Page 298 of Falling Backwards
The crop top that looks fuckingawesomeon her.
“What do you think?”she asks, her tone still light.She rubs at her hips in the leggings, then lets her arms hang loose, then puts her hands behind her back.After a second, she laughs softly.“Um…your mouth is hanging open.”
I realize she’s right.I don’t bother closing it, though, just nod and quit standing here so I can walk to her.
“That lookssocool on you, Maggie,” I say.
“As cool as you thought it would?”
“No, even cooler.”
I touch her hips, then slip my fingertips up to the part of her midsection that’s exposed.She takes a faint breath.Next, I touch the chain of her necklace, and the shoulder that’s also not covered by the shirt, and I touch the shirt itself, which is silky somehow, like it’ll be good for keeping her cool during her exercise.
It doesn’t hide her shape, as we knew it wouldn’t.It flaunts it, as I knew it would—but yes, even better than I expected.
I quit absorbing her and look at her face instead.“What doyouthink?”I ask.
Her cheeks have gone pink.
“I love it,” she whispers.“I love the way it looks and feels on me.”
A grin overtakes me.
Overtakes her, too, as she hunches her shoulders.
“Fuck yes,” I say to her.“Own it, babe.”
She nods and lets out a giggle and…and I am so proud.
I was proud of her back when we first started our fake relationship, when she said she was exercising to take control of how she felt about herself, even though I didn’t think there was a single thing wrong with her.I was proud when she stuck to her plan.I was proud of her when she bought this shirt despite her worry that it wouldn’t suit her.I was proud when she learned from her knee injury that she doesn’t have to exercise to be healthy, gorgeous, or okay with herself.I was proud of her days ago when she said she’s going to return to it casually and not for the purpose of soothing self-criticism or self-consciousness.
Now she’s wearing this crop top on the same body she used to disapprove of, and sheisowning it, and I—
“I’m so proud of you,” I tell her before I steal a kiss from her.
It passes and she says, “So am I,” and then steals a kiss back from me.
This goes on, the presses and pulls of our lips growing longer and longer, our plan to actually follow a workout video clearly getting postponed another minute.She ends up between the wall and me with my fingertips skimming down her neck and over her bared shoulder, beneath the strap of her sports bra, down to her shoulder blade.I can feel chill bumps on her, feel the catches in her breath—can’t keep those things away from my own self as her hands go under my shirt and up my back.
I move my mouth to the line of her jaw.While I dot kisses along it, I tell her all the things I was thinking about the pride I feel for her.
Her, “Thank you,” afterwards is breathy, but I still hear the hint of tightness in it.
I shift to see her face, and I find her slightly tearful and all content.
Damn, the sight of her with not-upset damp eyes is as gorgeous as the opposite is painful.
“I’m proud of myself too,” she says again.“I’m probably gonna falter here and there, but….”
I thumb at her bottom lip.“If you do, it’ll be okay.”
She kisses my thumb, then nods.After a moment, a little smile quirks at her lips.“I kind of want to live in this shirt.”
I chuckle.“Do it.”
My hands slip down and beneath it once again, allowing me to hold her bare waist.
“You know,” I add more lowly, “I’d say I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I’m not: half of why I wanted you to buy this shirt was that I wanted the chance to touch you in all these ways while you wear it.”
