Big Boned Read Free

switch to CNN before I got a look. But I saw. Oh, I saw.
    “Shame on you, Cooper,” I’d said…though inwardly, of course, I’d been thrilled. “ The Golden Girls ?”
    “Shut up,” he’d replied affably.
    “Seriously,” I’d said. Because who doesn’t love The Golden Girls ? Well, except for Tad, who doesn’t own a TV (I know. I know , okay?). “Which one are you?”
    He’d just looked at me like I was insane. But not for the reason I’d thought. Because it turned out he knew exactly what I was talking about. “Dorothy, of course.”
    My heart had nearly stopped. “Me, too,” I’d murmured. And then I’d settled onto the couch beside him, to watch.
    Cooper and I have a lot in common—even down to the factthat we both can’t stand to see a social injustice go unpunished (or a crime go unsolved), even when we might have to risk our own lives in order to make things right. Not to mention, we are both somewhat emotionally estranged from our families.
    But that doesn’t mean I’m not totally into Tad. I am .
    I’m just maybe not into running with him.
    Which was why, when Tad passed me for like the eighth time, and slowed down to ask, “Heather? Are you doing okay?” I suddenly developed a limp.
    “Um,” I said. “I might have pulled something. If it’s okay with you, I was thinking maybe we could call it a day, and go back to your place and take a shower. Then I’ll take you out to breakfast. They’re serving Belgian waffles in the caf today.”
    It turns out you should never underestimate the appeal of Belgian waffles to a vegetarian killer Frisbee–playing tenure track assistant professor. Even one who is trying to get his girlfriend to embrace physical fitness.
    Then again, it could have been the shower. Tad is convinced it is environmentally unsound for two people to waste water by showering separately when they could shower together.
    I have never been a big fan of the shower until now. And the fact that Tad has to take his glasses off before he gets in, so I don’t have to huddle against the wall in an effort to hide my cellulite? Well, that’s just an added plus.
    Especially when Tad, as we’re soaping each other’s chests, asks, a little diffidently, “Heather. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
    “Oh?” It’s hard to keep your voice neutral when a guy ismassaging your naughty bits with a washcloth. Even if he can’t really see said naughty bits due to being extremely myopic.
    “Yeah. Do you have any, er, plans this summer?”
    “You mean, like…for a weekend share, or something?” Is he asking if I want to split a rental on the shore with him? Well, this is awkward. I am so not a beach girl. Because beach means bathing suit, and bathing suit equals sarong, which equals social awkwardness when it comes to everyone asking, When are you going to take your sarong off so you can join us in the water?
    “No,” he says. “I meant…could you maybe take a few weeks off?”
    “I don’t know,” I say slowly. A few weeks at the beach? How can I plead disfiguring case of heat rash and therefore cannot remove sarong for a few weeks ? “I’ll only have accrued about a week of vacation time since I started…” Would he believe me if I say I’m allergic to sand fleas?
    “This’ll take longer than a week,” Tad murmurs, as his hand moves even lower. “What about a leave of absence? Do you think you could wrangle one of those?”
    “I guess I could ask.” What’s going on here? I mean, I know what’s going on down there. But what’s going on up there, in my boyfriend’s head? This is sounding less and less like a weekend beach share and more and more like…I don’t even know. “How long are we talking about? What have you got in mind? Cross-country road trip?”
    Tad smiles. “Not exactly. And actually…Forget I said anything. I want to ask you when the timing’s right. And right now, the timing is definitely…not…right.”
    The timing was