Oh, Keep Your Shirt On - Michelle Pennington Page 0,30
assumed that since I was skinny, I was happy with my body. It was amazing to work with women who understood that self-image issues came in all shapes and sizes.
Maybe it was time to start loving myself.
Anxious to get home and check everything out in the privacy of my bedroom, I couldn’t wait for the day to end. I waited and waited for Mr. Jennings to get off the phone so I could check in with him before he left, but finally, my patience ran out.
I stepped across the hall to Tessa’s office and peeked through the door when she called, “Come in.”
“Do you think I need to stay late since Mr. Jennings is? He’s on the phone, so I hate to interrupt him to ask.”
Tessa glanced through the glass walls that formed hers and Mr. Jennings’s offices. “No, don’t worry about it. I know you’re still working out your notice at the restaurant.”
I’d never explained to her that I’d been fired the same night she’d hired me. It wouldn’t exactly look great to a new employer. “Thank you. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Definitely. You’ve been doing great so far, by the way.”
Her gentle praise meant more than she probably realized. “Thank you. I’ve enjoyed it.”
I probably should have said as much—or at least have been more enthusiastic. Hopefully, she’d know I appreciated her anyway.
When I got home, I put the bags down on the counter in my kitchen instead of running straight up to my room to try things on. It was past six o’clock, and I’d somehow managed to skip lunch. I was starving. But when I opened my fridge, I didn’t have much to eat. I’d finished everything I’d bought when I went shopping with Damien, and I no longer had food from the restaurant to bridge the gap.
Peanut butter and jelly it was. There were worse things.
I had just set out everything I needed and scooped out a spoonful of peanut butter when my doorbell rang disjointedly, as if it had been hit a second time in the middle of the first ring. Only Damien would be that impatient.
Normally, I would have at least acted grumpy about the intrusion, but happiness was just sort of spilling out of me. I rushed to the door and flung it open. And then I smiled at him.
Truly. Sincerely. Full-out smiled.
Damien blinked at me over a big paper sack from a local BBQ joint. He stepped back and looked around. “Am I at the right door?”
“Oh, shut up.”
He grinned. “Yep. There’s my favorite sourpuss. Now let me in. This is heavy.”
“Whatever.” I hadn’t forgotten how easily he’d carried me across the yard the other night. But I stepped back and let him through.
When he got to the kitchen, he looked for a place to set everything down. With my sandwich makings spread out on the main section, he opted to push my pink bags out of the way to make room for his. I watched in horror as one of mine fell off the edge, spilling out all over the floor.
And, of course, it wasn’t the one with swimsuits in it.
“Oh, sorry,” Damien said, squatting down automatically to pick it all up.
Lunging forward, I squatted down too, trying to reach it before he did. I knocked my knees into his but didn’t care in my blind rush to grab the bralette out of his hand. Because, of course, he was faster than I was.
For a long moment, we froze, both of staring down at the scrap of lace between us.
“What is this thing?”
I tried to snatch it away, but he was also stronger than me, and I didn’t want to test how well it held up to tugging. Although maybe that was something Angela would appreciate knowing. For a moment, I imagined myself telling her, “The eyelash lace on the plunge bralette just couldn’t hold up to a man yanking on it.”
And then I literally snorted with laughter and let go to slap my hand over my mouth.
Now in full possession of my loot, Damien stood up again and held it up in two hands. As I also stood up and reached for it, he stepped back, turning it over as he tried to figure it out. “Is this a…” He dropped his hands, still holding on to it, and made a sweeping motion over his chest.
“It’s a bralette.” I grabbed it from him and held it up the right way around.
“But where are the straps?”
Were we really having this