Page 32 of Curvy Love

Still, it is useful to have a walking encyclopedia at hand. And the additional information is another layer to the mystery of her. I love that her username is a nod to her real name. Much like my “TheZMan” is a nod to my childhood nickname, Zee, which my sister, Fiona, still calls me.

So my girl is clever. I already knew that. And yes, I think of her as my girl.

“Google her,” Jefferson says.

I don’t even think about it, I just type her name in the search bar and pictures pop up. Mostly from social media. Her smiling with other girls that look similar. They must be her sisters. I don’t click on anything, just look at the thumbnails.

Molly reaches around and clicks on something and a picture fills my screen.

Paisley.

My heart thunders in my ears. She’s gorgeous. In the picture she’s got a huge smile, no make-up that I can tell and her hair is all kinds of messy curls piled on top of her head. She must be wearing a swimsuit because the straps go around her neck to tie. Her full tits are plump and pressed together. Her brows arch over pale green eyes and there’s glint in them that reveals her impish nature.

Curvy. Plump and just fucking sexy. My mouth waters and my dick stirs.

Paisley.

“She’s very pretty,” Molly says.

“Yeah, she is.” I can’t take my eyes off her smiling face. Tonight I’ll get to see that smile in person. Maybe I’ll even get to kiss those lips. I’m ready to walk out from behind TheZMan and just be Ezra with her.

chaptertwelve

Paisley

“I am not looking forward to meeting Ezra Carlisle,” I whisper to my friend, Jill. We’re standing in a huge open atrium area at the headquarters of Zee Suite Software. The space is several stories high with chrome and glass everywhere. The indoor trees and tiered planters at each balcony give the space the feeling of being outdoors, though, obviously, without the muggy heat of actually being in a courtyard in Austin. There was even a plaque near the entrance outlining the company’s green initiatives. It’s stunning, I can’t deny that.

The line we’re in at the open bar moves rather quickly.

“I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to meet him,” Jill says. “I’ve seen pictures. He’s gorgeous.”

And worth millions—billions?—of dollars. Not to mention the co-owner of an NFL football team right here in Austin.

“Yes, I’m sure he is, when he’s not stealing candy from orphans and knocking little old ladies into traffic.”

Jill rolls her eyes. “Seriously?”

I shrug. “Metaphorically, at least. He’s known for being ruthless and cutthroat in business. So I think we can assume that his beauty is skin deep,” I say, then feel a tad guilty that I’m being so judgmental. @TheZMan has had nothing but good things to say about Zee Suite and his co-workers—though he hasn’t commented on the company’s enigmatic owner.

The truth is super-hot guys make me nervous. They always have. It doesn’t make sense. I know he’s just a man. And it’s not like he’s going to hit on me. But too much handsomeness makes me a jittery mess.

I won’t admit that out loud though. I’m known, to my classmates, as being unflappable and willing and able to roll with whatever punches come my way. I have two younger sisters, I know how to pretend I’ve got my shit together.

Jill looks at me, her gaze taking in my dress, which is a black, retro-style halter dress, paired with a black crinoline. Maybe the look is overly fancy, but it makes my waist look tiny and I need something to hide my sizable bum.

She pouts. “I wish I’d worn a dress. I feel like a slacker.”

“I’m only wearing a dress because I will take any excuse to buy any vintage dress I can find. At home, I wear yoga pants and sweatshirts, out in the real world, I wear dresses. This party is casual, you’re fine.”

“I also wish I could pull off that kind of look.” She shrugs. “At least I’m wearing my hair down and not buried under a ball cap.”

“You look fantastic. Stop fretting.” I’m not exaggerating. Jill is slender and petite. The kind of woman who can wear jeans and a stylish Tee and look good.

We move away from the bar, sipping our free drinks. After we’ve walked through the buffet line we settle at a standing table to eat.

“So who do you think is going to get the grant?” Jill asks.

I chew a piece of celery and consider her question. “You know me. I don’t pay a ton of attention to the details of everyone’s projects.”

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