Muffin Top

Tension came off him in waves as he spoke slowly and with absolute conviction. “Yeah, I do.”

Okay. If that was what he wanted, that was exactly what he was going to get.

Frankie spoke all the right words, but he couldn’t help himself. He was a natural-born flirt. He had probably been born looking like the redheaded son of Apollo. He didn’t know what it was like to grow up in the shadow of a woman whose posters had been on adolescent boys’ walls. He didn’t see the disappointment in his mother’s eyes when he reached for another cookie. He’d never been given clothes that were purposefully a size too small, supposedly to encourage him to shed just a few stubborn pounds. He hadn’t been the cause of a rift between his parents that had ruined a marriage because he was an embarrassment to his mother.

That had been her.

All her.

And suddenly, everything just seemed too much. The “good for you”s her co-workers would offer when she’d mention she was heading out early to hit the gym. Or the way conversations always seemed to end up on their favorite “easy” exercises and healthy recipes whenever she was around. Or how someone would ask her if she’d lost a few pounds because she looked good today, as though that were a compliment. But most of all, she was tired of the pitying looks.

Why would Frankie be any different?

If he wanted to see all of her, fine. And when he showed pity in his eyes, at least once and for all she’d be able to get her hormones off of this roller coaster ride to eventual heartache.

Because the one thing she knew more than anything else: Frankie’s rejection was going to hurt worst of all. Better to just get it over with. And if there was one thing Muffin Kavanagh knew best, a good offense was always the best defense.

“Okay, fine then.” She released her hold on her dress and shoved it down over her hips so it fell down her legs and landed in a heap in the wet grass. “This is what you get when you have a naked Lucy Kavanagh.” She reached behind her back to her bra clasp. “There are rolls.” The bra hooks gave way, and she shook it off, letting it drop where it may. “There are stretch marks.” She slid her thumbs into the waistband of her high-waisted panties meant to hold her not-perfect stomach in and pushed them with more force than necessary to her ankles. She kicked them off with enough power that they went flying through the night like a red cotton bullet and landed on a bush near where Frankie had parked. “There are curves where there should be dips.” She held her arms out wide. “There is all of this, and I’m not apologizing for it—not to you and not to anyone.”

Was she sounding a little bit like a woman on the edge of losing it? Hell yes, she was, and she didn’t care. This was it. This was her.

The longer Frankie just stood there staring at her, the expression on his face unreadable for once, the louder the doubt demons screamed in her ears. She could last it out, though. She was a strong woman made of stern stuff and—the first tears burned the backs of her eyes. No. She would not. She would not allow herself to cry. She would not. Grinding her teeth together in an effort to clamp down on her emotions, she watched Frankie do nothing but stand there and stare.

At her size-twenty body.

Naked.

Without saying a damn thing.

Her nose twitched, and she had to blink back the tears. She may not be able to stop them, but she sure wasn’t going to let him see her cry. God, this was worse than she imagined. She felt raw and exposed and vulnerable—everything she fought every damn day not to be.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice raw. “That’s what I thought.”

Without waiting on a response that wasn’t about to happen, she strode into the lake, waiting until she was waist deep before she dove under the water and began swimming toward the floating dock and away from such a stupid fantasy as being more than just a pity fuck for Frankie Hartigan.

Chapter Fourteen

Frankie had no idea what had just happened. Wait. He took that back. He knew what had happened, but was clueless about how he’d become the asshole in all of this.

What in the ever-loving hell was going on?

Once actual thought had burst through the haze of WTF, he started to strip down. It didn’t take long, since he wasn’t slowed down by having to deliver an angry tirade directed at a person who was so turned on by seeing Lucy’s naked body that they couldn’t think straight, let alone form words.

By the time he was bare-ass naked, the woman in question had made it out to the floating dock. She pulled herself up onto it, and Frankie’s brain went into shutdown mode again.

The moonlight caught every inch of her skin, wet and tempting from her swim. He might have been—okay, totally was—mesmerized, but she couldn’t even be bothered to look back toward the shore. Instead, she went straight to the metal box in the middle of the wooden square and pulled out a blanket. With a few efficient moves, she had it spread out on the dock and sat down, facing away from him as if he didn’t even exist.