Page 1 of Love, A Curvy Girl's Guide

PROLOGUE

In the Beginning

Frank and Bridget Johnson were overjoyed when their first child, little Dennis, was born. Their first was a boy!

“How lucky you are,” the other mothers cooed. “He’ll be able to protect his little sisters and show his brothers how to be little gentlemen.”

Two years later, Derek arrived, making the Johnsons a family of four. Frank and Bridget counted his toes and thanked God for blessing them with another son.

They may have prayed quietly that perhaps Derek would be a touch less high-spirited than his older brother, Dennis. Nonetheless, they were overjoyed.

Scarcely eleven months later, Davis joined the crew, and Bridget found herself having a firm talk with God.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the little blessings He had sent her—indeed, there were many times her sons brought her great joy. But surely, she reasoned, there must be a bouncing baby girl up there who would complete their family.

Yet, baby after baby arrived, each one another healthy boy. When Bridget was rushed in for emergency surgery because baby number seven stubbornly refused to turn, she began towonder if a daughter simply wasn’t in the cards. After twenty-two hours and thirty-eight minutes, Frank held Ian, his seventh son. Meanwhile, Bridget underwent a full hysterectomy after her uterus ruptured.

All visions of a little girl with bouncing curls vanished as Frank held his little linebacker in his arms. At nearly nine pounds, the doctor joked that Ian was what they called in the obstetrics business a “backbreaker.”

Frank was wise enough to keep that little detail to himself when his sweet wife awoke from the anesthesia and asked, “Was it a girl?”

Bridget loved little Ian. She really did. And it wasn’t true, despite the gossip, that she’d “given up” by naming him something other than a name beginning with D. Ian was a family name bestowed upon the seventh son of a seventh son, and Frank had insisted upon it. Though Bridget had her misgivings, she knew Frank rarely insisted on anything.

What Frank neglected to mention was that the name came from the Johnson family legend. It was laughable, really, but Frank had heard tales of a family curse arising even in their own day. Rather than alarm his beautiful wife with stories of the curse, he felt it wise to keep that information to himself. After all, Bridget had her hands full with seven boys.

And honestly, who would believe that a man could transform into a wolf? It was laughable.

Bridget, for her part, made good on her vow to be the best mother her seven sons could have.

“Obviously,” she reasoned to Frank, “if God sent them to me, they must be nearly perfect. Especially little Ian—he’s special. He simply has to be.”

Frank hinted, once or twice, that Bridget might be spoiling him a bit too much.

Bridget only smiled; she simply couldn’t help herself, she’d say. Ian was the cutest little boy ever to grace their southern home. Negative comments were brushed off like cobwebs—clearly, those other mothers were jealous of her perfect little angels.

To Bridget, there were no smarter, more handsome, or better-behaved boys. Well, maybe not the last one. But everyone who knew her understood that Bridget saw her sons as incapable of wrongdoing.

Thus began the lives of the Johnson boys, who grew into the infamous Johnson men. Seven of the hottest, cockiest, and naughtiest bastards in Fairmont County—and likely the cockiest south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

Bridget’s inclination to turn a blind eye extended well into her sons’ adulthood. It wasn’t unusual for her to find a forgotten condom wrapper in their laundry. When other mothers gasped that she was still doing their laundry—and seeing such items—Bridget only shrugged. Surely, it wasn’t as if the prophylactics were for her sons. More likely, she reasoned, they had one to loan to a needy friend.

Boy Scouts, after all, were known for being prepared.

Bridget continued with her blissful ignorance, and her boys were only too happy to let her. As long as she used double starch on their Wranglers, just as they liked, life continued in blissful innocence.

Lipstick on the collar? It wasn’t a problem; a little rubbing alcohol would take that right out.

Grease from the car? Child’s play—a bit of pre-treatment, a quick scrub, and they were good to go.

Bridget had come to accept certain realities about living in a world filled with testosterone. When her sons talked about manscaping, she knew better than to ask for details. She’d also learned that sometimes, it was best to ignore the search historyon any shared electronics. What she didn’t know, she didn’t have to worry about.

As Ian approached high school, however, Frank began to worry that perhaps the family curse might be more than just a legend. He attempted to broach the topic with Bridget, but she would have none of it. It was a silly superstition and nothing more.

But one incident during Ian’s freshman year should have given the Johnson parents an inkling of what the future held. The hazing of the JV football team was underway, and the task given by the varsity team was to bring a sexy pair of ladies’ panties to the locker room before the homecoming game. If you punked out, you’d be wearing a pair donated by the varsity team to play in. And if you tried to cheat by bringing your mother’s or sister’s underwear, you’d have to wear them high enough to show off a whale tail. Clearly, a fate worse than death.

Imagine Ian’s surprise when, looking out the back window, he just happened to see the Wheat family’s laundry fluttering on the line—and Haley’s unmentionables swaying in the breeze.

Freshman Year

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