Fuck, stop it, Mikey.
Saint flips on the blender one last time to mix the new spices in before he drains the pasta, and the air fryer beeps.
“Can I help?” I feel weird sitting here in his clothes watching him cook and not helping at all.
“Absolutely not, you just answer while I finish putting dinner together.”
I huff out a laugh. “My ex was… kind of an ass. I think I was only with him because he was there right after my dad died, and he was the first man who wanted to show me off and not hide me. We met on a dating app, and at first, he was nice, attentive.He’s older, has a solid career, and never made rude comments about my body in the beginning.”
His eyes narrow as he tosses the sauce with the noodles. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“Buckle up, big guy. For the first two months, everything was great. He’d take me to dinner and on romantic dates. He didn’t try to fuck me until our fourth date, so I thought he was such a gentleman. I’ve never been shown off or wooed, I guess, so it was nice—his attention. Before I started seeing him, I’d never had a good reason to dress up, so I didn’t have a dress other than the one from my dad’s funeral. Two months in, he decided I needed an upgraded wardrobe for date nights. It took us three stores to find clothes that fit my body, and he…” I trail off, a lump forming in my throat when his cruel words prick my skin again.
“He… what?” Saint prompts, his voice low.
“He said ‘shopping with you would be easier if you lost some weight.’ And I… he wasn’twrong.It’s not like I haven’t thought the same thing. But hearing it from someone who’d never said something cruel to me felt like a slap in the face.”
Saint sets down the Tupperware he was holding with a little more force than necessary. “I hope you slappedhimin the face for saying something so fucking stupid.”
My eyes widen at the indignation in his tone. “I—no. I didn’t. I told him I’d try to lose weight. Which seemed to satisfy him.”
“But it wasn’t the end.”
“No.”
Saint puts the lids on the Tupperware, quickly piles all the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, wipes the counter, and washes his hands. “Join me on the couch?”
I nod, grabbing my water and following him to the living room, where I sit on one end of the couch, and he sits on the other.
“Continue.” His soft command makes me want to squeeze my thighs together.
I take a sip of my water to soothe my suddenly dry tongue. “After that, I started wondering if I should break up with him. I didn’t, though. Instead, I justified his behavior to myself and to Kelly, saying he wasn’t wrong, and he was just trying to be helpful, not mean. It’s not like I’m lazy or sitting around all day, but if I stuck to a workout plan or diet better, maybe I could lose some weight. Work just depletes most of my energy. By the end of the day, I can barely stay awake long enough to read a chapter of a book, let alone workout or count the macros of the food I ate.”
Saint’s eyebrows furrow before he shakes his head. His hazel eyes meet mine, and there’s an intensity in them I haven’t seen before. “Your body is perfectexactlyas it is, Mikelle. He’s an absolute idiot scumbag for even suggesting you should change.”
My breath hitches at the way my full name rolls off his tongue, a shiver working down my spine. “Th-thank you,” I whisper.
“Don’t thank me for saying what’s true. What happened next?”
“He started getting impatient. He hated that I worked so much, he hated that my fingers were always ‘dirty.’ He started making comments about how I’d look prettier with more makeup and how he wanted to pay for me to get blowouts and manicures. Nine months in he told me I should quit being a mechanic so I could find a more ‘feminine’ job and leave the cars to the men,” I scoff. Even thinking about it makes my skin prickle with anger.
“It was the last straw for me. I wouldn’t tolerate him shitting on my career—a career I’d been working towards my whole life. I told him I was done, and he told me no one was ever going to want to be with a woman who does a man’s job and never wantsto dress up. We’ve been broken up for almost two years now, and sometimes my insecurities pop up, and I wonder if he was right. I wonder if I should have lost the weight, quit my job, and just settled. But then I think about the love my parents had for each other. The way my dad spoke about my mom… it was like she hand painted the moon and stars. If I can’t find a love like theirs, I don’t want it.”
Saint’s voice is low and serious, with an edge of something I can’t place as he says, “I need you to listen to me,hearme. That asshole was so wrong it’s laughable. Nothing about you needs to change, and the right man—someone secure in himself—won’t be threatened by your job. He won’t want to change a single goddamned inch of you. You’re exquisite exactly as you are.”
Someone like you?
I can’t find it in myself to ask it aloud.
I don’t even know how to respond to his words, so I opt for taking a sip of water and attempting to move the conversation along. “Well, now that you know what happened withmyex, tell me about yours.”
I can tell he doesn't like the change of subject by the way his lips purse, but then he gives me a teasing smile. “That’s not a question.”
“What happened with your ex? Why did you break up?”
Saint lounges back on the couch, spreading his legs and tossing one arm across the back, like a king on his throne. I want to crawl between them.
Knock it off.
