Page 1 of Worth the Heat
ISABELLA
“Belly, I’m a little concerned for your mental health,” my sister, Arianna, frets from behind me as I maniacally throw glitter all around me. I’m covered in it, but I don’t care. Arianna has called me Belly since she was a baby. It’s our ‘thing,’ and definitely not a diss at my size or weight.
“I’m fine. This is fine. Everything is fiiiiiine,” I say, stuffing a handful of party sequins under the couch cushions. A very fine glitter covers the table and flooring, and I even stuck some handfulsunderthe fitted sheet on the bed. My subsequent giggle is high-pitched and frenzied. It’s possible everything is not fine.
My mental health is, for the most part, fine. My overall sanity is taking a hit, as is my self-confidence, but what else is new? I’ve been rocking the dumpster fire life for at least a decade, and that certainly didn’t change with the demise of my most recent relationship.
I found my boyfriend in bed with my best friend. God, such a cliché!
When I introduced Rick to Amelia, I was thrilled when they seemed to get along great. They had this brother-sister camaraderie that made me so happy. I had visions of double dates, whenever Amelia would finally settle down. Couples vacations. All the things.
Amelia has been my ride-or-die since the fifth grade when she tripped a snot-nosed brat who was bullying me under the slide at our elementary school. I’d always been a little plumper than my peers, and boys really honed in on that the closer we got to middle school. Amelia, on the other hand, was beautiful from the moment I saw her. Gorgeous blond hair in natural waves down her back, and crystal clear blue eyes that always sparkled. As we got older, she became an absolute knockout. I, on the other hand, stayed plump.
Last week, when I decided to leave my bakery early for a change, I planned to surprise Rick by being naked in his bed when he got home from work. He lives on the outskirts of Denver, working as a financial analyst at a large bank downtown. I didn’t notice his car in the apartment parking lot, nor did I notice Amelia’s. I sure as hell wish I had.
I didn’t have a key to the apartment, but I’d looked over Rick’s shoulder once and had seen the code for the keypad. The apartment complex he lived in was all hoity-toity, with every bell and whistle a young professional could want. I found it all to be a little over-the-top, but never told Rick because I didn’t live there. I figured we could cross that bridge if and when we came to it. We hadn’t been together long, and I wasn’t entirely sure if he was the one I wanted to be with forever anyway.
So I snuck into my boyfriend’s apartment, and I even giggled merrily as I set my bag down on the couch.
And that’s when I heard the moaning.
In hindsight, I should have walked right back out. Clearly, hearing moaning meant Rick had someone in his bedroom with him. I knew that. But it seemed like my feet took me to the doorway against my better judgment. The door was slightly ajar, and peeking in, I could definitely see Rick’s profile as a woman rode him.
“You gonna come for me, baby?” he grunted. Istood, transfixed, watching his face. Bile slowly climbed up my esophagus, and I remember wondering if I would throw up right on the floor. Then the woman answered him as she threw her head back in bliss, and I forgot how to breathe.
“Yes! Yes, I’m coming!” Amelia moaned.
My best friend, my ride-or-die, was fucking my boyfriend. For a moment, I thought that it made sense. Honestly, Rick was probably out of my league with his all-American good looks. Tousled brown hair and hazel eyes weren’t anything to write home about, but when he smiled, it was like angels sang in my head. When he directed that smile toward me, I was putty in his hands.
“Shit!” Rick shouted, and he pushed Amelia off him. She shrieked as she fell off of the bed, but our eyes met for a brief moment before she was out of sight. “Izzy, it’s not what it looks like …”
God. The number of times I’ve asked him not to call me Izzy has to be in the thousands, and we’d only been dating for six months.
Rick jumped off the bed and approached me, not even trying to cover himself. I dragged my eyes down his torso to see one glaring issue: a lack of condom. He fucked my best friend raw, but always —always— used one with me.
“Oh, God, Belle, I’m so sorry,” Amelia said after she wrapped herself up in a blanket. I stared at her, unable to speak. She was sorry? Like, oops, somehow she fell and landed on my boyfriend’s dick?
I turned around, walked out, and blocked both of their phone numbers.
Which brings us to today.
I could seriously be arrested for this, but I don’t care. I’ve let men walk all over me for so long, and I’m done with it. With them. I’m in my early thirties, and I’m over how men treat me.Maybe it’s just me. Maybe women with blond hair, bubbly personalities, and skinny butts are treated better. Not me.
“Belle, we really need to go. He’s going to know you did this!” Arianna hisses. Taking a quick glance at my younger sister, I see sheer panic on her face. The woman I just described fits Arianna to a tee, except for the blond hair. Arianna could flirt outrageously, even at a young age, whereas I never felt comfortable with the opposite sex. I’d rather be baking or reading.
“I just have a few more things to do,” I tell her with a cackle. Whipping a gallon-size bag full of cooked shrimp out of my tote, I shove it in front of her. “You wanna help?”
Arianna sighs. “I mean, I guess? I’m already an accessory, might as well add me as a full accomplice at this rate.”
“Great!” I yank a smaller bag out and hand it to her. “Go shove one in every air vent you can get to.”
“Isabella!” she shouts, horrified. “What is this?”
“Seven-day old shrimp.”
Her mouth drops open in shock.
“What?” I ask innocently.
