OLD FRIENDS

CHAPTER THREE

Chet's reaction is classic--surprise and disbelief until realization sets in and his once sensual expression morphs into disgust before my eyes.

"You're Belle Johnson?" The way he says my name sounds a lot like an accusation, though I've never known what I ever did to make him hate me. "You are Big Belly Belle?"

It's so good to hear my old moniker again. The nickname the cruel kids gave me but never bothered to hide their use of it. The one that sent me home with tears stinging the back of my eyes every day. Big Belly Belle. Sometimes it was Big Butt Belle. Or Blubbery Belly Belle. The games to come up with new adjectives that started with "B" were considered a varsity sport in my school. Or that's how it felt at the time anyway.

So, he hasn't forgotten me after all these years. I'm sort of wishing I could take door number two at this point and be completely invisible and unknown. If I could rewind time, I'd burn that invitation until nothing was left but ashes. But I'm here in the real world and will face this jerk like a grown woman.

"No, Chet, my name is Belle Johnson. My name has always been Belle Johnson. If you possessed an ounce of decency, I wouldn't have to explain this fact to you. But it seems the only thing that's changed about you over the last ten years is your age. Maybe when you grow up, you'll realize what's on the inside is a lot more important than what's on the outside. A nasty personality makes you uglier than any physical trait ever could."

"What'd you do? Have gastric bypass surgery? A little liposuction here and there?"

I seriously want to punch him in the face. Hard.

"No, I didn't, but I have friends who have been through that surgery, and they endured much worse than I did when I transformed my body. I don't fault them one bit for doing what was best for them. You're really showing your ignorance, so I think it's time for you to leave now."

"I'm not going anywhere—"

"The lady asked you to leave her table. Now leave." The inherent authority in the smooth baritone voice stops Chet cold and sends a flood of warmth through me. I look up at the intervening stranger, awestruck by his handsome face and his muscular build, and stare. With my jaw slack and my eyes wide as saucers. I'm sure I'm thoroughly attractive and ladylike right now, but I can't seem to help myself. His dark blue eyes dare Chet to try something—anything. "You're in my seat."

"Did you even go to Ridgeview High? I don't know you." Chet feigns bravado, but I can see through him as clearly now as I did back in school.

"Of course I did. Are you hard of hearing? I said you're in my seat."

My eyes roam over the handsome stranger's chest, looking for his name tag because I definitely don't remember anyone like him from back in the day. But, like me, he isn't wearing one. Not knowing who he is adds a touch of mystery to the night and negates all the negative vibes coming from Chet.

"Whatever, man. Have your seat at the loser's table. I'm going to have a few drinks with the real men of Ridgeview High." Chet stands and takes a step away from the table while Mr. Tall, Muscular, and Handsome rolls his eyes with an amused expression.

"Hey, Chet," Emma calls out.

"What?" He spits out, barely turning his head to look over his shoulder at her.

"You have toilet paper stuck to your shoe."

"Yeah, right." He dismissively chuckles before Emmie points to his foot.

He looks down, and the red tint of embarrassment creeps up his neck to his face. Using his other foot, he scrapes off the attached paper and stomps off to join his old buddies. Our laughter breaks free when we can no longer hold it in, and relief fills me. Relief that part of the evening is over. Relief since he won't be back to remind me who I used to be. Relief that I can enjoy time with some old friends and not be concerned the less than friendly crowd will ruin it.

"By all means, please take your seat. I'll even buy you a drink for running Chet off like you did." I gesture toward the vacated chair, asking my rescuer to sit next to me.

"We'll all buy you a drink for that," Emmie chimes in and Dana emphatically nods in agreement. "That guy always was the biggest jerk."

He sits, but his eyes never leave me. "You look amazing, Belle. You were always beautiful, but your confidence adds a whole new level of beauty. It's so good to see you again. I hoped you'd show up tonight."

And just like that, my anxiety ratchets up a few dozen notches. He does know me, and he did go to school with us. But for the life of me, I cannot place his face, his voice, or his body. Who is this handsome man who seems to have a heart of gold?

"I'm sorry to butt in, but I have to ask. In one way, you look familiar. In another way, I'd swear I've never seen you before. What's your name?" Emmie asks, saving me by admitting to her own memory lapse.

He grins broadly, and his perfect white teeth make his tan skin appear darker. "Emma Andrews, I'm disappointed in you. After all the times I let you copy my algebra homework, you don't know who I am? I feel so cheap and used."

"Kyle Dean?" Emmie screeches and flings her arms across the small table pulling him into a friendly hug. "It's so good to see you! You look great, by the way. What are you doing now?"

"I'm an author."

"How interesting." I finally find my voice to join the conversation. "I'm constantly in bookstores. I'll look for your books next time I go."

A sly smile slides across his face. "You won't find it under Kyle Dean. I use a pen name to keep my real life and my fictional life separated. I've actually worked very hard to keep my face out of the public eye and the focus on my books."

"What name do you write under?" The mystery deepens. I'm intrigued, and if his roguish expression is any indication, I'll be rushing out to buy his books sooner rather than later.

"Greco Giovanni."

Half the room hears the collective gasp from our table. Conversations halt and eyes swing in our direction.

"Oh my god! I've read all your books!" I exclaim.

"Sshhh." He puts his finger over his lips and winks, sealing our collusion. "That's our little secret. I don't like to tell people."

"But...why not? That's impressive as hell. I can't believe you're the mastermind behind the Fueled by Desire series. Those books were sexy as hell. Your wife must be extra thrilled." I had to throw that last part in there. I don't see a ring on his finger, but I'm also trying not to be blatant about looking for it.

"I'm not married. Came close once, but it just wasn't meant to be. Are you married?"

"No, I'm not. According to Emmie, my standards are way too high, and my applicant pool is too shallow."

"She's paraphrasing. What I said was, she needs to set her standards much higher and get out of the cesspool she's been wading in." Emmie smirks at me, knowing she totally just made that up on the spot.

"Don't listen to her," I playfully wave her off. "I'm fascinated with your profession, Kyle. Now I want to call you Greco."

He laughs and gently shakes his head. "I also own a gym and offer personal training. Most of the guys I work out with wouldn't know what to think if they found out I also write steamy romance novels."

"Well, we think it's awesome. Don't we, girls?" Dana asked.

"Absolutely. You deserve a couple of drinks after that confession. What's your poison?" I stand beside him, waiting for his reply.

I feel his eyes touching my skin as they rake up my body all the way from my legs until they meet my gaze. The humming sound of electricity becomes louder in my ears, only drowned out by the blood rushing from my erratic heartbeat.

"Absolut Sex cocktail with a Screaming Orgasm shot."