Page 98 of His Curvy Distraction

Dad grumbled something that was supposed to be an agreement.

“We should go mingle. And I’m sure you need to talk to people, too. We’re so proud of you, Natalie. And Omar, we’re so happy to meet you. Hopefully, we’ll be seeing a lot more of you. You should come for dinner this week. Tuesday night?” Mom wasn’t asking, she was just making it sound like she was.

“We’ll do our best, Mom,” I answered for us.

“Good. We’ll see you then,” Mom said before turning Dad to go back into the crowd.

“So, I met your family. Does that mean we’re more serious now?”

I shook my head. “No. It means I love you.”

He grinned and pulled me in for a kiss. “I love you, Natalie.”

“Natalie!” someone else called in the crowd.

“Go shine, Natalie,” Omar said, kissing me softly before releasing me to the crowd.

And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid to face them. Because I knew I could do it, and I knew he would be right there with me.

I was quiet on the drive to Omar’s after the fundraiser. I was drained and exhausted and needed quiet. He held my hand and allowed it.

I couldn’t remember anyone ever allowing me to be quiet. Not my parents, not Daisy, not anyone I’d dated or been friends with. They wanted me to talk.

Omar wanted me to be myself. If I wasn’t already in love with him, that would have sealed it.

“Thank you,” I said when he pulled into the garage and closed the door behind us.

“For what?”

“For not asking me to talk on the drive here.”

“I assumed you were trying to decompress. It was a lot of people and a very busy night and everyone wanted to talk to you.”

I nodded. “Most people wouldn’t understand that it meant I needed quiet.”

He leaned across the center console and kissed my cheek. “I guess I’m not most people. Are you ready to go inside?”

I nodded, releasing his hand and letting myself out of the SUV. Because we were just going to O’Kelley’s, he drove the SUV, but he promised we’d take the Bluebird out soon.

Yes, I called his car the Bluebird. He vetoed Blueberry.

Omar held the door open for me, then followed me inside. I was almost ready to crash but a part of me was energized from how successful the event was.

“Water?” Omar asked, going to the kitchen.

“Yes, please.”

He poured two glasses and met me on the couch. I’d kicked off my shoes, needing to stretch my toes. I wasn’t used to wearing shoes that weren’t sneakers, and my feet were killing me.

Omar sat on the couch next to me and handed over my water, then set his on the side table and pulled my feet onto his lap.

I tried to pull them back. “My feet are smelly.”

He lifted one to his nose and inhaled deep. “No, they’re not. But I’m guessing by the way you keep moving them around, they do hurt. Let me rub them for you. You find something to watch.” He handed me the remote and went to work on my aching feet.

I found a movie and moaned my way through the best foot massage of my life. By the time the movie ended, I was a puddle on the couch and barely conscious.

“Let’s go to bed. Do you want to change alone?”

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