Her First Billionaire (BBW Erotic Romance) (3 page)

He looked like something that was sculpted by an artist and the more that she thought about it and the more that she mulled over it, the more that she was excited about it – the more it turned her into a quivering, uncharacteristically nervous pile of goo.

“I don’t think I can do this, Josie,” she said that night as she prepared for the actual date. Dylan had picked out a rather nice restaurant in a part of town that was above her pay grade, and she wondered how on earth he could afford it on a firefighter’s salary. But she wasn’t going to question it because maybe, just maybe, she had finally found somebody who was going to treat her properly. The way she had always dreamed of being treated, and not treated like a booty call or a person you’d settle for when you want something more.

“You’re more than ready and you know it, Laura. It’s about time you found some guy who…” Josie looked at the screen again. “Oh, dear, I don’t think I remember what I was about to say because I’m about to burst into flames if I look at that guy one more time.”

“He’s mine,” said Laura, baring her teeth in a fake show of territoriality. It wasn’t that fake, though. Some part of her meant it.

“I can look. I know I can’t touch, but I know I
can
look,” Josie joked.

Laura had picked out clothes, being as meticulous as possible today, trying so hard to cover what she felt were definitely deficits. Big enormous deficits. Calling her a fluffy woman would be a perfectly nice euphemism, if you didn’t prefer the term fat. Not fat in a derogatory way. Just fat as a practical, pragmatic way of describing how she was. It’s not like you get to be a size eighteen by meticulously eating 700 calories a day and never,
ever
doing anything wrong in terms of what you put in your mouth. She couldn’t stand it when people would claim that they’re fat because of your genes, they’re fat because they have a thyroid problem, they’re fat
because because because because
.

She owned it. She was fat because she put too much unhealthy stuff in their mouth and even of the healthy stuff she put in her mouth, she put in too much. And she didn’t really mind it – she liked food. She really,
really
liked food. Enjoyed it. Savored it. Pleasured it. Found it to be a joy in her life.

And she paid the price with the extra pounds, the padding – what a lovely euphemism that was, too. She liked her curves; the curves made her feel normal, gentle, open, emotional, bare. You couldn’t hide from a curve; you couldn’t hide from a love handle or from a padded hip or from a booty that made enough men blush and drool. She knew it was an asset (pun intended) to some guys.

What she hoped – what she
deeply
hoped – was that with a guy like Dylan, maybe, just maybe, she could beat the odds and find someone like him who really valued someone like her. So far that hadn’t been the case. Online dating had turned out to be a giant nightmare of electrons that didn’t line up exactly the way that anybody had planned. She seemed to photograph well because she got an awful lot of come-ons and she figured, you know, maybe there was something to that.

She was blonde, she had a healthy glow in her face and a pretty decent smile with two dimples that appeared when she laughed hard enough. Her shoulders carried some of her weight, but it just made her look bosomy and big chested, and if she picked the right form-fitting sweater she could come across a good twenty pounds lighter than she really was. And that may have been part of the problem, because it was always that look that the guys gave her when she walked into the bar, the coffee shop, the plaza, the restaurant – whatever public place that they intended to meet.

It was that look, that fucking look.

It was a look of surprise – and not good surprise. It was the look of,
oh, you’re not what I was looking for
. Oh, you’re not what you look like in your picture. Oh, you’re a fat chick.

Oh.

Sometimes they had the decency to tell her the truth and to actually say those things. Yeah, really – the decency. Because it was better to hear it up front, to her face,
in
her face even, than to sit down with that type of guy, to try to read the signals, the tilt of the face, the grin, the look in his eyes, the
lack
of a look in his eyes if he glanced away. All of the little tells, the way he held his hand, the way he fidgeted, the way he reached for his phone for a text that didn’t really exist. Those sights and sounds and smells and movements that added up to one thing.

Rejection.

And so far, she had had a few one night stands, a few guys who were willing to fuck the fat chick. But, you know, she didn’t turn them down because the offers were few and far between. Most recently, like she had told Josie, she was sick of it. Just sick of it. So this last ditch attempt really was the final gasp.

Dylan seemed too good to be true. Here she stood in front of Tempo Bistro at 6 p.m. sharp wearing a pencil skirt, really nice high heels, and a mohair sweater, the same one she had worn in the dating site picture, just so she could – in her own head, in her own internal thoughts – not consider herself to have been falsely advertising.

Her hair was pulled back in the same funny little ponytail and her eyes were sparkling with hope that she dredged up from deep, deep inside, and plunked down in front of him, ready to try once more.

Getting ready for this first date with Laura had turned out to be a hell of a lot more complicated than it had any right to be. First of all, it turned out he got his dates wrong. His 24-hour shift was actually that night. Tonight. So he had to change shifts with Murphy, and Murphy, who wasn’t known for granting favors easily, not only extracted another 24-hour shift out of him, but also convinced him to give up his beloved Red Sox tickets for the next game. And Dylan reluctantly gave it up, hoping like hell that this date was really going to be worth it, really hating the sly grin on Murphy’s face.

Hey, he was taking a chance that maybe it really
was
worth it. Four different clothing changes later, he finally settled on something that he resembled “business casual” in the corporate world. She worked as a business analyst for some large nameless, faceless corporation and that meant that she probably had an expectation about what a guy would look like. Dylan’s general preferred state of dress was some old concert t-shirt from the 90’s, a pair of ripped up jeans and whatever pair of shoes were comfortable enough to pass muster.

Wearing business casual pants, a buttoned-down shirt, and – tie or no tie? He had finally settled on no tie. He felt like a fraud. If he just added some penny loafers and a loose cotton V-neck that showed the top of his chest he would look like something out of a Macy’s ad, which actually would’ve been possible ten years ago when he dipped his toe in the world of modeling before realizing that most of the people in that business were douche bags and he couldn’t stand it.

“Hey, who died? You look like you’re going to a funeral, man,” said Mike, walking into the room looking pretty natty himself in a similar outfit, just without the black pants. Mike was wearing khakis and some kind of boat shoes that Dylan thought had gone out of fashion back in the 80’s, when he was a kid. The guy managed to make Superman look puny. He could have been a stunt man for The Avengers, minus the confidence. For whatever reason, Mike was a man without swagger. He just
was
, a steady presence that made Dylan feel complete.

“What about you, man?” he challenged. “Why are you all dressed up? You got a hot date, too?” He narrowed his eyes and peered at his roommate, wondering.
Nah, no way.
He didn’t. Mike hadn’t gone out in eighteen months, not since Jill died.

Mike grinned. “I wish. Meeting at the ski resort.”

“It’s July!”

“I know, but we start getting ready now, believe it or not. Some people actually plan out processes and don’t always fly by the seat of their pants.” He muttered the last sentence under his breath but clearly meant for Dylan to hear every word.

Dylan just shook his head and said, “I like being a pantser.” Big grin. “Have fun.”

“I’d rather be doing what you’re doing,” Mike replied, then paused, seeming to think over what he’d just said.

“Me too,” Dylan laughed, grabbing his keys. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“I’m staying overnight at my cabin, so no worries. You have the place to yourself. I hope things work out with Laura. That,” he paused, brow furrowed, “that could really benefit everybody, huh?” Mike winked and the two hugged, Dylan forced to reach up to the only person in his life taller than him. And broader.

“Yeah, something like that,” Dylan said, shaking his head.

“Are you going to tell her about the money?” Mike’s voice was more defiant than usual, as if challenging Dylan to some sort of battle he didn’t even know was on the horizon. Dylan knew, though, that the tone in Mike’s voice was as much about his own demons; neither had ever expected this kind of surprise from Jill’s death. They would both gladly give it all up to have her back. Barring that, though, the money was certainly a welcome, if perplexing, change in their lives.

It meant nothing and it meant everything. Neither had said a word to anyone. Not a word to their friends or coworkers. Mike had quietly purchased the ski resort where he worked; it had been up for sale for a long time and was on the brink of financial collapse due, largely, to inept management and an owner who viewed it as a losing business. Mike would change that, Dylan knew. Having the money to buy the ski resort and one of the nicest cabins on the mountain had blown some life back into his partner. Too bad they didn’t have the third who would complete them, taking a dull dyad and turning it into a robust triad.

Maybe Laura would…ah, who knew?

“No, of course I am not going to tell her about the money.” Dylan turned away from Mike and finished pulling on his sweater. “Can you imagine that scene? ‘Oh, hi, I’m Dylan and I am a billionaire.’” He choked on the word, his face flushing and going cold at once, the syllables so fake. So
poseur
. Like a little kid dressing up in Dad’s dress shoes, or a teen trying on personalities to find the right fit. Except he had no choice here. Jill had left them this fortune and it was theirs. No trying anything on for size. This was serious money and Dylan and Mike had been catapulted from working class stiffs to billionaire bachelors.

“Billionaire.” Mike lifted his chin, as if sniffing something. “It does roll off the tongue nicely.”

“Mike Pine, billionaire,” Dylan announced grandly, jumping on the bed and bouncing like a mad monkey. His hair flopped in his eyes and he watched Mike plant his hands on his hips, shaking his head, as if faced with a recalcitrant, hyperactive eight year old.

“You are such a child.”

“Yes, but I am a wealthy child!”
Bounce bounce bounce – boom!
Dylan jumped off the bed and bounded onto the floor next to Mike, like a superhero landing. Mike’s eyes went from amused to pained, then his shoulders slumped forward. Dylan rubbed the soft spot between his shoulder blades and they both stared at a spot on the wall that seemed to contain everything they yearned for.

“She left us all this money, Dyl. We had no idea.” Dylan shifted uncomfortably and said nothing. Mike picked up on his change, though, and turned to him with an accusing look. “You knew?”

Dylan dropped his hand from Mike’s back and sighed. “No. I didn’t know she was a billionaire! But I figured out pretty early on that she had money. We were in college, Mike. The dot com boom hadn’t happened, and she claimed to make money off ‘websites.’ How do you think she could afford to spot us on all those trips we took?”

“We camped and kept it cheap, Dylan,” Mike sputtered. “She didn’t live like a crazy-rich person.” Blinking hard, Mike started to say more but turned toward the dresser where Dylan kept a picture of Jill. The three of them on Cape Cod, at First Encounter Beach, the green marsh grasses so thick that hundreds of thousands of minnows lived in the shallow waters there, almost giving the water a viscosity of live, teeming fish. The ocean has been so perfect, the water warm though thrashing for a bay that day, and the three of them peered into the sun, some random stranger stopped and asked to take a pic.