Page 1 of Steamy on Set

Chapter 1

Neverinmylifehave I left my house in the state I’m in today. Sweats cover my body, gray, drab, and loose, hiding my full round shape. My face is clear of makeup, letting the newly developed bags under my eyes pull focus from my otherwise clear brown skin. I’ve thrown my curly hair into a bun so messy it shows the lack of effort it took to make it. A week since Christian ended things, and I look like it just happened today.

Walking up to the patio, my best friend Monty, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. She is dressed in a tight jumpsuit that does wonders for the thick curves and muscles that make up her body. Her makeup is on point, and her braids are trailingbehind her looking new and neat. Next to her, I look like I plan on begging for spare change outside of a convenience store.

“Damn girl.” She plops down into the patio seat across from me. “You look like shit.” She looks me up and down, and then picks up the drinks menu.

“I know.” Shame peeks through the sorrow enough that I try to pull the top into a more flattering shape.

Ordering us shots and margaritas like it’s not 11 a.m., she settles back into the chair, her hands coming to rest on the table.

“So, any updates? Has he gotten back to you?”

Blowing up his phone like he owes me money has resulted in exactly no response thus far. Unsure how many more times I can call or text before I earn a restraining order, I’ve given up.

“Nothing, yet.”

Monty shakes her head, her braids swaying with her.

“I can’t believe it. I honestly cannot believe Christian did this.”

I mindlessly nod, far past the disbelief at this point.

“I mean, he has been pining after you for years. Staying single, all while being at your beck and call. All that just to cheat?” The long style with which she keeps her nails only helps emphasize her hands moving around with her words.

For ten years, Christian and I were friends. From the moment my eighteen year old self stepped into his fraternity house in my anything but clothes costume, we were close. It took one year of dating for all of that to go down the drain.

“Fucking men.” Bitterness twists my mouth into a scowl. “I can’t believe that in the span of a thirty-minute conversation, our whole relationship blew up.”

Monty leans across the table, pulling my hand into hers, trying to squeeze all the sympathy she can’t communicate into my fingers.

“I know, Farrah, I know. It’s bullshit.” The drinks arrive, and I jump into the alcohol’s welcoming arms. Downing minebefore the waitress can even leave the table, I immediately order another one.

“I don’t know what to do.” The first week I had tried existing like it wasn’t real, like nothing had happened, figuring it wasn’t the end. When it became clear he planned on never speaking to me again, I had pathetically crawled under the covers and stayed there until today.

Monty perks up and her eyes gleam with enthusiasm “I know what you can do.”

“What?” I ask, genuinely in need of guidance.

“Move with me to LA. I need a fresh start, you need a fresh start, and it might just be the thing that jump starts your career again.”

With fewer phone calls for styling work, I have no choice but to showcase my talent on myself to my thousands of followers. Being a plus size fashion blogger is not where the dream is supposed to end. The thought is depressing enough without the realization that soon I may actually have to tap into my trust fund if things don’t pick up. The pity party begins to set up, as balloons of doubt and insecurity now decorate my mind. Before I can dance to the music that is my list of failures, Monty snaps her fingers to get my attention.

“You want to leave San Francisco? What about Charlie?” She’s so fresh into that relationship that the idea that she is willing to leave him surprises me.

“My dance career comes first. I have a few choreography gigs set up, and I could make more of them if I live there. Plus, Charlie gets it. We’re chill like that.”

The saltiness of my jealousy sours my mouth as I realize her friends-to-lovers situation is going a lot better than mine.

“When?” I change the subject before tequila and lime loosen my lips.

“A month, I have to give thirty days notice at my place and pack.”

A month? I can do a month. Promising her that I’ll think about it, I then down one more shot.

Today Monty made me promise to stop wallowing. Enticing me with free drinks and a good shoulder to cry on, she put in perspective the fact that I’m not going to get over Christian by laying in bed. I thought today was what I neededto get to the top of all the emotions that have been weighing me down.

Too bad that even as I sit in the back of a car share, I have to fight back the tears that are threatening to spill. They sucker punch me right in the ducts as I think about how he cheated. The fact that he then had the nerve to break up with me is a swift kick in the chest, making it hard to breathe. Tilting my head against the leather seat, I use gravity to force the tears to stay in as I remember how this all began.

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