Page 34 of Plus Size Player

He sneered. “I don’t date fat bitches. I don’t want your fat ass.”

“Oh, sweetie,” I said in a saccharine-sweet tone. “What you want doesn’t matter. Do you understand what I already told you? You were never eligible.”

He got off his stool in a huff. “Like I said, I don’t date fat bitches,” he muttered under his breath as he stormed away.

I smiled in disbelief. “Okay, twin!” I called behind him, watching his childbearing hips as he walked away. “Sir, you too are a fat bitch!”

He didn’t acknowledge what I’d said, but I lifted my drink in the air in honor of his departure.

“I like the way you handled him,” the bartender said, tucking her hair behind her ears. She was chubby, with mousy brown hair. “I see idiots like that all the time when there’s bad weather and a major flight delay. They come in here, get drunk, and make rude comments if I don’t give them any attention. It sucks.”

“I believe it. But what someone else thinks of you doesn’t define you,” I told her, finishing my drink. “Fat bitch is such a lazy insult. Like, where’s the creativity? And if that’s the worst thing someone can say about me, I’m living my life right.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right,” she said before tapping the bar. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I got off my stool and grabbed the handle to my bag. “I mean it. Fat is a descriptor, and bitch usually means you don’t take someone’s shit. Neither is a bad thing.”

“Roxy!” someone who looked like a manager yelled out.

The bartender whipped her head around, startled, and then looked back at me. “Thanks again,” she said before scurrying toward the woman who called out to her.

I made my way to my gate.

I’d never met any of the people I was meeting in Manhattan in person. I talked to a handful of them on video calls over the years, and I would even consider a few of them friends. The plan was to have fun, but ultimately, it was a work trip. And since I wanted to grow my platform, I had business on my mind.

“Excuse me,” I said as I moved through a group of people crowding the boarding lines.

“They just called business class,” a man said in a curt tone, remaining in my way. “Just wait your turn.”

My eyebrows flew up as I stared at the back of his head.Oop! No, the fuck he didn’t.

“Yeah, that’s why I was trying to get by,” I snapped, walking around him from the other side.

“You’re in business class?” he reacted incredulously.

I didn’t bother to respond as I made my way toward the ticket agent. And after I scanned my boarding pass, I glanced back at the man who had something to say. With a smirk, I sauntered through the door to board my flight.

We were only in the sky for about an hour and a half, but when we landed in New York, I was excited. As business focused as I’d been, the fact that I was linking with some other fashion content creators was cool. And even though the meetings with different brands were definitely the highlight of the trip for me, I liked networking.

Party me tonight. Professional me tomorrow.

I checked into my hotel and immediately made my way to my room. I avoided the bar area because I knew there would be people there. I wanted to get ready before linking up with everyone at dinner. Our itinerary started with a party bus picking us up for dinner at seven and then we were heading to some trendy new club. The pictures, videos, and collabs were going to be content gold. The last thing I needed was to get caught up in a long conversation and not have my look pulled together on time.

After taking a long hot shower, I had a hard time deciding between two outfits. Ultimately, I decided to put on a gold sequin bodycon dress. Typically reserved for special occasions and New Year’s Eve celebrations, the dress stood out and photographed well. It fit my body like a glove and showed off my curves. And if that wasn’t enough, when the lights hit me, I was going to be the main attraction.

“This is the one,” I murmured to myself, turning around in the mirror. “This is definitely the one.”

Pinning my hair with gold pins in a half-up, half-down style, Iadorned myself with gold hoop earrings and gold bangles. My lips were slathered in red lipstick and my favorite perfume dusted my skin. The fire-engine-red pumps and the vintage black-and-gold bag from my mom completed my look.

I knew I looked good. But when I stepped off the elevator into the lobby, the catcalls I received confirmed it.

“Yesssssssssss, bitch!” Sherita yelled out.

The curvy woman with the long braids and gray contacts greeted me with the warmest hug as soon as she saw me.

“Hey, Sherita,” I said, hugging her back. “You look great!”

“So do you! I love everything about this look.”

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