Page 11 of Piggy

“I’m saying,” he replies, eyes lingering on me, “my dick would ruin you for other guys.” Then, bitterly, “It’s the one thing I’ve got going for me. Women don’t want the rest.”

I gawk for a moment. “I— Uh, I’m not little.” Is all I manage. I grip my fat thighs, which strain my pajama bottoms.

“Youarelittle. You’re just short and thick.”

And then, he does that thing I freaking hate about guys: he flips the conversation back to casual talk, asking about the movie. Pretending he didn’t just say something so personal.

I cross my arms and sulk. “Well, I hope you get the girl you want.”

He snickers. “I hope you find a loser like you and finally get laid.”

That one hits harder than it should. I’m used to cruel jabs, but still... he just opened up to me. I let down my guard.

Besides, what are the chances I’ll ever find someone willing to sleep with me?

I sniffle, swallowing back tears — the kind that always sneak up when I’m reminded the love I want will never happen.

“That’s not funny,” I mumble.

“What’s not?”

I suck in a breath.

Don’t let him see you cry or freak out, Charlotte. It’ll just make it worse.

I compose myself and clarify: “It’s not funny that I’m a virgin because no one’s ever wanted me like that. That I’ll always be a virgin. Because I’m too—”

Ugly. Weird. Unfuckable.

But I swallow those words down like poison.

He tilts his head, perhaps seeing how much I’m hurting as tears escape and roll down my cheek. I quickly wipe them away and sit straighter.

He lowers his voice. “Look, a guy’ll fuck you. If you got some practice, sex wouldn’t be a big deal.” Like it’s sosimple.Like I could just walk outside and throw it at someone — anyone.

I sigh, deflated. “Grayson, you’re wrong. It is a big deal. It’s a big deal that nobody will touch a pig like me. I just... I just wanted to feel happy today. I love this movie. Can I at least have that?”

His forehead scrunches, but he nods. “Fine. Sorry. Enjoy your fantasy.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper, though my voice wobbles. I have to suck in a sob to keep it together.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “You poor fucking thing.”

I flinch, humiliated. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t even know why I’m so upset. My sad love life is not new information. I shouldn’t have—

The couchcreaks.

Then shifts.

I stiffen as Grayson moves closer, his body heat suddenly right there. Close enough that his thigh brushes mine, solid and heavy. I freeze.

“No guy’s touched you, huh?” he asks, voice low, almost curious. He doesn’t believe me.

I manage a small nod.

He studies me. Silent. But something in my gut tells me he’s thinking things I don’t quite understand.

“So you have no clue what you’re doing with guys?” he says, more to himself than to me.

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