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January 1 - January 11, 2025
Her movements are slow and methodical. Meticulous. Borderline seductive. As soon as that adjective enters my brain, I wonder where it came from. Never have I been attracted to a woman buttering a piece of bread before. Maybe I’m lonelier than I thought and do need to start seriously thinking about dating.
Could be swooning, could be plotting his demise…guess we’ll just have to wait and see.
His after-workout scent should be illegal in all fifty states. And Puerto Rico.
“It means,” he says, dropping his voice so low I can hardly hear it, “that Randy is a boy. And you…” With careful deliberation, he lets his eyes scale my body from my sparkly cowgirl boots to my tiny front accent braid. “You are the kind of woman who needs a man with enough experience to know how to handle all those curves and sassy remarks.” My breathing…never mind. There is no breathing. In fact, I’m pretty sure I just died.
A shirt appears over his head before I can beg him to stop listening to the confused version of me I was five seconds ago.
“If anyone here trains you, it’s going to be me.”
“Just remember what I said, Britta.” He stops directly in front of me, bringing all of that yummy fresh-off-the-beach scent with him. “No one trains you but me.”
“Come on, Britt, you got this,” I encourage her with a pat on her calf. “Push through. Show me what you’re made of.” “I’m made of butter and croissants and amaretto coffee creamer! Those things run and hide when a personal trainer starts walking toward them…in fact, butter just melts!”
“I’ve always been unnaturally good at paybacks.”
It’s sort of like seeing work friends at church or vise versa. Go back to your designated space, please, sir.
“For what it’s worth, your body looks perfect to me. But…I am sorry that happened to you.”
“Carrying you is not a burden, Britta.” Still, he holds my gaze. Like he doesn’t want to look at anything else. Maybe someday I can convince him not to. “Besides.” His lips pull into a devastating smile, and he winks. “You’ve seen what I’m capable of lifting in the gym. You’re a slice of pie in comparison.”
And she’d wear a white dress that accentuated every one of her perfect curves. The groom… Good night. The groom is me.
“Do I need to prove something to you, Britta?” Letting my eyes sweep over her every feature, then finally settling on her mouth, I ask, “Do you want me to?”
“Promise you won’t keep pretending to hate me after this.” She hums a laugh. “I was never very good at pretending.” “No,” I say, pressing my lips to the hollow of her throat. “You weren’t.”
How long have I prayed for someone to love me, to want me, just as I am? How long have I waited for Cash to catch up to me, only to realize that he was there the whole time? How
Too many times, I’ve let myself get too busy for God and church.
“You are not—I repeat—not too heavy. I adore every single part of you.” He
“I’m old enough to know perfection when I’ve got it in my hands.”
