Page 21 of His Curvy Obsession

“I told you I’d be here. And I’m here.”

“Thank you,” I say, smiling a little. “You’re a very faithful pretend boyfriend. Very reliable, too.”

He holds the rose out to me. I take it, rotating it in my fingers and brushing my thumb against the velvety red petals.

“When I tell you I’m going to do something, I mean it,” he says to me.

“I know,” I reply.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you outside,” he says. “Aren’t you the Maid of Honor?”

“Yeah,” I say, glancing at the church door behind me. “I am. I just came out to get some air. It’s…tough, being in there.”

Eric clears his throat.

“Do you need to, uh…talk about it?” He asks uncertainly.

“Eric Stone, are you asking me if I want to talk to you about my feelings?” I ask, cracking a true smile now.

“Yes,” he replies carefully. “I guess I am. Isn’t that what women tend to do?”

“I’d say most people have a need to discuss their feelings from time to time,” I answer. “Not just women. But yes, women tend to talk about their feelings. Especially with boyfriends. But you’re only a pretend boyfriend today, so I’ll let you off the hook. I know how you feel about touchy-feely stuff.”

He nods.

“You look great,” he says.

“I look like a cupcake at a five year-old’s princess themed birthday party,” I snort.

“I happen to like cupcakes,” he says. “So I’m not seeing the downside of the situation. Beautiful woman dressed up like a pastry? Sounds good to me.”

I lean back against the door to the church and laugh now, really laugh for the first time since I arrived this morning.

“That might be the closest thing to a joke that I’ve ever heard you say,” I tell Eric. “And I’ve known you for seven years.”

“Seven years and eight months,” he replies.

“Seven years and eight months,” I say.

“I’m not joking though,” he says. “You look beautiful. Only…”

“What?” I ask warily as he comes nearer.

His fingers brush against my cheek as he repositions one of the loose curls dangling from my updo, tucking it back into a Bobby pin at the base of my neck.

“There,” he says.

He starts to pull his hand away when I reach up and take it in mine. His body stiffens, and his eyes are on mine.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his voice quiet.

“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “I’m just…not ready for you to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Not ready for you to stop touching me,” I say, giving his hand a squeeze. “It feels nice.”

Eric’s body is still tense, the muscles in his jaw working as he stares me down.

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