Searching for Perfect (Searching For #2)(37)
Author: Jennifer Probst

“Every man needs two designer suits in his closet.”

“I’m not touching pink. Connor will never let me hear the end of it.”

“I can live with that.” She nodded at the salesman, who looked disappointed but picked out a bright red tie to match the charcoal classic three-button.

“I like the double-breasted. They wear those in the mob movies.”

She rolled her eyes and waved it away. The salesman loudly agreed and put it back on the rack. “No double-breasted. It will swallow you up. You’ll do better with the European cut.”

“Is this my body or not?”

“I know how to dress it better.”

The salesman laughed. “How long have you guys been married?”

She froze. Looked up. His gaze took, held, and silenced her. “Not long enough,” he answered.

The salesman smiled. “That’s nice. Trust your wife. Let’s try the navy blue.”

Speech still eluded her as Nate ducked into the dressing room. A few moments later, he exited and stood on the pedestal in front of the three full-length mirrors. “What do you think?”

Her girly parts flamed to life and begged for relief.

Nate Dunkle was gorgeous.

The dark blue pinstripe was a lean cut and accented the strength and grace of his body. The bright red tie gave him a flash of style, and the crisp white shirt was unmarred and showed off the toastiness to his now normal skin tone. He was pure deliciousness wrapped up for one lucky woman she was about to introduce him to.

“Perfect. You look . . . perfect.”

The salesman fussed with the fabric and beamed in the mirror. Nate stared at his reflection and caught her gaze in the mirror.

“We’ll take it,” he said.

He stepped off and walked back to the dressing room, closing the door behind him. She let out a shaky breath and clenched her hands into tight fists. The transformation was complete. He was ready to meet the woman of his dreams.

She ignored the strange bolt of pain that pierced her heart and chalked it up to indigestion. Nate was right. Too many salads.

She forced him into the shoe store, where she bought three pairs for him, and one for her. He lifted the bags and groaned. “I’m starving. And exhausted. My arms hurt from all the packages. Can we eat now?”

Kennedy let out a laugh. “You have no stamina, golf boy. Women do this for hours without a break or a sip of water.”

“I surrender. How about pizza?”

“How about the deli? I can get something healthy.”

“Done.” They ordered, found a table in the food court, and began to eat. Nate spread out a bunch of napkins first and lined the white Formica tabletop before resting his elbows on the edge. A group of teens lingered in the corner, tattoos, heavy makeup, and various piercings pegging them as the rebels. Or maybe that was the cool group now. Thank God, she was out of school. “Did you live at the mall when you were in high school?” Nate asked, taking a bite of his roast beef sandwich.

She shrugged and picked at her perfectly rolled oven-roasted turkey breast. She was so sick of lean meat. She eyed Nate’s club roll with longing. Maybe a pickle would help liven up her taste buds. “Didn’t most kids?”

“Nah. I went once on a Friday night and tried to fit in. Got beat up in the parking lot. Then they swiped my video game I’d saved months for.”

Kennedy looked up. He told the tale with no emotion, as if reciting a narrative from a book, but something deep inside her lunged up from the darkness and clawed for the light. “Were you bullied in school?”

“Yep.” He bit into a potato chip. “Can’t blame them. I’d skipped a grade, so I was younger and much smaller than the majority. The teachers loved me and always set me up as an example to the class. And I was a walking social disaster. If it hadn’t been for Connor’s protection, something bad could have happened. Kids are vicious.”

Hey, fat girl. You be nice to us, and we’ll be nice to you. Got it?

The pickle fell from her fingers. She wiped her clammy hands on her designer jeans. “Yeah.”

He pointed to her half-eaten turkey. “How can you enjoy that without a roll? Here, take the rest of mine. And some chips.” He pushed them over to her. They sat in her line of sight, taunting, reminding her again and again if she didn’t stay skinny, people wouldn’t love her. Reminding her of all the times she looked in the mirror and hated who stared back at her. Trapped in a body she despised and a mind that screamed for help.

The anger flooded past the dam and snapped her chin up. “Stop pushing your crappy food on me,” she hissed. “Just because you can eat anything doesn’t mean the rest of us can.”

His brows lowered in a frown. “I don’t understand. You looked like you wanted them. It won’t hurt you to have a few bad things, Ken. Your body is perfect.”

“I’m not perfect!” she ripped out. “You want to know what I was doing while kids hung out at the mall? I stayed home with a bunch of pizzas, soda, chips, and anything else I could fit in my mouth. A drive-through to me meant two Big Macs, super-size fries, and a shake. And I still wanted more. I couldn’t shop at the mall because I needed a special fat person’s store since regular sizes never fit. I was tripped, tortured, abused, and reminded every fucking day that I was ugly. That I was fat.” Her hands shook with rage, but the words spewed out of her mouth like vomit, dark and ugly. “I conquered that problem pretty fast. Decided to stop eating. I starved off forty pounds and then I had lots of friends. Boys wanted me. Everything was great. Until I realized I had dropped so much weight my ribs showed, and my period stopped, and I was disappearing just like I always wished.” Completely spent from her emotional tirade, she blinked furiously to keep her eyes dry. “It took me a long time to climb out of the pit. I went to therapy, learned how to eat and work out, for balance. Now, I can look in a mirror again. Remind myself I’m a successful, healthy woman. But I haven’t forgotten. Sometimes food drags me back into hell. And I sure as hell am not perfect.”

The full realization of what she had just done hit her like a karate kick to the head. My God, what had she told him? She had just spilled the venom in her soul to her client in the fast-food court. How could he continue working with her? How could he ever respect her for such an admission? Now he knew she was a complete fake—a mirage in the world of the flawless and fabulous. Humiliation choked her, but she raised her head and looked him dead in the eye.