—my head—going places it had no business going. He reminded me of Matt back in college, cocky and self-assured, and willing to experiment with whatever. I pulled the reins in on Nick though, going over how to slow down and focus only on her—and forget about himself for a change. Hannah couldn’t live only on good sex for the rest of her life. Nick needed to romance it up a bit, woo her out of the bedroom too. I also gave him a copy of a book, one that focused more on romance than on hardcore putang-popping.

I didn’t have much to offer High School Musical, Seth. I think he and I both knew I had nothing to offer him. There was only one reason he chose to pledge a fraternity—to be around guys 24/7. However, his fraternity brothers weren’t quite yet “in the know.” I didn’t have a book for him. I did tell him that he might like
Double Time
by Olivia Cunning, and gave him a wink. Come to think of it, I could use a re-read of that book myself.

Getting back into the car, I had an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. My weight-loss euphoria dissipated momentarily and turned to longing. Without thinking or second-guessing myself, I grabbed my phone and tapped out a text message to Matt: “I miss you.”

I waited. It didn’t take long until my phone dinged. I looked down and read the word: “Finally.” Smiling, I started the car, and drove back to hotel, back to Christine, back to the adventure that was changing my life.

“Get up!” I screamed, entering the hotel room, tossing an egg and spinach wrap from Subway to her. “Eat this, but first, hop on this.” I put the scale down on the floor next to her bed. “Well, pee first, and take your pj bottoms off.”

“I knew you wanted me,” Christine said, sitting up. “I’m not getting on that thing… but I will eat this.”

Grabbing the wrap out of her hand, I said, “Not until you step on this.”

She shook her head, frowning. “Not gonna happen.”

“Oh yes it is. You’ve been making me do crap this whole time. Now, you’re going to do what I want. Trust me, just do it—for me—please?” I batted my eyes at her and puffed out my bottom lip.

“Fine,” she huffed, kicking off the blankets. “But I’m taking it in the bathroom.”

She stormed off to the bathroom, and I read my text message again. I loved that Matt just wrote “finally” and nothing else. It’s exactly what I needed and wanted to see. I didn’t want giant texts, long, drawn-out discussions. I just wanted him to know that I missed him. I didn’t know anything else and couldn’t promise anything else. I just missed Matt. Missed us.

Seconds after I heard the toilet flush, my ears were rewarded with what I’d hoped for, “Holy shit!” The door burst open, and Christine’s elated face told me exactly what I needed to know.

“I know, right! How much?” I asked, jumping up and down.

“You tell me first,” she squealed.

“I bought the scale—you go first!”

Rolling her eyes, “Fine. I’m down eighteen pounds.”

At that moment, I felt my skin changing color as I transformed into an evil, green wench of envy. “Eighteen? Wow… that’s… that’s great,” I said, chewing jaded balls of jealousy in my envy-soaked mouth.

“What about you?” she asked, smiling and clearly excited for both of us.

“Ummm…”

Okay, so I really thought about lying and saying nineteen pounds, because I’m over-the-top competitive. Matt always complained that I turned everything into a competition even when there wasn’t anything to compete over. If I was going to start making changes in my life, I guessed this would be one of those things I could improve upon.

Taking a deep breath, I admitted, “Down 16.6.” Okay, so originally, I said that it was seventeen pounds. I rounded up, so sue me. “But hey, it’s still sixteen less than I started at, right?”

“Damn straight it is! We did it! We’re really doing this. We rock,” Christine fist-pumped the air, happily and confidently.

“Yeah, but you lost more than I did,” I stated, trying to hide my jealousy.

“A freaking pound—big deal,” she said, grabbing her Subway wrap off the bed.

“A pound is a lot, and plus, it was a little over a pound. That can add up,” I argued. “I just don’t get it. I’ve done everything you’ve done, eaten nearly the same things you’ve eaten. How could you have lost more? It’s not really fair.”

“Ang, it’s no big deal; it’s essentially the same amount,” Chris explained.

“Says the girl who lost more than I did,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes.

“Really? Are you kidding me right now? It is one pound—one freaking pound.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. You lost one freaking pound more than I did,” I snarled, wishing I could just let this go.

“Listen to me, we’re both doing wonderfully. Get excited! And remember, you exercise. You teach water aerobics back home. You go and do all kinds of crap with those boys of yours,” Christine said, taking a bite of her wrap. “My God, this is so good… Anyway, what do I do? I sit around and eat and write all day,” Christine tried to argue. “My body has probably been in shock that a cookie hasn’t passed through it in so long, and it most likely went into panic mode, because it actually had to exert itself. I’m probably going to lose faster than you. My body isn’t used to this crap.”

“I’m going to lose faster than you,” I mimicked like a child.

“You’ve lost your mind—you realize that, don’t you?”

“Where are we going?” Christine asked for the tenth time.

“Not telling,” I quipped.

“Will you at least tell me why I had to dress like this and wear all this crazy-ass makeup?” she questioned for about the one-hundredth time.

Christine looked incredible—but she wouldn’t look at herself in the mirror. Stubborn bitch. Apparently, I have an eye for fashion and sexy clothes when I’m X-ed out and as high as a kite. The clothes we bought on our shopping “trip,” trip being the operative word, were borderline scandalous. Scratch that, way-over-the-border-and-into-the-next-country scandalous. Hell, these clothes might need a passport to get back into the country—a passport and a green card.

For overweight people, anyway.

“Skinny” bitches wore clothes like this daily.

I convinced her to wear dark skinny jeans, strappy high heels, and a sparkly champagne-colored tank top. I even hid her glasses four different times to get her to go out without them, but she kept bumping into shit and tripped over the corner of the bed. I had to relent and give them back to her before she fractured her hip or gouged out an eye.

My little black dress was a little more form-fitting than I was used to. Chris claimed it accentuated my curves. That threw me through a loop. I thought I was supposed to be all about hiding my curves and hoping nobody in a ten-mile radius saw them. After I put on what most people would consider “flats,” but were much higher than I ever wear, I had to admit, I liked the way I looked. Wow, I hadn’t thought that about myself in a very long time. I wanted to take a picture and send it to Matt, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to give him mixed messages or send the wrong signals.

“Well to answer your question, you’re dressed like that, because you look freaking hot. That extra pound really made a difference,” I stated, wishing I could just let it go.

“Oh my God, you’re driving me crazy. Can you just stop for God’s sake?” Christine groaned, pounding her head on the headrest.

“Stop what? Losing weight, so you can continue to lose way more than me, and I can just be your designated fat friend?” Even as I was saying it, I knew I was nuts. I did the same thing with Matt. Every time I felt threatened or insecure, I just spun it out of control. I was surprised I wasn’t saying it with a Ho-Ho in each hand and Oreos in my mouth. That was more how I operated.

“Pull over! Stop right there,” Christine screamed. “I need something in there.”

“What do you need?” I asked, looking at the convenience store. “I asked you if you needed anything this morning when I went to Wal*Mart, and you said, ‘No.’ What do you need?”

“Can you just please pull over?”

Turning into the parking lot, I shot her a look, letting her know that she was being bitchy. And I’d know, because I’d been a raging bitch since Chris stepped foot on that scale exactly eight hours ago.

As I waited in the parking lot, I decided to sign on to Facebook and scroll through Matt’s page. I loved seeing all of his posts about the boys and looking at all the fun things they were doing. God, he was such an incredible father. They were always doing something new—not just sitting in his dinky apartment watching
Sportscenter
, like I predicted they’d do all day.

Looking up, I saw Christine emerge from the store. My eyes widened, and I put the window down. “What do you think you’re going to do with those?” I asked.

“Shutting your ass up,” she stated, matter-of-factly.

Taking a handful of peanut M&Ms, Christine stuffed them all into her mouth. Her eyes rolled back, fluttering in ecstasy. I heard an unmistakable moan of pure euphoric pleasure escape from deep within her throat. After she swallowed, she said, “There goes that pound. We’re even now.”

“You did not have to do—”

“Oh my God, I so did. I couldn’t listen to you yapping about that damn pound for another second. You’re fricken nuts, ya know that?”

“Yeah, I kind of do,” I admitted, dropping my head. “But—”

“But what?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“You just got to have M&Ms, and I didn’t,” I whined.

“Freaking nuts—absolutely freaking nuts!”

“Stop rubbing it in. I saw that they were the peanut kind,” I complained.

“Not the damn M&Ms… you… you are freaking nuts,” she cried, sighing in exasperation. “Angelisa, I want you to see how wonderful and worthy you are. I ate the M&Ms to prove to you that nobody—not one person—is better than you. You can do this. You are doing this!”

Smiling, I nodded, my eyes welling with tears. “That’s like the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time.”