Sweet (True Believers #2)(10)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Finally my options were bite and chew or gag, so I bit and pulled away. As I chewed I said, “You told me once that I have plenty of padding.” It hadn’t necessarily hurt my feelings because I had taken it that he was just being a jerk, but still, I can’t say that I loved hearing it either, even as a joke.

“What?” He looked at me blankly. “When did I say that?”

“When we were sledding. I was afraid to fall off, and you told me not to worry about getting hurt, that I have plenty of padding.”

“I don’t remember that. But if I said it, I’m sure it was a joke. It’s not like I called you fat or anything.” He sounded a little defensive.

But I remembered, and he should know that. “I don’t doubt for a minute you meant it as a joke, but you wonder why I won’t chow down three slices of pizza? It’s because practically every day someone says something to me, and to every girl I know, that is a casual joke or careless comment, and after about a thousand of those it’s in here”—I tapped my head—“whether you want it to be or not. Every magazine, every TV ad, it’s all about skinny and gorgeous, and girls worry they can’t measure up.”

He was silent for a minute, then he tossed the pizza slice I’d bitten on top of the box. “Sorry. Guess I never thought about it that way.”

I shrugged. “It’s a societal disease, what can I say? Girls have the pressure to be a size zero just like you guys constantly get called wimp, pu**y, fag, girl, all those awful and offensive names to make you feel weak and inadequate. It’s stupid.”

“You’re right. It is very stupid.” He turned to me. “But just know that when you’re here, you can chow down on three slices of pizza if you want, and I’ll never think you’re anything less than gorgeous. Even if you chew with your mouth open.”

I laughed, appreciating his compliment and the fact that he seemed to get it. “I don’t chew with my mouth open!”

“I never said you did. But you can if you want to.”

It seemed to be an invitation, so I picked up his piece of pizza and took a healthy bite. God, that was good. It was like a rush of forbidden fat, and my taste buds stood up and did a happy dance. I chewed and flashed Riley a healthy mouthful, sticking my tongue out to make sure he got a full view.

“Nice,” he said in approval. “Fuck this eating like a bird shit. You’re hungry, own it. Round it out with a burp and I’ll think you’re basically the perfect woman.”

I hadn’t burped out loud since . . . ever. My mother would have melted in mortification, then managed to piece herself back together just to punish me, usually by donating my favorite outfits to charity. My father would have forced me to scrub the kitchen floor. For some reason, that had been his favorite form of discipline, and it hadn’t escaped my notice as I grew up that it was a subservient position, on my knees.

Public belching was not a freedom I had embraced since I’d come to college because it wasn’t about rebellion to me, it was about doing what I wanted, and frankly, I’d never had the desire to burp out loud. But why not? If I was going to with anyone, Riley seemed the perfect candidate. We weren’t exactly friends, and we weren’t anything else. So I took a sip of his beer and tried to work one up. I swallowed hard and opened my mouth and held my hands out, but nothing happened.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. “You look like you’re giving birth.”

“Shut up!” I laughed. “I’m concentrating.”

“Constipating is more like it.”

Gross. It was a good thing I was not trying to impress him. “You’re the one who wanted me to burp.”

“A burp should be spontaneous, natural.” He let one rip. “Like that.”

“I just don’t have your talent, what can I say?” I tried again and a feeble, forced belch dribbled up. “Ew.”

“Yeah, you’re going to need some work. But we’ve got all week.”

Why did that actually make me happy? I didn’t want to really think about it, but there was something totally different about being with him one on one. I didn’t feel as uncomfortable with his snarking as I had before, and there was something actually kind of liberating about not giving a shit what he thought. I could just be myself and it didn’t matter. When was I ever actually myself? I wasn’t even sure.

My phone rang on the coffee table. I glanced at the screen, and my amusement disappeared. “Oh, shit, that’s my mom. I have to answer this.” I picked up my phone and gave Riley a pleading look. “Please don’t say anything, okay? Just give me five minutes.”

His eyebrows went up. “Sure, no problem.”

I would have thought he would get up and leave the room, but he didn’t. Of course, it was his house and his pizza, so there was no reason for him to move to the kitchen. Heart hammering in my chest, I answered the phone, standing up so I could pace the room. “Hello?”

“Oh, Jessica! I’m surprised I was able to catch you. I was expecting your voice mail.”

Somehow my mother always made it sound like an accusation that I had picked up her phone call. Yet if I didn’t answer, she was equally annoyed. No way to win, ever.

“Yeah, well, we’re on the bus.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” I asked blankly.

“Yes, not yeah. That is not a word.”

Damn it. I clenched my hand into a fist and took a deep breath. “Sorry. Yes, we are on the bus. This may be my last chance for decent reception.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I only have a minute. I just wanted to let you know that we got a ticket for you and a guest to the fund-raiser in three weeks for the new wing at Daddy’s church. It’s important for you to be there.”

Ugh. I would rather get a Brazilian wax than spend five minutes at one of those horrible events where everyone sucked up to my dad and he charmed them out of cash. “Mom, I can’t go to that. How am I supposed to get back?”

“I’m sure you know someone who can help you out. This is very important, Jessica. We’ve been working toward this for two years. The congregation essentially pays for your education, so the very least you can do is put on a dress and smile for an hour.”

Ah, of course. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. My parents were giving me financial support, and they could take it away at any minute, and my mother loved to remind me of that on a regular basis.