Page 51 of Becoming Us
“Dead serious.”
His gaze dipped to my hips, scanning like he needed proof, and I gently tugged his chin back up.
“Don’t do that,” I said softly. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’m struggling with it right now.”
“Why?” His tone was careful, never harsh—Atty didn’t have it in him. And because of that, I found myself leaning in.
I slid my fingers through his hair. “Because I’ve always had issues with this kind of stuff, and now I’m at the heaviest I’ve ever been. I just need a little time to come to terms with that.”
I didn’t mention how much of my identity had been wrapped up in staying thin—how easy it was to control that when I was using. Or how being praised for my body had felt like the only thing I had to offer. I didn’t say that gaining weight made me feel like I was losing something I couldn’t name.
But I think he heard it anyway.
He nodded, slowly at first. Then something shifted behind his eyes—understanding.
He hooked his fingers through the belt loops of my jeans and tugged me closer. “I know those thoughts live in here,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “But for what it’s worth, I think you look incredible. You know why?”
My chest tightened as I shook my head, waiting.
“Because you look healthy. And that, to me, is very fucking hot.”
A laugh burst out of me—startled but genuine. “Really? You don’t miss the abs?”
“Not even a little bit.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my nose in his hair. The smell of him settled over me—that comforting Atty scent.
“After you got back,” he said, voice muffled, “all I could think about was seeing you without a shirt again.”
I let out a breath of amusement. “I thought you were too busy hating me.”
“I multitasked.”
I smiled into his hair. God, I loved this man. Sometimes, it felt too big—like trying to hold sunlight in my hands, like it might tear straight through my chest.
“If I’m being totally honest—and you know I suck at this—when you opened the door and I saw you…” He trailed off, rubbing his face against my shirt. I couldn’t see his expression, but I’d bet anything his cheeks were flushed. Probably his ears too.
“What?” I asked gently.
“I was turned on. You turn me on. A lot. Especially like this.”
My smile spread. “Yeah?”
He nodded, still pressed against me.
I was used to people wanting me—used to recognizing that look in someone’s eyes within seconds. But that was just sexual interest—surface-level, transactional. And the more it happened, the more hollow it felt. Like they didn’t wantme, just the idea of me. The ease of getting what they came for.
But Atty had never made me feel like that. Not once. His attraction had always felt real. Honest. Even when it scared me, I’d become addicted to it. To the way he saw me. Wantedme.
I tugged on his hair, tilting his head back and kissing him. He opened for me instantly, soft and eager, his hands urging me closer at my hips. Atty’s body sometimes seemed carved from stone, but up close, he radiated softness—in his touch, in the way he asked without words.
My body arched into his on instinct, and I groaned into his mouth. “Okay, we should cut this out.”
He pulled me back in by the nape of my neck. I gave in for another second before breaking the kiss again, just as his mouth began trailing down my neck.
I shut my eyes. I kept forgetting how damn good he was at that.
“Atty,” I warned again.
