All the Sauce (IceCats 4)

Since I couldn’t help my brother, maybe I can help her.

And my reward will be to enjoy that body that makes me weak in the knees.

Chapter Twelve

Angie

* * *

My thoughts and dreams have been filled with three things.

Owen. Owen’s lips. Owen’s words.

Basically, everything and anything that starts and ends with Owen Adler. It’s extremely annoying when I’m supposed to be doing everything I can not to think or dream about him. Instead, I tossed and turned, imagining what it would be like to be flipped, lifted, and bent by him. I’ve thought about what his lips did to mine. But most of all, I’ve thought about how amazing it would be to believe his words. To know he wasn’t just being nice or kind. I’m sure he felt awful about what those girls said and he was taking pity on me. His daily good deed. Be nice to the fat girl he knows.

He probably went home with one of those girls.

Surely didn’t go home with me, not that I gave him a chance.

Like a damn idiot.

Lord knows I could use a good night of fun. I haven’t had sex since coming to South Carolina. I’ve dated, but I have found no one worth a damn to sleep with. Plus, I have my standards set so high, and then my insecurities are so awful, the thought of being naked in front of a man makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t imagine. Of course, I do imagine Owen naked with me. I wonder if he’d still think I was beautiful when he saw my stretch marks or my little pooch. I doubt it; no one could, which is why the only action I get is the action I provide myself.

With the help of thoughts of Owen, I outdid myself last night.

I throw a bunch of spinach in along with almond milk and protein powder for my morning smoothie. My mom would be proud that I’m actually eating something with substance, rather than a sugar-filled granola bar. I pause, our conversation about Owen’s mom coming to mind. I smile at the thought of Evan living his best life with all the love food I’m sure Elli is making him and that Owen doesn’t get to enjoy. It makes me laugh as I send my mom a picture of my smoothie.

She writes back quickly.

Mom: Oh, thank God it’s not a granola bar.

I snort as I put a top on my cup before taking a long pull of it. Tasty. I start to clean up, and I’m almost finished when I hear London coming down the hall. Or so I thought. Leroy comes into the kitchen and makes a face.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up my smoothie mess.”

“A smoothie? It’s going to take more than that to help you lose weight,” he says, and as he moves by me, he acts as if I’m taking up all the space. He slides his body along the counter, gripping it for dear life, and I swear I want to punch him.

He’s your boss’s boyfriend, I repeat over and over again.

“Jesus, I thought Lo said you lost weight,” he throws at me, and that’s it. I turn to tell him to fuck off, or something just as mean, but he’s already out the door, his laughter taunting me.

“Ugh!”

I lean against the counter, drinking my smoothie and wishing like hell I didn’t have to deal with him. I know I could move out, but I don’t want to ask my mom for that. If I told her why I was moving, though, she’d go completely mama bear. She’d probably kill Leroy. That’s an option, actually. The problem, though, is I’d have to admit that I was fat, as he likes to call me.

“Morning!”

I look over as London floats in, her scrubs fitted and her hair down in large curls. She looks like she’s about to be Miss America rather than a senior researcher. She glances over at me and grins. “Do you like the spinach in it?”

I nod. “I do, actually.”

“Awesome. Told you! I’m so glad you’re actually eating! Iced coffee is not a meal.”

“I know,” I say with a smile, but none of this makes sense. How can London be so kind and supportive when Leroy is a dick? I look down at my smoothie as I drink it, and I struggle with what to do. It shouldn’t be like this.

“You okay? You’re spacing on me.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “I have a question, actually,” I say without thinking. She looks over, smiling widely with no cares in the world. I clear my throat, and when I feel confident in my choice of words, I ask, “Does Leroy talk about me to you?”

She is visibly taken aback, her brows crashing together. “What? No? Why?”

Oh. Well, this is awkward. “Um, he made the comment that you said I’d lost weight.”