chapter sixteen
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
There’s something wrong with my phone.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
??
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
It doesn’t have your number in it.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
*GIF of Michael Scott’s unimpressed face*
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
Seriously though, when are you going to let me out of DM purgatory and give me your actual number? Or do I have to wait until August sixth for that too?
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
Maybe.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
I bet you text me and hang out with me more than anyone else.
He isn’t wrong. In the weeks since the bachelorette party, we’ve texted constantly, mostly communicating in random GIFs. He’s always down to run errands with me after our increasingly regular gym sessions, like going to the pharmacy to pick up tampons. He was even thoughtful enough to buy me a package of clearance Mini Eggs when I was PMSing.
There was also the time he helped me with a massive grocery run for my summer meal prep. He carried my four hundred dollars’ worth of food all the way up the stairs to my apartment in one trip, because more than one trip is allegedly sacrilegious. Once inside my apartment, he proactively changed my fire alarm, which had been malfunctioning since I moved in (which he was quite disturbed to hear).
He’s still flirting with me, hard. And I’m flirting back, despite playing hard to get in the name of taking things slow.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
You’ll get my phone number in due time.
Are you messaging me from work?
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
Sure am. Just got back from a medical call.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
Aren’t you supposed to be fighting fires? Saving lives? Doing CPR?
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
Are you personally requesting CPR?
Yes, yes I am.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
*GIF of Judge Judy giving a slow, condescending head shake*
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
What are you up to tonight?
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
Working on some content for my posts for next week. You?
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
I was gonna see if I could enlist your help on a top secret, high-priority mission.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
Does it require leaving my apartment?
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
. . . Yes. You’d have to put on your “going out” Lulus.
I’ve just settled onto the couch with Tara, where I damn well planned to remain for the entirety of the evening, being a miserable curmudgeon. But the glimmering prospect of hanging out with Scott is impossible to ignore.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
??
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
I need to know you’re committed to the mission before I give you a detailed briefing.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
Ugh, fine. I’m committed.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
I need a new dresser. From IKEA.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
And you need my help constructing it? Lol.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
Haha, no, I got that part covered. But my mom says I have no style. Would be nice to have someone steer me in the right direction.
I’ve been to his apartment once to pick up a foam roller he generously offered to lend me. His place fit the blueprint for two young, unattached men who have zero sense of style. Barren. Plain. Minimalist. I’ve been tempted to bring a plant or a few throw pillows to liven the space, but according to Mel, that’s what a girlfriend would do. And I am definitely not a girlfriend.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
I do like home décor . . .
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
K I’ll pick you up at 6:30 after work.
• • •
YOU CAN LEARN a lot about a person by going through the entirety of IKEA with them. It’s a true test of one’s patience, spatial awareness, level of maturity, and self-discipline. Particularly in the final section, where they so rudely tempt you with cinnamon rolls and Daim chocolate caramel candies. Why are you trying to break me, IKEA?
As it turns out, Scott has the patience of a saint. We’re trapped behind a family with three rambunctious children, all under approximately seven years old. They’re screeching because their parents shunned their demands for soft-serve ice cream cones. I wince, digging my fingernails into my palms as the youngest one lets out an earsplitting howl, all while Scott whistles cheerfully beside me, as if we’re taking a leisurely stroll through a lush, tranquil meadow on a breezy, sunny day. His stride is confident, unhurried, and so entirely sexy, I could watch hours of CCTV footage of him doing nothing but walking.
He also appears to have an excellent sense of direction. He’s whizzing through the showroom like a total pro, undeterred by distractions. The last time I was here, on a solo mission for a mere picture frame, I ended up hopelessly disoriented, despite the large arrows on the floor. Then again, Scott is a career fireman. I assume spatial orientation while running into unfamiliar burning buildings is a prerequisite for the job.
Despite this, Scott is immature in the mattress section. And so am I. One by one, we test them, assessing the level of bounce, support, and overall plushness.
“I need this bed,” he says, eyes closed, as we lie side by side on a marshmallow-like queen-size mattress.
When I turn toward him, the mattress dips more than expected, causing me to inadvertently roll into his shoulder. My stomach flutters at the mere warmth of his body. Hello, bliss.
He gives me a flirty side-eye. “Trying to cuddle with me?”
“No.” I abruptly roll away to put the appropriate amount of space between us again. I overcompensate and nearly tumble off the mattress entirely. Talk about being on the edge of glory.
“I think you were.”
“I think you just wish I were.” Truthfully, his chest looks cozy and inviting. All I want to do is nuzzle into his neck. But I manage to pull myself back to reality and maintain my restraint, despite how barren, cold, and lonely it is in my own personal space bubble.
“I never knew IKEA was such a good time,” he says, changing the subject.
I give him a warning look. “It’s all fun and games until you hit the warehouse. Then it’s all-out anarchy.”
He laughs and sits upright, holding his hand out for me. “Alright, let’s go pick a dresser.” Without thinking, I take his hand. But the moment our fingers touch, a jolt of electricity sends a shock wave rolling down my spine.
Hand locked firmly around mine, he carries on down the aisle, perma-smiling.
I sigh as I follow him through the aisle, unable to stop concentrating on the pad of his finger circling around the soft part of my hand below my thumb. I gloriously fail to fend off semi-sexual or romantic thoughts. I do a quick scan for something, literally anything, to lift my mind out of the gutter. My eye catches a beautiful living room display.
“Did you know I’m kind of obsessed with houses and décor?” I ask.
He eyes me with interest. “I figured as much, based on your furniture. You’re practically an antique hunter.”
“When I was little, I used to get my dad to drive me around the neighborhood at night so I could see into other people’s houses.”
Scott halts in the middle of the aisle, to the horror of the elderly man behind us. I make room for the man to step around us, accidentally backing into Scott’s chest. I let go of his hand and spin around.
Scott smiles, settling his hands on either side of my waist, as if they belong there. “You’re telling me you used to peep into people’s houses at night? And your dad aided and abetted?”
For a brief moment, I gawk up at him, taking in the full extent of his height towering over me before backing away. Cheeks pink, he studies my face, a smile playing across his lips.
I nod, as if it isn’t a big deal. “Pretty much. He mostly used it as an opportunity to blast his Shania Twain CD. She’s his forever girl crush.”
He throws his head back, clutching his chest with booming, uninhibited laughter. “Didn’t expect Will to be a country fan. And you’re basically one step below serial killer status.” He pauses as we turn toward the dresser section. “Did you have binoculars too?”
I playfully whack him on the bicep.
“Now I know to close my blinds.”
I fight the urge to laugh while maintaining a serious expression. “I don’t do it to creep on people, obviously. I just like looking at other people’s décor, the layouts of houses.”
“You’d get along with my mom, then. She watches HGTV constantly. She’s in love with the Property Brothers,” he says as we approach the dresser section.
After gentle prodding, I persuade him to select the six-drawer HEMNES chest in a dark gray stain (ample space for all his lacy delicates, I argue). We then manage to locate the correct model number in the warehouse with relative ease. Based on how much fun he’s having wheeling around on those flat carts, I conclude the warehouse is his favorite part of the entire store.
“Get on,” he orders, nodding toward the cart with a completely straight face.
I level him with my sternest authoritarian glare. “No. Let’s just go check out.”
He persists. “Get on the cart.”
I sigh, relenting. My feet could use a break after going through this maze of a department store in the hideous leopard ballet flats that were two for ten dollars at Target. Life lesson: you can’t count on five-dollar flats for proper arch support.
I settle onto the cart, my back to him. His face is so close behind me, his alluring aftershave fills my nostrils, sending a buzz of electricity to my toes. I desperately want to lean back into him. Is this what dating Scott could be like? Laughing and doing dumb shit together while doing the most mundane of errands?
I’m practically doubled over with laughter as we fly down the wide aisles, one after another, only very narrowly dodging innocent bystanders.
As we whiz by a bookshelf display, a frazzled, gray-haired IKEA employee gasps in horror. “Ma’am, it’s against store policy to sit on the carts unless you’re under ten years old.” As Scott abruptly stops the cart, she practically fires lasers at me with her hawkish eyes like I’m a shameful criminal.
“Sorry,” I murmur, promptly stepping back onto the floor.
Scott and I stifle our amusement before he speeds down another aisle ahead of me, nearly ramming the cart into a couple loading a long, skinny box.
By the time I catch up to him, he’s profusely apologizing to a blond woman with thick bangs. She stares at him, doll-like blue eyes wide, lips pulled back, miffed, as if he’d nearly crushed them flat.
I palm Scott’s shoulder as I inch forward. “I am so sorry for him. I left him unsupervised for one second. I really need to get him a leash—”
When the man whips his head around, the air expels from my lungs. The overly tousled hair. The piercing ice-blue eyes. Neil.
Neil rips himself from the embrace of the woman, whom I now recognize as Cammie. She looks different with her new, thick bangs. Neil takes a step backward, nearly tripping on the front bed of Scott’s cart as he swivels to face me, mouth open. “Crystal.”
Cammie’s eyes narrow, examining me. I have no idea if she knows who I am. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never told her about my existence at all.
“Neil . . . Hi,” I manage. Barely. Blood rushes to my ears. The distant chatter around us echoes, as if we’re in a fishbowl.
Scott flashes me a worried glance and backs up his cart. He’s standing next to me now, shoulders pulled back, arm grazing mine. His touch grounds me, preventing me from being sucked into Neil’s twister.
“What are you doing here?” Neil asks, voice octaves higher than normal. He’s doing a piss-poor job at masking his shock. A single bead of sweat trickles down his forehead, illuminated by the warehouse lighting. I think he’s about to wet himself at the sight of Cammie and me in the same place, and quite frankly, so am I.
“I, uh . . .”
“We’re picking up a dresser,” Scott cuts in. The way he says we’re isn’t lost on me. It’s daring, but I’m thankful.
Seeing the two of them face-to-face is interesting. Neil isn’t a weakling. But Scott still towers over him by about five inches and forty pounds of muscle.
“We’re getting new living room furniture, for our new place,” Neil informs us, glancing nervously at me.
“New living room furniture?” I register their cart stacked with boxes.
Cammie dips her chin in a nod, maintaining her doe-eyed, innocent vibe.
“We just moved in together,” Neil admits. It strikes me as odd yet unsurprising that they’d be moving in together a few weeks after he texted me, likely to complain about her.
“Really? Us too.” Scott’s tone is overly jovial. I can tell he’s being fake, but only because I know him so well. He must sense my unease, because he throws his arm over my shoulder, pulling me snug into his side. Warmth flows through me instantly, rendering me impenetrable. With Scott by my side, Neil couldn’t do anything to knock me off course if he tried.
“Oh.” There’s a flicker of righteous annoyance in Neil’s eyes before he pouts, evidently displeased his second choice is no longer available. “I didn’t know you were dating anyone new.”
I’m tempted to offer a cutting remark, like Sincere apologies for forgetting to mention it the last three times you texted me, but I have zero desire to be petty. So I settle on a casual shrug, as if it’s no big deal.
Scott clears his throat to fill the awkward tension as he tightens his grip around my shoulder. “Well, babe, we better get going.”
“Yeah, we should.” I don’t even bother to say goodbye to Neil and his new live-in girlfriend. I walk until they’re both out of sight. A couple aisles down, I stop, waiting for Scott to catch up with the cart.
When we’re out of earshot and heading toward the monstrous lineups at the checkout, Scott speaks. “Crys, I’m really sorry if I overstepped, I—”
I turn to him, my fingers grazing his forearm. When his muscle tenses beneath my grip, I drop my hand back to my side. “No, you didn’t overstep. Thank you. Seriously.”
“I take it that was the ex?”
I nod, mindlessly running my fingers over the random kitchen accessories in the checkout aisle. “Yeah.”
“No offense, but he’s a prick. You have no idea how much I wanted to deck him in the face.” Scott keeps his stony stare on the line in front of us.
His protectiveness fills me with comfort. I inch closer to him, our shoulders touching. “He does have a very punchable face. But what made you want to deck him?”
“Because he’s the reason I have to wait months to date you. And I hate the way he looked at you.”
“How did he look at me?”
“Like he owned you or something. Like you were a toy someone else was playing with.” He steps closer. So close, his breath grazes my hair. “You’re worth so much more than that, Crystal.” Somehow, he’s managed to pinpoint my exact feelings when I’m near Neil. Worthless. It’s not like he’s maliciously trying to make me feel that way, but after being his second choice for so long, I’ve almost gotten used to it.
I bow my head. “Thank you. It was really weird seeing him with her . . . she’s the one he left me for. The woman he dated before me.”
Scott’s jaw tenses. “That’s really shitty. I know that must be hard on you.”
“Yeah. Though I should have expected it. Even while we were together, I always felt like he wasn’t fully over her. He’d always find weird ways to bring her up. One time, literally fifteen minutes after we slept together, I caught him creeping on her Insta.”
He cringes. “Ouch . . .”
“The worst part is, I’m not a naive person. At least, I didn’t think I was. And yet, I believed everything he told me for so long. It really messed with me.”
“I completely get it. It’s hard when someone turns out to be exactly who you hoped they weren’t.”
“Have you ever had a bad relationship?” I ask, growing acutely aware that this conversation probably isn’t the most suitable for an IKEA checkout line. But then again, no one around us seems to be paying any attention. The woman in front of us has her nose buried in her phone, while the couple behind us are strangely captivated by ice cube trays.
He nods, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Yeah. My last girlfriend.”
I suck in a breath. I’ve never asked him about what happened with Diana, mostly because he’s never brought her up. “What happened?”
“We met last year. She was a figure skater. Things were really good in the first month, until she got offered a job touring with Disney. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to take it, since our relationship was so new. But I encouraged her. Didn’t want her to give up her dream for me. I thought long distance would be a breeze, but we didn’t talk a lot while she was gone on tour, especially not in the last few months. And it didn’t help I was always working and picking up extra shifts. We ended up fighting all the time because of the distance.” He pauses, grimacing. “Anyway, we finally broke up after she visited for the weekend. I stupidly assumed things would go back to normal if we saw each other. But they didn’t. And she admitted she’d started catching feelings for a guy she skates with. Cliché, huh?”
Definitely cliché. I frown. “I’m sorry. Did anything actually happen between them?”
His eyes shift to his feet momentarily. “She said nothing happened. But I don’t know if I believe that.”
“Do you think it’ll take you a long time to trust again?”
“No.”
“Really? Doesn’t it still hurt? That she had feelings for someone else?”
His eyes hover over mine. “Of course it does. But just because one person broke my trust doesn’t mean everyone is going to, you know?”
We stay silent the duration of the trip back to my apartment. Scott seems to be in his feelings after our conversation about Diana. I’m riddled with guilt for ruining his cheery mood.
I’m also disappointed in myself. Sometime after nearly cuddling on the mattress and riding the IKEA cart like a child, I nearly broke the pact I made to myself. I was tempted to give in, kiss Scott, and let myself be his rebound, and vice versa.
But after seeing Neil and Cammie shopping for furniture together, practically on their way down the aisle, I’m reminded of the fact that I was nothing to him but temporary reprieve from the pain. A palate cleanser. A way to get off. Someone to reinforce the fact that he still loved another woman.
If I want to be a role model to my followers and practice what I preach in my Size Positive campaign, I need to know my worth. Being Rebound Girl once again is simply not an option.