The Randy Romance Novelist(40)
“Might be nice to get out of the apartment. Maybe you can pick up our favorite curry dish on the way home.”
I rolled my eyes. “I see where the encouragement to leave the apartment comes from. You have an ulterior motive. I pinched his side and grabbed my jeans off the shelf.
“I’m not ashamed of my actions,” he laughed.
I shucked my sweatpants off and started to put on my jeans as Henry leaned against the door frame and watched me, heat in his eyes.
Skinny jeans are such a bitch to have to pull on, and I kind of wished Henry wasn’t watching me because I had to do my skinny jean struggle in front of him, which consisted of kicking my legs out, squatting, and kicking some more.
“Why are you watching me?” I asked, struggling to get the things over my butt.
“I like looking at your body,” he answered without skipping a beat.
With a jump, I was able to get the jeans over my rear end, so I took a second to breathe. They were feeling really tight. Had I been working from home so long that my jeans were starting not to fit? That would be depressing.
“Man.” I leaned my hand against one of the shelves and breathed heavily. “You’re lucky you don’t have to wear skinny jeans. They can be tough to get on sometimes.”
“I’ve enjoyed the show,” he replied with a smirk.
“I’m sure you have . . . pervert,” I teased. I grabbed the button of my jeans and brought it to the hook, but found it quite difficult. Laughing nervously, I looked up at Henry and said, “Ha, things must have shrunk a bit in the laundry. Little buggers.” Turning away from him so he couldn’t see me do some contortions with my stomach, I sucked in hard, pulled both ends of my jeans together, and tried to button them up . . . but nothing happened. What the hell was going on?
“Need help?” he asked, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.
“No!” I yelped, trying to shimmy away from him. “I actually I don’t feel like wearing jeans; they’re overrated. Skirts are where it’s at.” I touched my nose and pointed my finger at him. “I know the exact skirt to wear.”
I peeled off the skinny jeans, avoiding the underwear pull down—thank God; I needed to keep some shred of dignity—and kicked them to the corner of the closet. There was a red skirt in the closet I knew would be casual but cute, so I stepped into it and settled the red cloth around my waist. I turned to Henry and started to zip up the side with a smile, a sexy one.
But my smile faded once I realized the skirt zipper wasn’t budging past my hips. Panic set in and I tore my gaze away from Henry, and instead, examined the zipper. There had to be a snag, that was why I wasn’t getting it up. My shirt kept getting in the way of seeing my zipper, so I took that off, tossed it to the ground, and then turned the side of the skirt to the front, where I could get a better look at what was going on.
“Damn you, zipper,” I muttered, and then looked up at Henry, who now seemed concerned. “That’s what you get for buying clothes at thrift stores, the darn tootin’ things revolt against you. This skirt was getting old anyway.” I tried to put on a brave face, but my lip trembled as I fished out a pair of yoga pants. “Stretchy waist bands are always fun,” I sniffed, tears threatening to fall.
“Rosie . . .” Henry took a step closer, tentatively reaching out to me, but he didn’t get a chance to grab me before I flopped to the ground, one foot in my yoga pants and the other out in the open.
“I’m fat!” I cried hysterically. My back hit the floor, and I flung my arm over my eyes so I didn’t have to see Henry’s disgusted expression from viewing his whale of a girlfriend trying to put her clothes on.
Henry kneeled next to me and pulled me up against his chest, cradling my head carefully and placing small kisses on my forehead. “You’re not fat, not even close, love.”
“Tell that to those life sucking pants and skirt.” I looked at the corner of discarded clothes and flipped them off. “I hope you get hemorrhoids!”
The closet fell silent, my middle finger still limply pointing at the devil pants and skirt. Quietly, I mumbled to the clothes that I hoped they had a snag and started to unravel, while Henry sat on the floor and pulled me onto his lap.
“You know, I think I did the laundry wrong the other day. I must have shrunk some things,” Henry said, trying to calm me. The ever-perfect boyfriend, taking fault for something that was my fault. Too much food intake and not enough exercise meant clothes didn’t fit anymore.
My head fell backward and my hand went to cup his face. “Oh, look at you, being a good boyfriend and blaming the dryer, when in fact you know it’s your girlfriend who is the heifer with a problem.”
“Do not call yourself a heifer; I’m not f*cking kidding about that.” Henry grew serious. “You’re perfect, Rosie, everything about you is beautiful.”
“Then why can’t I fit in my size six pants?”
Henry was silent for a second, not sure how to answer my question. “Uh, maybe because they’re skinny jeans and those are hard to put on.”
“You are too good to me.” I kissed him on the lips, got up, and finished putting on my yoga pants. Despite the fact that I felt like a giant trash bag, I still put on a tighter fitting shirt, wrapped a decorative scarf around my neck, and put on a cute pair of sandals. I put my hair up in a messy bun, coated my eyelashes with some mascara, and then grabbed my denim jacket. This would have to do.