Perfectly Imperfect

Could he be any more perfect?

“Yeah, maybe. If he turned that sinfully sexy scruff he’s rocking into a beard. That would probably throw his hotness levels over the edge and cancel out any negative traits he might have … therefore, perfection would be mastered.”

“Huh?” I question, not moving my eyes from the television.

“Sweetheart, has he rendered you stupid? You’ve been mumbling under your breath since beach picture four, which I might add was definitely fry your brain worthy, but you don’t see me over here acting like a moron. Well, I might have forgotten my name for just a brief second when that image appeared. There was no hiding the eggplant in his swim trunks. Bet he’s hung like a damn stallion.”

I roll my eyes, and with one last wistful sigh, I move my eyes from Kane’s image back over to Eddie—narrowing them instantly when I see him smirking.

“You aren’t funny.”

“Sure, I am.”

“No, you really aren’t. How are you not even a little impressed by everything that is Kane Masters?”

“Because he is one hundred percent unattainable dick for me, Will.”

“Yeah, well, he’s one hundred and fifty percent unattainable dick for me too, Eddie, but you don’t see that simmering down any of my hormones. God, how pathetic can I get.” His eyes get hard, but that doesn’t stop me. “Even if he was just some normal guy, could you ever see someone like him with someone like … me?”

“Willow,” he snaps in warning.

“Eddie,” I fire back. “Be serious.” I flap my arm out in the air but quickly drop it when I remember I’m wearing a tank top … the number one enemy of a chubby girl is the skin under her arms. I always feel like it’s just jiggling like crazy. No matter how hard I work out, I still feel like it grows daily.

“I saw that,” Eddie grunts, narrowing his eyes. The issues I have toward my body have been an ongoing sore spot for Eddie.

“You saw nothing.”

“You look beautiful, Willow. I wish you could see what I see when I look at you. Any man, Kane included, but yours truly excluded because you know … you have the wrong equipment, would be lucky to have you on his arm.”

I snort, pick up the remote, and turn the television off, saying good-bye to Kane’s handsome smirk and all the tingly feelings his face gives me. Why do I feel so upset about the news that he and his supposed girlfriend are expecting? I mean, it’s not as if I had a chance.

Sighing, I look over at my handsome best friend. “Eddie, people like me don’t get the handsome ones. We get the short, bald, pot bellied ones.”

He opens his mouth to respond, and I know from experience this is just the beginning of a fight; one I’m not interested in having with him tonight at all. I could only imagine how this conversation would be going if he knew about my run-in with Kane just months before. Tonight is about relaxing and celebrating his promotion out of my father’s company. He’s finally going to be living his dream. He’s grown such a reputation for excellence in his work that his demand has outgrown my father’s reach.

“When is Kirby getting here?” I ask, effectively letting him know the subject is closed. Conversation over. Done.

“Soon.” He sighs. “Something about Rob needed her to take Alli to soccer practice because he would be working late and she would be over as soon as she got Alli home and settled.”

“Right, well, let’s get started.” I pick up the pink polish he made a complete mess of his nails with and recap it. “Where’s the remover? You look ridiculous.”

Smirk back in place, Eddie and I resume our pampering and forget all thoughts of Kane Masters.

Well, kind of.

Not really.

An hour later, Eddie pops bottle number three of the most delicious Moscato d'Asti. Maybe it was our overly buzzed minds, or the fact we had covered both our faces in a mud mask, but when the door snaps open with a loud bang, we both scream. Hilariously, Eddie sounds more girlish than I do, causing me to double over in laughter.

Kirby walks in and stops dead in her tracks. “You two bitches started without me?”

I look over at Eddie, his lips moving in a weird pucker-like pout as his mask cracks around his lips. Each visible crack makes his pucker grow until he looks absolutely ridiculous. I’m sure my own mask is well beyond ready for me to wash off. Just seeing him make that face makes my lips twitch until I’m copying him. Both of us start laughing again when we see our faces contort as the mask cracks around our movements.

Clearly, we had started without her, but I stupidly look back over at my other best friend, still laughing. “Uh … no?”

Her violet blue eyes narrow more until they’re just tiny slivers. “Uh … yes! And you’ve so obviously gotten a head start on drinking since you two are drunker than a skunk. It’s a good thing I brought dinner,” she grumbles and finishes walking into my apartment, kicking the door closed with her booted foot. “I got Stanzo’s, Will. I know how much you love their eggplant parm.”

Well, isn’t that sobering.

I don’t let my inner cringing show; I give her a smile and walk over to give her a hug. “Awesome. Let me just go wash this off,” I tell her, walking to my bathroom. I’m going to need to run myself into the ground tonight to burn off Stanzo’s.

I closed and turned the lock before walking over to my vanity to stare into the mirror. With a quick twist of the tap, I continue to look into my eyes as the water warms and the mouthwatering scents of the best Italian mom and pop restaurant around fills my nose.

My breathing speeds up, and I do everything I can to mentally talk myself back up. Every Friday night, it’s the same. We have the best time during our ‘girls’ night’ fun of beautification, but it always ends with me having to talk myself into playing the part of carefree Willow. The one who hasn’t had to give up just about all the foods I used to love and replace them with salad just to shed some pounds. It’s so easy to hide this part of myself when we’re together at work, but here … it isn’t as easy to sweep things under the rug. They notice too much.

Just get in there, eat slowly, and wait for the wine to continue to flow. You can go to the gym when they leave and work it off.

I continue to repeat those words to myself as I bring a warm, wet washcloth to my face and start rubbing off the overly dry mud from my skin.