Curves Envy - Alphas Love Curves: BBW Billionaire Romance Read Online Free
Author: Scarlett Avery
Tags: Fiction, Erótica, Romance, Short-Story, Romantic Comedy
ever been with has taken advantage of me and left me broken.
For once in my life, I’d love to know how it feels to be with a strong, genuine man who has a backbone.
I step out of the shower heavy-hearted and I wrap my hair in a towel.
I’m not going to survive this day alone. I need an intervention.
I walk out of my bathroom in search of my iPhone. I text my best friend Amelia and tell her to come over with the cavalry as soon as humanly possible. I’m dealing with a code red crisis here and I need help fast. Five minutes later, Devin, Amelia and Lexi text me back to let me know they’re on the way to comfort me.
Thank God for great friends.
I head to my bedroom to jump into baggy sweatpants and a tee shirt I still cling onto from the days when I used to be nearly one hundred pounds heavier. I bunch my hair up at the top of my head and find a butterfly clip to keep it from distracting me. I glance quickly at myself in the mirror and the sadness in my eyes is unmistakable. It’s not as if I was in love with Vince, but he’s taken advantage of me and I can’t help but wonder if he seduced me because he figured as a full-size woman I’m easy, since I’m invisible to men in New York City.
Whatever.
I walk to my kitchen to pull out a few items to prepare a simple late-morning breakfast for my friends—eggs, baked beans, Canadian bacon and toast. I’m not a cook by any means, but over the last year, I’ve had to make some lifestyle changes and I can now find my way around a kitchen. Dramatic circumstances in my life have forced me to be good during the week and watch what I eat. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve not warmed up to skinny-girl foods like kale, beets, oatmeal or celery. God, I hate celery. But I’ve given up my ravenous consumption of junk food and I’ve cut out the gallons of pop I used to enjoy drinking every day. As a reward, I allow myself a few indulgences over the weekends, but when I’m in crisis all bets are off—only pork fat can help me deal with this morning from hell.
I know the rescue routine well. When one of us is dealing with shit, we call on the three others for reinforcement. It’s the supporting crew’s duty to bring the essentials to appease the pain—cupcakes, ice cream from Big Gay Ice Cream and lots of booze.
Chapter 2
At eleven-thirty, I receive a text from Devin to let me know the crew is downstairs in my building and about to hop in an elevator to ride up to my floor. A few minutes later, I hear a knock and I look up from my phone. They’re finally here. Devin peeks his head through the door before strolling in first. He’s my emergency person and he always has a spare key to my place.
“Hey, sweetheart, we’re here to the rescue. I dropped by Big Gay Ice Cream in West Village and grabbed everything we needed to create our own sinful heartbreak medicine,” he says, approaching me holding up two big bags of frozen treats. “Let me put these away before they melt.” He leans down to kiss both cheeks. “How are you holding up?”
“Not very well,” I confess.
Devin Sinclair has become a fast friend in a very short period of time. I met him at a trendy coffee shop in Greenwich Village during the opening week a few years ago when I was at my heaviest. I had stopped by to witness all the buzz surrounding this new place and to order a tall coffee drink with an unpronounceable name laced with sugary syrup and fatty whipped cream. Unfortunately for me, a few disgruntled patrons had made it clear with their snarky remarks, side glances and demeaning chuckles they didn’t approve of a person my size invading their space.
Devin was standing at the back of the line, but he quickly came to my rescue by shutting up the bullies. To console me, he took me to another cute coffee shop in the same neighborhood and before we knew it two hours had passed. Devin knows too well the pain of being teased by small-minded people and he also knows what it feels
For once in my life, I’d love to know how it feels to be with a strong, genuine man who has a backbone.
I step out of the shower heavy-hearted and I wrap my hair in a towel.
I’m not going to survive this day alone. I need an intervention.
I walk out of my bathroom in search of my iPhone. I text my best friend Amelia and tell her to come over with the cavalry as soon as humanly possible. I’m dealing with a code red crisis here and I need help fast. Five minutes later, Devin, Amelia and Lexi text me back to let me know they’re on the way to comfort me.
Thank God for great friends.
I head to my bedroom to jump into baggy sweatpants and a tee shirt I still cling onto from the days when I used to be nearly one hundred pounds heavier. I bunch my hair up at the top of my head and find a butterfly clip to keep it from distracting me. I glance quickly at myself in the mirror and the sadness in my eyes is unmistakable. It’s not as if I was in love with Vince, but he’s taken advantage of me and I can’t help but wonder if he seduced me because he figured as a full-size woman I’m easy, since I’m invisible to men in New York City.
Whatever.
I walk to my kitchen to pull out a few items to prepare a simple late-morning breakfast for my friends—eggs, baked beans, Canadian bacon and toast. I’m not a cook by any means, but over the last year, I’ve had to make some lifestyle changes and I can now find my way around a kitchen. Dramatic circumstances in my life have forced me to be good during the week and watch what I eat. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve not warmed up to skinny-girl foods like kale, beets, oatmeal or celery. God, I hate celery. But I’ve given up my ravenous consumption of junk food and I’ve cut out the gallons of pop I used to enjoy drinking every day. As a reward, I allow myself a few indulgences over the weekends, but when I’m in crisis all bets are off—only pork fat can help me deal with this morning from hell.
I know the rescue routine well. When one of us is dealing with shit, we call on the three others for reinforcement. It’s the supporting crew’s duty to bring the essentials to appease the pain—cupcakes, ice cream from Big Gay Ice Cream and lots of booze.
Chapter 2
At eleven-thirty, I receive a text from Devin to let me know the crew is downstairs in my building and about to hop in an elevator to ride up to my floor. A few minutes later, I hear a knock and I look up from my phone. They’re finally here. Devin peeks his head through the door before strolling in first. He’s my emergency person and he always has a spare key to my place.
“Hey, sweetheart, we’re here to the rescue. I dropped by Big Gay Ice Cream in West Village and grabbed everything we needed to create our own sinful heartbreak medicine,” he says, approaching me holding up two big bags of frozen treats. “Let me put these away before they melt.” He leans down to kiss both cheeks. “How are you holding up?”
“Not very well,” I confess.
Devin Sinclair has become a fast friend in a very short period of time. I met him at a trendy coffee shop in Greenwich Village during the opening week a few years ago when I was at my heaviest. I had stopped by to witness all the buzz surrounding this new place and to order a tall coffee drink with an unpronounceable name laced with sugary syrup and fatty whipped cream. Unfortunately for me, a few disgruntled patrons had made it clear with their snarky remarks, side glances and demeaning chuckles they didn’t approve of a person my size invading their space.
Devin was standing at the back of the line, but he quickly came to my rescue by shutting up the bullies. To console me, he took me to another cute coffee shop in the same neighborhood and before we knew it two hours had passed. Devin knows too well the pain of being teased by small-minded people and he also knows what it feels
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