Kennedy’s words hang in the air as she spots something over my shoulder.
Frowning, I follow her line of vision.
A devious grin curls my lips.
She’s gazing at the billiard tables, where a bunch of guys from Vesta University are gathered. One of the guys from the crew glances up and sees Ken.
Caleb Wright.
Hockey playing business bro. Kind of a playboy (he gets around, if all the gossip around the school is correct). Body and face totally fitting for male underwear ads.
And also known as Kennedy’s crush.
Now it all makes sense.
I try to keep the teasing to a minimum but fail, of course. “Sothisis why you wanted to come out tonight. You knew Caleb would be here.”
Kennedy actually blushes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Here’s the thing. My best friend has been infatuated with this guy for as long as I can remember. She’s never had the guts to make the first move and neither has he, for that matter. But I’m willing to bet he’s just as attracted to her, if not more.
Maybe tonight they can stop playing the cat-and-mouse game and finally get together.
Caleb’s lips twist in a cocky smirk. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms, perusing her from top to bottom. The invitation is clear as day. He’s basically eye-fucking Kennedy and sayinggive it to me.
I lightly shove her shoulder. “Men are the weakest link. If a woman wants anything done, she needs to take initiative herself. Go make the first move and for God’s sake, slice the sexual tension. It’s giving me hives.”
Kennedy releases a choked chuckle. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“Believe it. Now go! Otherwise, I’m going to carry you there myself cavewoman-style and lay you at his feet like an offering, Ken. Don’t make me embarrass us both tonight.”
She knows I’m not kidding.
Kennedy gathers liquid courage by tossing back her drink. “Okay. I’m doing it. How do I look?”
“Like a million bucks.”
She cracks a smile filled with gratitude. “In case I haven’t said it today, I love you.”
“I know you do. Now channel your inner lioness and show Caleb what he’s missing.”
“Right. I can do this.” She nods adamantly, tucking her braids behind her ear. “Lioness. That’s what I am. Hear me roar.”
“Atta girl.” I slap her ass to get her moving in the right direction.
I watch like a proud mama as Kennedy sashays towards Caleb with all the confidence of a siren, her hips swaying with every step. He watches her like an arrogant man who’s already whipped.
As I guzzle down my Shirley Temple, I notice two girls approaching me from my peripheral vision. They have hopeful, tentative expressions as they ask, “Are you Mabel?”
Confused, I reply politely, “Yes, that’s me.”
Maybe we’ve shared classes in the past?
One of the girls breaks out in excitement. “We knew you looked familiar.”
In the span of five minutes, I learn they follow my Instagram atmabelgarciaxo. They recognized me and wanted to come say hello. I have nearly seventy thousand followers and my social media account is all about being a self-loving plus-sized model slash university student trying to inspire women to live their truth and be more confident.
The girls tell me how much they appreciate the message I’m broadcasting and the way my posts have inspired them.
