Size 14 Is Not Fat Either (Heather Wells, #2)

by Meg Cabot

Wow. That is so cute. He watches the weather before leaving for work to deal drugs on my street corner!

Tee-hee!

Maybe that’s why he’s here at the hospital right now, to tell me that he can’t stand to be without me a second more, and that his car is waiting outside to whisk us to the airport for a Vegas wedding and a Hawaiian honeymoon—

I love Heather's ridiculous non-sequitur fantasies

“You’d better call your office and tell them you’re going to be late getting back,” he says. “Why?” I ask breathlessly, hoping against hope that he’s going to say, Because I plan on taking you back to my place and ravishing you for the rest of the day.

Both men notice me at the same time. I’m kind of hard to miss, with my enormous balloon bouquet. Also, I’m clearly eavesdropping.

Hey, I may not do yoga—or much of any exercise at all. But like all girls who’ve lived in New York City for any period of time, I know how to inflict serious bodily harm with my footwear.

“I figured somebody better fry these up, or they were going to spoil. I was in your apartment, looking for your mother’s number.” “In the refrigerator?” I ask.