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  Well, not men like Blake, at least. I’d been on the receiving end of unwelcome leers from creepy old men as far back as when I was a teen and consisted of all boobs and curves, but not after I’d ballooned in weight in college. At that point, I’d resigned myself to being the overweight friend who could always be counted on to provide a shoulder for my thinner female friends to cry on when their boyfriends dumped them.

  Yep, I was the DUFF—the Designated Ugly Fat Friend.

  And now that I wasn’t the DUFF any longer? I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I wasn’t sure who I was, or even who I wanted to be. In some ways, I missed being able to go unseen in a crowd. Yes, that was a strange thing to think, considering my former weight. But when you’re that large, no one sees you. You can blend into the background. You might as well be invisible.

  No wonder it had taken so much coaxing for me to wear the clothes Dani had made me—formfitting pieces that hugged my new body and fit me precisely—let alone to go out on a double date with her.

  But I’d done it. My imagination had run away with me during that dinner, and I’d started thinking about all sorts of things I hadn’t allowed myself to think about in my entire adult life.

  Dating.

  Kissing.

  Hand-holding and other sorts of physical contact.

  Sex.

  But that one would sure as heck never be happening now. For that matter, none of them would.

  Or at least not with Blake Kozlow.

  “So what happened?” Dani demanded, interrupting my thoughts. “What changed? I knew he was going to make an ass of himself that night. It’s why I wanted Cody to find anyone else.”

  “What happened is we went on another date that I didn’t tell you about, and he opened his mouth and said something that he can never unsay.” I let out a heavy sigh, turning the corner to return to my own street.

  And even if he somehow could unsay it, I could never unhear those words—or unfeel the way they’d made me feel.

  Oh, wow. Now that he’s seen her eating like that, there’s no chance in hell there’ll be a second date.

  Even though almost a year had passed, I still wasn’t ready to tell Dani the words that had come out of Blake’s mouth. Because maybe I wasn’t prepared to examine what I’d felt and the way I’d reacted.

  He’d been looking at a couple a few tables away from us at the restaurant.

  The guy was young and good-looking and most likely affluent, based on the way he was dressed.

  The woman was a lot like I’d used to be—only not as large by any stretch of the imagination. Curvy. A bit overweight, sure, but I’d considered her to be fluffy more than fat. She’d probably been a bit over two hundred pounds, judging from what I remembered of the various weights I’d been over the years.

  I’d watched them for a moment, trying to determine what Blake was seeing. All I’d been able to make out was a woman so engaged in conversation that she was more focused on her companion than she was on the food in front of her. Occasionally, a bite of her food had fallen off her fork and back onto her plate because she was so engrossed in the moment and the conversation and not in her food. There’d been a hint of a stain on her blouse, too, so she might have caught some of her food with her chest instead of her plate.

  Having been a woman with an overly large chest not so terribly long before that night, I knew the dangers of eating messy foods with a massive bosom all too well, though, so I could sympathize. But she wasn’t letting it stop her from enjoying herself with her companion.

  Yeah, maybe she’d been eating pasta, which wouldn’t be good for her waistline. Yeah, maybe she was going to eat the entire portion the server had set in front of her. But what did that matter?

  Blake’s insinuation had hit me like a ton of bricks, and then our date couldn’t end fast enough to satisfy me. I’d wanted nothing more than to get away from him and never set eyes on him again.

  Because if he thought that woman was fat and disgusting and he was sure her date wanted to get out of there ASAP because of it, then what would he think when he found out how big I used to be? Maybe he thought I was a reasonable weight now, but what would happen if he ever saw my chicken-wing arms when they weren’t covered by long sleeves? What would he have to say about my droopy butt and floppy thighs when my Spanx weren’t holding them in? How would he react to my sad, deflated boobs when my bra wasn’t working overtime and they hung down to my waist?

  This was why I’d avoided dating—all the what-ifs, the fears about how a man might look at me differently once he saw me naked. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I could go there with anyone, but certainly not with a judgmental jerk like Blake Kozlow.

  True, I had a better understanding of him now…but I didn’t want to forgive him yet. Maybe not ever. I understood enough about his disabilities to know that he likely didn’t have a filter—whatever passed through his mind would then fall out of his lips. That didn’t change the fact that the thoughts had passed through his mind, though.

  But admittedly, he couldn’t make me feel any particular way. How I had responded to his statement—and how I continued to feel about it—well, that was all on me.

  My reaction might say more about me than it did about him in the long run, darn it.

  Sometimes, it really sucked to be an adult and to look at the bigger picture. It’d be a heck of a lot easier and make me happier to go on blaming Blake Kozlow for everything I’d felt that night.

  I wanted to forget that he was so much like my students, forget that there was a reason behind his thoughtlessness and his careless statements even if there could never be a justification for them. And then I wanted to banish him from my mind and my life altogether.

  I didn’t want him taking up any more space in my thoughts.

  I didn’t want to allow the sharp stab of pain I’d felt that night to creep back up again.

  I’d spent too much time and effort trying to see myself, both inside and out, the same way the rest of the world saw me now, and giving Blake Kozlow any sort of power to destroy all the work I’d done wouldn’t help anyone—and it wouldn’t help me, most of all.

  Fat chance of me getting him out of my thoughts anytime soon, though, since he was supposed to be coming back to work with my class at least once or twice a week for the remainder of the school year unless the team was on the road for too long.

  “Hello?” Dani said on the other end of the line. “Earth to Bea. Don’t tell me you got run over on the street, because then I’ll have to get out of bed to come and rescue you, and then you’ll have to answer to my husband.”

  “I’m fine,” I reassured her. “Just thinking.”

  “Thinking about avoiding the subject, apparently.”

  I laughed, because there was more than just a kernel of truth to that.

  She harrumphed in a way that only Dani Williams could get away with. It was beyond adorable, just like everything else about her. “You’re going to tell me one of these days,” she grumbled.

  “Maybe so,” I murmured. But then I let my thoughts trail off, because my driveway came into view, and there was an unfamiliar sports car parked in it.

  An unfamiliar sports car with an altogether too familiar man leaning casually against the bumper, his ankles crossed as he stared down at his phone.

  Ugh. Not now.

  “I have to let you go,” I said to Dani.

  “You’re not getting away with this forever. I will hunt you down and force it out of you.”

  “Later,” I cut in before she could build up a head of steam. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Hmph,” she said. But then she added, “Fine. Bye. But you owe me dessert. Something full of sugar and fat and all that other good shit the doctors aren’t letting me have.”

  “Fine,” I bit off, even though I didn’t intend to bring her anything of the sort. I could make her a low-fat, low-carb, low-sugar dessert, and she wouldn’t even know it.

  By the time I disconnected the call
, I’d made it to my driveway and could direct the fullness of my glare straight into Blake Kozlow’s eyes. I shoved my phone into my pocket with so much force it was a miracle I didn’t rip a hole in the bottom of the fabric.

  “What are you doing at my house? And for that matter, how do you know where I live?” When we’d gone on that date, I’d met him there and taken myself home. I hadn’t been ready for anything more serious than that.

  “Harry told me. Said he brought you Chinese food once or something.”

  I made a mental note to have Dani rip her husband a new one for giving out that kind of information without asking my permission. “And?” I demanded. “Why are you here?” Having to deal with him in my classroom, surrounded by my students, was one thing. Having him at my house when we were all alone? That was something entirely different. Not to mention completely unacceptable.

  He shot a sulky, broody look my way. “And what?”

  “And why are you here?”

  “I thought you could help me.”

  Help him? He thought I could freaking help him? Wasn’t I already doing exactly that by allowing him to come into my class and be around my students? It wasn’t exactly my idea, either. And yet he thought I owed him more than I was already giving him, did he?

  Not going to happen.

  Without sparing him another glance, I headed for my front door.

  “Wait,” he called out from behind me. “Bea, hold up for a second and talk to me, would you?”

  I didn’t slow my pace.

  Heavy footsteps pounded in my wake, and then his hand landed on my upper arm.

  Instinct kicked in. I spun around in a flash, wrapping my fingers around the keychain pepper spray I kept in my pocket when I walked. I whipped it out, holding it up in his face.

  He released me and dropped back almost immediately, hands up as if to guard his eyes with them, not that they’d do him any good if I decided to press the button.

  “Christ, I’m sorry. All right? I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.”

  “Well, I am.”

  “Good.”

  “Sorrier than I can ever say.”

  “And?” I demanded, my thumb still on the button, ready to spray at the slightest provocation.

  He looked confused. “And what?”

  “And why the heck would you think I would ever consider helping you more than I already am? I’m letting you into my classroom so you can do your little PR stunt and get back in your team’s good graces. I’m allowing you to volunteer with my students, even though I doubt there’s a single bone in your body that would come up with this sort of community service project on your own. Isn’t that enough? What else do you think I owe you?”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. I don’t owe you a single thing. Good-bye.” I turned again, determined to get inside and slam the door in his face if necessary.

  But then a pained sound fell from his lips, and I froze despite my good intentions of blocking him from my thoughts and not falling for any sort of emotional ploy he might try to throw at me.

  “Please, Bea,” he said. “I’m desperate.”

  He had to go and become all polite on me. A grown man respectfully saying things like please and thank you and treating others with decency and common courtesy might as well be my personal Kryptonite.

  Well, damn it. Damn it all to heck and back.

  Damn, damn, damn, damn, crap, shoot, damn.

  Without turning to look at him, I paused with one hand on the doorknob and the other still holding my pepper spray. “What kind of help do you need this time?” I bit off. Not that I intended to help him. But it wouldn’t kill me to hear him out.

  Would it?

  I felt him move up behind me on the steps to my porch, but I refused to turn and look at him. If he tried to give me puppy-dog eyes or something…

  No, I was stronger than that. I wouldn’t fall for it. I could resist with my students, so I could surely resist with this jerk.

  But he didn’t respond.

  I spun around to glare at him. “Well?” I demanded. “I don’t have all day to stand out here waiting for you to give me an answer.”

  “I need you to help me learn ways to focus, like you do with your kids,” he spluttered. “I’ve tried everything I know to do, and I still end up doing stupid things when I should know better. I don’t know who else I can turn to for this.”

  Yeah, he could have blown me over with a feather this time.

  “COME ON, THEN,” she grumbled, holding open the door and looking thoroughly pissed off about it. “I’m not going to stand around all day waiting for you to decide whether you’re coming in or not. You don’t get to act like an indecisive cat.”

  I supposed that meant she was willing to help me. Or at least willing to hear me out. Either way, I knew better than to pass up my opportunity. I moved in so I could hold open the door for her to pass inside.

  She scowled up at me for a moment, but then she relented.

  I closed the door behind us and followed her into her living room.

  After tossing her keys on a table, she headed for a large glass cage near the opposite wall. She hadn’t exactly invited me over, but my curiosity got the better of me. I crept closer, peering over her shoulder to see what she had in there.

  A couple of adorable guinea pigs started moving around and letting out high-pitched squeals.

  “Neville and Luna,” Bea said to me. “The black one’s Luna and the cream one’s Neville. They get excited when I come home. And when there are visitors.” She reached into a plastic container next to their cage and unloaded some hay to spread in there. “There’s a bag of shredded carrots on the shelf in the fridge. Can you grab it? They’ll love you forever if you give them their carrots.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted her guinea pigs to love me forever, but it wouldn’t kill me to help her out. And besides, I was trying to get her to do me a favor. The least I could do was help her out with something small like this. I had a hell of a lot of ground to make up.

  I headed into the kitchen and found the carrots. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself from examining the contents of her refrigerator while I was in there. A couple kinds of cheeses, milk, yogurt, lots of bottled water, a package of chicken breasts, some ground turkey, a couple of plastic containers of what I could only assume were leftovers or lunches ready for her to grab on her way out the door, an entire shelf dedicated to various brands and flavors of premixed protein shakes, and a couple of drawers full of various sorts of fresh vegetables.

  To be honest, it looked an awful lot like the contents of my fridge, only with a lot more dairy and less fresh meat and vegetables. For someone who wasn’t a professional athlete, though? I was surprised it wasn’t full of breads and pastas. In fact, I didn’t see anything I’d consider a traditional carb anywhere in her kitchen. Huh.

  “You got those carrots yet?” she called out from the living room, reminding me what I was supposed to be doing.

  I grabbed the bag and shut the fridge, then headed back into the living room. “Sorry,” I said, tearing open the plastic wrapper. “Got distracted.”

  “Got caught snooping, more like,” she muttered, but this time it sounded like she might be amused more than pissed off.

  “Maybe a bit,” I admitted. “Is that a problem?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On why you’re snooping.”

  “Was just curious to see what’s in your fridge,” I said, deciding honesty would probably serve me best. “You can learn a lot about a person by seeing what they eat. My grandma always told me that.”

  Bea scowled and took the bag of carrots from my hands, then put a large handful of them in a ceramic bowl situated in one corner of the guinea pigs’ cage.

  “You don’t want me trying to learn about you?” I asked, genuinely trying to figure out what I’d done to piss her off this time.

  �
�I don’t like being judged for what I eat,” she snapped. “Or what I don’t eat. Or how much I eat or don’t eat. Or—”

  “Whoa. Don’t get your panties twisted up, all right?”

  She flashed a murderous glare in my direction, and I held up my hands in surrender.

  “I’m not judging you,” I said. And I wished I hadn’t told her not to get her panties twisted up. That was probably the wrong thing to say, even if she was going way overboard and jumping to conclusions that I wasn’t following.

  “Aren’t you? Isn’t that why you felt the need to catalog everything you found in my fridge? Isn’t that what you do?”

  “I catalog things, sure. I make mental lists. I try to figure people out based on the things I can learn about them.” And I still didn’t understand why that was such a problem. She worked with kids who had the same sorts of disabilities I had. She ought to understand how our brains worked. Shouldn’t she? Or was I expecting too much, just because of a couple of minor things I knew about her?

  Now was one of those times I really wished I could read people better.

  “And what did you learn about me by poking through my fridge?” Bea demanded, although she didn’t sound quite as angry as she had only moments before.

  “I learned you eat a lot like I do. You don’t have a bunch of junk in there.”

  “Maybe you should go poke through my pantry. I’m sure you can find something in there that’ll help you prove your point.”

  “What point?” What the hell? I didn’t know what was happening.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that I eat too much? That I’m never going to have a guy want to date me because of all the so-called junk I eat? You tell me. You’re the one who likes to judge people for the way they eat, Mr. Perfect.”

  “Judge people for the— What the hell are you talking about?”

  “What am I talking about?” she seethed. “What am I talking about? Why don’t you try this on for size? ‘Now that he’s seen her eating like that, there’s no chance in hell there’ll be a second date.’ How about that? You remember saying that?”

  I stared at her, blinking while I tried to focus my thoughts. It had to be something I’d said during that date I’d taken her on, after the one Harry had dragged me along for. Maybe this was what I’d said to cause everything to go downhill. Things had been great at first, and then out of nowhere, it had all gone to hell.