Page 20 of Meeting Melody
“An ex you don’t want to talk about, a house that barely has any decorations… what else is there about you, songbird?”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Because your voice is a wet dream personified.” He picks up his mug. “Whenever you talk in your lecture, it makes me want to stab every other guy in the room in the ears.”
“You’re not only a psycho, but you’re delusional, too.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because—” I shake my head. “Because I’m definitely not anyone’s freaking wet dream. I have no idea why someone like you would even look twice at me.”
I take my mug, too, pushing the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to my elbows. “Do you know that?”
“I disagree. What are you doing for Christmas?”
“I—”
Well, I can’t very well say I don’t have plans, can I? Besides the invite to the faculty Christmas party, which is sure to be a terrible waste of time.
“Haven’t solidified anything,” I lie. “You?”
“I’m going to Whiteshaws’ house. Knox and Miles are on the hockey team.”
“I have Miles in one of my classes.”
I sit on the couch, folding my legs under me. I follow Jacob’s movements with my eyes, trying to just… I don’t know. Chill out? Instead, I’mstrungout, my nerves making every move of his seem exaggerated. Dangerous. He sets down his mug and lights the fire. His shirt rides up, exposing back muscles that make my mouth water. Once it’s going, he closes the chain curtain—to protect the floor from embers—and grabs the television remote.
He lands beside me, so close… well, it’s almost too much. Our thighs, hips, arms, all touch. I fight the shiver.
“Who’s the ex that made you feel self-conscious about your body?”
The question comes out of left-field. But I guess I should’ve expected it, from my dodgy answer earlier. But at the memory of my ex, my stomach twists.
He’s the last person I want to think about.
“It’s not just an ex.” I sigh. “My mom wanted me to excel in gymnastics. But that meant keeping my weight down, because she thought chubby girls couldn’t do half the moves. So she’d put me on the scale every night and draw a tape measure around my waist, my chest, my thighs and upper arms. She wrote everything down in a notebook, and when it went up, she’d…”
Jacob’s gaze on me is frigid. “She’d what?”
I lift my shoulder. “Discipline me.”
“How old were you?”
“She put me in the program when I was five. I stopped when I was fifteen.” The changes puberty inflicted on my body was the last straw. No amount of food rations could stop my breasts from growing or my periods to worsen. Although there was a long time when I didn’t have a period and I should’ve.
“Where is she now?” His voice is husky.
It surprises me. I turn to look at him and find his fists balled in his lap.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Why does that… get a reaction out of you?”
“Because your mother took advantage—”
“She thought she was giving me a way out,” I interrupt. “Sure, it started my body issues. But she wasn’t wrong for trying to help me find a passion.”
“You found teaching.”
I laugh. It bursts out of me, surprising both of us. Because that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.
