Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
“What did you do?” She asks as she hefts her luggage onto her bed and opens her oversized suitcase.
“You know something is wrong with your cabin door, right?” I say before I go on to describe meeting with Brock the first time.
She stops me in the middle of my story. “Wait, a second! He saw your whole ass?”
“Yep, full moon rising and everything.” I flop back on her bed and stare up at the ceiling. When I see Cassia, I’m going to throttle her for suggesting Lake Tahoe, home to the world’s hottest sheriff.
Emmy flops next to me on the bed and laughs. It’s a full body laugh that shakes her beautiful curves and pretty soon, I’m laughing too. It feels good to talk to her about this. Valentine was distracted on our call earlier and I can’t hold that against her. She’s in the middle of a pretty scary life change.
“So what happened next?” Emmy asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I recount the rest of my morning, even down to how Brock called me sweet cheeks. My face burns as I tell her that. When I’m done, I explain, “See? I should cancel the date. Call it off.”
“You don’t have his phone number,” she points out. “And besides, you don’t really want to cancel it, Zo.”
I blow out a breath and voice the fear that’s been running through my head all morning. “He’s not going to like me.”
“He asked you out. I don’t know how much more of a sign you need, girl.” She’s always so encouraging. Like me, she’s a virgin. It’s kind of weird given that we spend so much of our lives writing sex scenes and sending each other social media videos that feature hot guys stripping.
“He’ll change his mind.” The words come out softly and I’m angry at myself. Angry that I’m still so caught up on this. What happened with Colin shouldn’t still hurt me. “He’ll find someone prettier.”
Someone like my sister with perfect hair that’s not frizzy and hips that are just the right size. Big enough to be all woman but small enough to squeeze into single-digit jeans.
I don’t resent her for being skinny. Her body size isn’t her fault any more than it’s my fault I’m a curvy woman. It’s just that I’d like it if we could exist in a world where both of our bodies would be celebrated without comparison.
It’s my dream to see body positivity be more than just a trendy hashtag on social media. I want it to be a real thing that’s practiced by everyone. I think the world would be a kinder a place if we could all accept that we look different. That’s why I write books about big girls who find love with men that worship their curves.
“Not every guy is like him,” Emmy says quietly. She’s the only one of the girls that knows the truth about what happened with Colin. I only confessed to her one-night when we were in the middle of a video call. We’d been brainstorming conflict ideas for her characters and the topic had somehow come up. I swore Emmy to secrecy, and she’s kept her word.
“Besides,” she continues. “You’re in a rut with your writing. You told me yesterday how much trouble you were having with this love scene. Maybe getting out and spending a couple of hours with a cute guy is just what you need. It might inspire you and get the words flowing again.”
“I could use inspiration,” I admit. I know Cassia and Paige each have a rose but that’s never been my type of thing. I’m proud of them for owning their sexuality. I believe women should know their bodies and what brings them pleasure. But I’m not like them. I’m far more stimulated by a good conversation and a real man in a pair of tight blue jeans than I am by a toy.
“Just try it. Then you can report back all the sexy fun you have to me.” She gives me a wink before pushing herself up. “Now, I have to go bitch to someone about my cabin door until it gets fixed.”
A few hours later, there’s a knock on my cabin door. I’ve spent the morning, trying to decide what to wear and contemplating turning the hero of this book into a monk, so I don’t have to write the damn love scene.
I try to tell myself the scene isn’t working because I don’t have my laptop and I’ve been attempting to handwrite but I know that isn’t true. When the words are flowing, it’s a different feeling. As if I’m a journalist who happened to be along for the ride and is furiously scribbling down everything that’s happening.
“Don’t get up on my account,” I tell Woofer who lazily looks toward the door. He ignores my obvious sarcasm and focuses on the sweet potato stick he’s gnawing on.