Welcome to My Arms

Chapter 1, Welcome to My Arms

A strong man can handle a strong woman. A weak man will tell everyone that she has an attitude, is a troublemaker or a spoiled princess, and is downright bad news, just waiting for the opportunity to bring a man to his knees. Chelsea Friessen had grown up with the first type, and she'd dated the second.

But then, her father had ruined her by setting the bar for men ridiculously high, which was why she was in her current predicament. Where was she? At Whitefish Lake, half an hour from home, perched at the edge of a dock, her feet dangling in the glacial lake water, still cold even in August, wearing a bikini that had her looking especially hot. She held a journal and pen and was scribbling down reminders that she wasn't an epic failure, all the while doing her best to ignore Boone Hudson—blond, tall, totally fucking ripped, and the source of all her misery.

She should have known. What good could ever come of dating someone named Boone? He spent more time in front of a mirror than a woman ever could.

"You can't sit there all day, you know," said Paige Jenkins-Morris, Chelsea's best friend since middle school, whose mother had insisted on the importance of a hyphenated last name. Paige was roughly a size twelve, stuffed in a yellow and pink bikini, and she didn't give a crap how she looked to anyone. Her jet-black hair was tied into a stubby ponytail, and she was wearing thick sunglasses and had, until seconds ago, appeared to be sleeping.

Paige lifted her head and pulled down the shades, her dark eyes packing a punch as she stared at Chelsea with a gaze that told her to stop giving a fuck what everyone thought. "And while you're at it, put down that journal and pen. You look ridiculous. You're supposed to be sunning yourself and having fun, remember? Grab that other air mattress and get on down here instead of sitting up there, burying your head in that journal, writing God knows what, and ruining my day off."

She wondered whether Paige had any idea how ironic it was that she was calling out Chelsea for looking ridiculous, considering she was the one with streaks of sunscreen all over her dark skin. "For your information," she said, "I'm making notes and finding a way to redirect my focus."

She heard laughing and knew it was coming from Boone and the crowd of jocks at the other end of the dock, like ten feet from where she sat. It was a group that hadn't changed in years, one she'd once hung with when she'd been Boone's girlfriend. She wondered too whether the sweat beading under her arms from their nonstop ridicule would start dripping down her sides. Hate was hate, and he and his friends never let an opportunity pass to cut her down.

"You're only encouraging them, Chels, by sitting up there, getting all worked up, pretending not to care—and you're not fooling me. You're still letting him affect you."

"How is that, when I'm sitting here minding my own business? I'm not even looking their way. And, for that matter, why didn't you tell me he was going to be here?" She could feel the bite of her words as she lowered her voice, wanting to yell at her friend. Paige must have known, though, as she didn't pull away her gaze, which never missed anything.

"Caused any other guys trouble lately, Chelsea?" called out one of the guys with Boone, and then they were laughing again.

Chelsea could feel her cheeks burning. Paige still was staring at her, but this time she shifted her pointed gaze to Boone and his friends. Chelsea could feel their gazes burning a hole in her back, knowing they were still about fifty feet away from her.

"What are you writing, Chelsea? New ways you can torment some poor guy and turn his life to shit, cause him problems? Or maybe you're thinking up new ways to fuck a guy over." It wasn't Boone who'd said it, but it could have been, considering those were his words.