Page 4

We make eye contact.

It’s me who breaks it first.

“I do insist.”

But I’m totally lying.

He hums, knowing damn well I am. “All right. Guess I won’t share that he hasn’t been seen with anybody either. But whatever. You don’t care…”

Teeth grinding, I grab the full bin of dirty dishes and take them to the back. When I’m a healthy distance away from Badger, I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

“You don’t care,” I whisper to myself.

I repeat that two more times.

When I crack open my eyes, our cook is looking at me. “You okay, Olive?” Jim asks.

My smile is immediate, albeit forced. I gesture toward the bin on the counter. “I’m good. Just bringing stuff back to be washed before the dinner rush comes.”

“It’s good to care,” he says as I turn back toward the door leading out to the bar. “It means you’re human. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

I glance at the fifty-something-year-old man I’ve worked with for about a year now. “It’s a problem when you feel too many of the wrong things.”

He offers me a sympathetic smile. “Wish I had some sage advice for you kid, but I don’t.”

“That’s all right. I better get back out there.”

Thankfully, Badger is gone when I get back out there.

CHAPTER TWO

Olive

Two weeks aftermy one-on-one with Badger at Fishtail, I’m standing in the friends and family suite at a Rangers game cheering on my big brother. At least, I’m trying to.

There’s a Malibu Barbie lookalike in front of me spewing hateful criticism toward the plus size model on the Jumbotron who came here with Akira Mendel, center for New York Rangers.

“…no way they’re serious. Look at her.” Her sneer at the gorgeous woman makes my face twist with irritation. And it’s not because I’m heavier than the person I have a total woman crush on in the club seats where, at the moment, I wish I could be instead.

I’ve never known what it’s like to be a skinny woman and I’m okay with that. My thighs have separation anxiety from one another because of my deep-rooted love affair with anything covered in dark chocolate, my ass could probably be used as a weapon of mass destruction, and the E’s attached to my chest could suffocate somebody under the right circumstances. They’ve almost suffocatedmefrom time to time.

But it’s my body—a body of a twenty-one-year-old woman who really loves carbs and Coca-Cola. Sue me.

Guys like Akira Mendel don’t care about size anyway. It’s about their personality, and it’s obvious that he’s in love with the internationally known model, Bailey Hennessey. Anybody can see it when they’re together.

I had my own version of that once, tucked away in my pocket for only us to see. Except he never called it love, but it wassomething. Something big. Probably bigger than either of us which is why it imploded in our faces.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?” I question the latest puck bunny of my brother’s teammate. When Sebastian invited me to his game at the Garden, I knew I’d be surrounded by people just like her. People with egos so large that they wouldn’t even be able to fit on the giant Jumbotron screen if they tried. But asking for a club seat was out of the question. Sebastian would never go for it because he thinks it’s unsafe.

Barbie, whose name I couldn’t care less about learning since she’ll probably be replaced within a few weeks knowing Bodhi, turns to me with pinched lips. “I’m just speaking the truth. Guys like him don’t go for girls like her.”

A few of the other people in the suite look uncomfortable from the cool exchange between us, probably wondering why their obtuse friend would comment on a plus size woman when one is standing right beside her.

But I can count on one hand the number of times when I’ve felt bad about myself because of other people’s opinions. It doesn’t happen often, and it isn’t happening now. “The national average for women’s clothing sizes in the United States is sixteen. Bailey is hardly that. And so what if she was? That has nothing to do with her relationship with Akira, and it’s none of your business where their relationship stands anyway. Worry about your own.”

Her arms cross, pushing her fake boobs up until they nearly pop out of the low-cut top in the Rangers colors that she has to be freezing in. I can see why Bodhi likes them—I meanher.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”