"You do?"
"Yep. It's officially retracted off the record. It never happened."
"Oh…"
"What?"
"That's too bad."
"Why is that?"
"Well, I may not look like an Abercrombie and Fitch model anymore, but, Darby?"
I crane my neck closer to the door. "Yeah?"
"I think I'm still pretty damn sexy."
7
Kip
The words sizzle on the tip of my tongue as soon as they leave me.
I can't believe I just said that!
Darby stumbled upon a truth I've been dealing with my whole adult life. Men do objectify me, and I fuckinghateit.
I hate the pressure to always look good. To have perfect skin. The perfect body. The perfect everything.
It's too much. Especially in LA where superficiality has been elevated to an art form.
But I also hate that it's robbed me of something no one should ever have taken from them—feeling good about themselves, whether they're "perfect" or not.
"Y-you are?" Darby checks.
I scratch the back of my neck, hoping I can find the words to match what's in my heart. "Yeah. I think so. I've—I've struggled for many years to make peace with how I look. My appearance has opened up a lot of doors for me, which is a privilege, one that I am truly grateful for. But it's also caused me a lot of pain. Turning forty a few years back, I was determined to get my shit together and finally love myself for who I was. I stopped with all the Botox and filler. Stopped coloring my hair. Stopped working out seven days a week. Stopped obsessing over every single calorie. I didn't want to feel attractive because society or other people told me I was. I wanted to feel good about how I looked because I loved myself unconditionally."
I stop for a second, my heart racing like I'm running a marathon. I've never shared any of this with anyone, not even my closest friends. Why is it so easy to open up to Darby?
"It's been a long and fucking brutal journey for me to be able to sit here and sayI'm still pretty damn sexy.I wasn'tbeing cocky or douchey, believe me. I've never spoken like this to anyone. I was reclaiming my power that was stolen from me a long time ago."
"Wow," Darby says for the third time. "That explains why you said you couldn't be happier Sky hadn't told me anything about you. It all makes sense now."
I drop my head, feeling more exposed than I have in a very long time even though Darby can't see me. "I guess it does."
Neither one of us says anything for a while, the silence only broken by the sound of my cell phone ringing.
"Mitch, where are you?" I say, picking up.
He gives me the 411, and I try not to groan with frustration at the delay.
"Okay, fine. Thanks. Oh, and remember that thing? Yeah, I'm calling in my favor. Okay, bye."
"What's wrong?" Darby asks.
I school my face to keep my voice smooth as I say, "There's been a holdup."
"Why?"
