Page 36 of Plus Size Player

“See you later, Nina,” Sky whispered, giving me a knowing smirk.

Wiggling their fingers, Daisy and Jess said their goodbyes as well.

“I’ll catch y’all later,” I told them as I moved to the free space their absence created at the bar.

Before I could place my order, the bartender had moved down the bar to take someone else’s order. Several minutes later, I still hadn’t been served.

I glanced over at the feel of someone brushing against my arm. I moved over fractionally.

“Yo, what’s your name?” a man with enviably thick eyebrows asked as he continued squeezing himself next to me.

I met his gaze. “Why?”

He was clearly inebriated as he shifted his body toward me. His breath was coated in liquor as he leaned forward. “You don’t want to tell me your name?”

“You don’t want to tell me why you want to know?”

“Come on, Jelly Belly,” he said with a slight drawl.

I narrowed my eyes. “Jelly Belly?”

“You pretty though. You got a belly, but you pretty.”

I shook my head. “No. I’m not interested.”

“Let me take you home tonight. You look like you need some dick to turn that frown upside down.”

“If I did need dick, you’d be one of the last ones to qualify for an interview for the position,” I retorted.

It was a common misconception that big women had low self-esteem and low standards. Because some assholes spread that rumor around, fat women spent good dating years fending off men looking for quick and easy sex—or worse, money. Too many people thought fat equated to desperate and had the audacity to be offended when we didn’t welcome their advances or jump at the chance to entertain them. It was that same audaciousness that made the man in front of me think he could talk to me like that.

Hell, it’s audacious for him to think he has a chance with someone like me in the first place.

“You’re gonna let that big back bitch carry you like that?” a voice on the other side of the man asked.

Before I could even address either of them, the bartender came over and took my order. After I told him what I wanted, I found the man next to me was staring at me.

“You think you’re bad, don’t you, Jelly Belly?” he asked, sneering.

He had one more time to say some slick shit or to call me Jelly Belly before I got petty with him.

“I know I am,” I replied. “And you know it, too, which is why you’re still staring in my face.”

“You got a big-ass ego to match that big-ass body.”

“Get her,” his friend egged him on.

I curled my lip in disgust. “He can’t. That’s why he’s mad now.”

“You got a mouth on you,” his friend commented. “If you keep running it, I’ll give you something to put in it.”

“I’m not taking any recommendations for what to put in my mouth from you. Your side tooth is on hospice,” I retorted.

“Oh, damn,” the man beside me snorted, unable to hold back his laugh.

I lifted my drink to their stunned faces before walking away.

Pleased with myself, I made my way to the section and spent the night partying with the other influencers. It was a good time. My encounter with the man at the bar wasn’t an indication of how the night would be. I drank and danced the night away. I gave my number to two men, but I didn’t plan on linking up with either of them before I left town. By the time we got back to the hotel, I was feeling tipsy.

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