The Fastest Way to Fall(54)

“I don’t know,” I answered, looking around the gym. “I’m not really seeing anyone. I just didn’t want Felicia trying to set me up.”

Britta let the bars return to the resting position between sets. “The woman at the front desk always flirts with you. Maybe you should ask her.”

I crouched next to her and fiddled with the weight settings. I’d never really noticed the woman at the counter was being anything other than nice to me. Usually, I was distracted, waiting for Britta to come through the front doors. “I might just go alone. I normally wouldn’t go at all—I don’t like weddings.”

Britta paused with her palms on the handles. “Really? Why?” Her thumbs fiddled with the adjuster, not pressing it down, just moving back and forth, and I dragged my eyes away. Britta laughed. “You get annoyed you can’t wear sweats, huh?”

“I do own other clothes.” I motioned to my outfit. “I clean up nice.”

“I don’t believe it.” Britta pushed the handles forward, beginning her next set with an exhale. “Send me a selfie before you leave for the ceremony. I want proof.”

Her arms extended and retracted twice more, and I watched her face, the way her mouth shifted slightly with each breath as she counted. Her hair was pulled back, and I realized I’d never seen it down. In the middle of the gym, I was imagining running my fingers through Britta’s hair.

I flicked my eyes away. “You could go with me and see for yourself.”

“Me?” She breathed harder, nearing the end of the set, and a drop of sweat ran down the side of her face.

“You know, to make sure I don’t wear sneakers.” I could have picked that moment and asked her on an actual date, but I chickened out. Making her feel uncomfortable in the gym was the last thing I wanted to do. “And a wedding is probably more fun with a friend.”

“You sure you don’t want to see if you can find a real date?” Her tone was playful, but she assumed she was a last resort, which was so many miles from the truth it was laughable.

“I’m just saying it will be your only opportunity to see me in a suit.”

“Well, if this will be my only opportunity, I guess I have to say yes.” She smiled up at me, brown eyes sparkling, and I was struck by the urge to lean down and kiss her. “I’ll be in heels, though, so don’t even think about springing a surprise wind sprint on me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I rested my hands near hers on the bars, not touching them, and tried to keep my smile a normal width. “You got one more set in you?”

She nodded and I stepped back, watching her inhale and exhale slowly with the next reps. It seemed like a weight had been lifted from my chest. The wedding was a few weeks away, and I could figure out a way to say what I wanted before that. We could talk about things, and I could end our coach/client relationship. I could do it right and still have a chance with Britta.

“Oh, by the way. I took your advice.”

“Is this when you admit you were wrong about yoga?”

“Maybe.” She laughed and wiped her brow before reaching for her water bottle. “I invited someone to come home with me when I visit my family in a couple weeks. He’ll be a great buffer to keep their matchmaking schemes at bay.”





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Warning: This post will contain exclamation points.


I’ve never flat-out hated shopping for clothes, but finding cute stuff in my size can be a challenge in a lot of stores. Someone somewhere decided fat women love floral prints and long, flowing tunics. Some people can rock this look. I am not one of them. My kingdom for a flattering, flirty, youthful ensemble in my size in a store without an empire waist. Here’s where the exclamation points come in: I bought a cute dress yesterday . . . with a natural waistline . . . in a store . . . that I love!!!!!!!! Linking to the store and designer below!





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RJ HELD UP a pink cocktail dress with a plunging neckline. “How about this?” The color wasn’t just bright, it was neon, like back in the nineties electric.

I shook my head. “Maybe something a little more understated.” I returned to the rack, pushing dress after dress aside.

“Whose wedding is this, again?” RJ asked from around two mannequins in coordinating yellow rompers.

“Friend of a friend,” I said vaguely, glad she couldn’t see my face. Though it wasn’t exactly a lie, RJ had a way of lawyering the truth out of me, and I didn’t want her convincing me this was a bad idea. “I’m going with him as a favor. You know how it is.”

“I thought straight men didn’t mind being single at weddings—don’t they usually think they can hook up with a bridesmaid or something?”

I smiled, remembering Wes talking about it. I couldn’t imagine him being the kind of guy to hit on the wedding party. I had a hard time picturing him hitting on anyone, really—he was always so nice. “I guess some people would rather have a date. Plus, you know I love weddings.”

“You do. It’s sort of gross.” Anti-romance RJ held up another dress, this one high necked with capped sleeves.

I scrunched my nose. Between the cap sleeves, the empire waist, and the complete lack of cleavage, the dress looked like it was solidly in mother-of-the-bride territory. “Uh, maybe something younger.”