I bristled, anger flaring, and my head snapped up. I balled my fists at my side and met her cold stare.
Her voice was back to icy, resolute, and hard. “Wait . . . seriously? You don’t want to fuck me because it might mess things up with . . . a client?”
“This was a mistake.”
“I guess so. I didn’t realize your tastes had changed so much.”
“Goodbye, Kelsey.” I stepped into her hallway and ordered a car. The gravity of what I’d admitted to Kelsey, of all people, hit me, and my head went in all directions. I didn’t know what to do. I headed straight home to shower off the scent of Kelsey’s perfume, then to crash, but I could only toss and turn all night. Despite my best efforts to think of anything else, my mind kept wandering to thoughts of Britta and her date every time I glanced at my phone.
45
LIKED BY CRUMPETONVACATION AND 11,006 OTHERS
I love weddings. It’s pathological, really. Trash TV focused on misbehaving brides? I’m in. The Instagram account for a big-budget wedding planner? I’ll scroll for an hour. The best, though, is attending one in person. As a kid, I noticed none of the people in white dresses on TV or in bridal magazines （yes, I was that thirteen-year-old） ever looked like me. They were tall and thin with graceful necks and toned arms. Where were the rolls? Were you not allowed to get married if you had a little flab on your arms? I knew it wasn’t true, so I started searching for wedding gowns designed for fat people. At this point I was seventeen, and my parents had the good sense not to ask questions about my growing wedding dress folder. I still have my original research, and I am up-to-date on designers. Should someone propose tomorrow, I would be ready. I thought about all this at the gym this afternoon when I overheard someone lamenting that they had to work out to fit into their dream wedding dress. Best believe I will get married in a dress that fits me rather than being worried about me fitting a dress. Who needs that kind of pressure? Anyway, click through to see a few of my favorite designers helping fat soon-to-be-weds and hopeful fat singles like me know there are a lot of stunning options.
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USED TO SEEING Wes in workout clothes, I was surprised when I opened the door to greet him before his friends’ wedding. The lines of the gray suit brought out his squared shoulders and trim waist, making him appear even sexier than normal—something I hadn’t known was possible. I’d been pushing thoughts about how much I wanted to kiss him again out of my head. It wasn’t easy to do when he was in track pants and T-shirts. It was impossible to ignore with him in this suit. “Hi,” I said, recovering quickly. “Come in.”
“You look startled.” He stepped into my apartment with an easy smile.
I wanted to stare at him a little longer, to let my eyes roam over his body in the suit, but that wasn’t allowed, and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He’d made it clear nothing romantic was going to happen between us, and I’d decided the smart move was to leave well enough alone. “I’ve never seen you dressed up before.” I fumbled with my shoe, bending to adjust the strap, and wobbling.
“I told you I clean up nice.” Wes steadied me, and heat coursed through my body. I stiffened at the touch, and he pulled his hand away.
“You do.” The weight and heat of his palm had seared into my memory. Despite our pretending to be back to normal, I hadn’t stopped thinking about the way his body felt pressed tight against mine, and I hadn’t stopped replaying his words—that it was a mistake. Enough. Enough now. I shook my head and regained my balance, pulling away from him and offering a small smile. “Give me just a minute?”
“Of course,” he said, tucking the hand he’d touched to my spine back in his pocket.
In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection. My hair hung loose, and my Spanx slip did everything it advertised. I hadn’t planned to wear one under the black cocktail dress but second-guessed the decision at the last minute. I’d made a note to put together a post on why it felt hard to break up with the body shaper. I ran my hand down the fabric and wondered what Wes thought of how I looked, but held that question at bay. Resting my palms on the counter, I leaned forward and released a long breath.
Attending weddings always made me wonder if I’d have one—the big reception, RJ and Kat helping me into my fancy dress, the adoring man I got to call my husband holding me close. I rarely admitted to myself that I wanted it, but I did. Taking a deep breath, I vowed to get my emotions in check and stop these fantasies in my head about Wes. I will find someone. I’m a lovable person, and kisses that don’t lead anywhere don’t mean future kisses won’t. I just need to get realistic about who I fall for. I studied my reflection one more time and decided I would call Donovan the next day to see if he wanted to try again, or maybe sign up for online dating. Hell, maybe I could give Calvin a chance—it would make my mom happy. My lingering feelings for Wes were unprofessional and distracting. I nodded at the mirror. Enough.