I put on music from my phone. Something slow and romantic. "Come here. Hand here." I place it on my waist. He has to reach down, and his hand spans from my hip to almost my back. I'm very aware of how much smaller I am, how his hand covers somuch of me, even with my curves. "Other hand holds mine. And we just... sway."
We're comically mismatched. I have to crane my neck to see his face. He has to hunch to reach me properly. But the way his hand feels on my waist, firm and warm through my dress...
"This is ridiculous," he mutters.
"It's romantic! Look into my eyes.”
“You’re too short. I could lift you.”
"You could lift me?"
"You're not exactly..." he stops.
"Not exactly what? Tiny? Lightweight?" I know what I look like. Size 20 isn't exactly pick-me-up-and-spin-me-around territory.
Instead of answering, he grabs my waist with both hands and lifts me like I weigh nothing. Suddenly I'm eye level with him, my feet dangling, his hands steady and strong around my middle.
"You were saying?" His voice is smug.
I can't breathe. Can't think. He's holding me up like I'm a pillow, not a plus-size woman who loves chocolate more than life.
"Put me down," I squeak.
He sets me down gently, but his hands stay on my waist. "You were wrong. You're exactly the right size for lifting."
My brain short-circuits. "I... you... that was..."
"We should practice conversation. Patricia will ask how I show affection. What would you say?"
"Right. Yes. Affection." I'm still dizzy from being manhandled.
He thinks for a moment. "I drive you to work. Make sure you eat real food, not just sugar. Keep you safe."
"Keep me safe from what?"
"Everything. You're tiny and trusting. You probably talk to strangers and pet random dogs."
"Dogs are all good boys!"
"My point exactly. You need someone looking out for you."
Why is that hot? Why is him being protective making my stomach flutter?
"What about me? How do I show affection?"
He looks at me for a long moment. "You bring me coffee exactly how I like it without asking. You put notes in my lunch. You wear my clothes even though they're too big because you like how they smell."
That's... really specific. "That's good. Really good."
"Had a girlfriend who did that. The clothes thing. Before deployment. What happened?"
"I came back different. She didn't like me anymore."
There's weight in those words. Pain. Without thinking, I hug him.
He goes rigid. "What are you doing?"
"Hugging you. It seemed like you needed it.”
