SEALed Under the Mistletoe

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

VICKIE

T hree years ago

Stacy was rambling on about her latest blind date disaster. “My mom is just determined to set me up with one of the lawyers at Dad’s firm, but they’re all the same! Stuffy, stuffy, stuffy! I want someone fun, you know? Is that so much to ask? If I’m going to spend my time with them, I should at least enjoy it!” She called the bartender over with a wave and ordered another drink.

The bartender smiled sympathetically at Vickie and topped off her Diet Coke—designated drivers get free soda, and Vickie was always the sober driver. A fact this bartender was well aware of, since Vickie’s gaggle of girlfriends preferred this bar over the dozens of other options they had and spent a lot of time there.

Of course, if Stacy’s plans went her way, Vickie wouldn’t be the one driving her home at the end of the night. No, she’d go home with some hot man for some overdue rebound sex. Stacy’s fiancé left her at the altar a few months ago when he came out of the closet, a detail everyone but Stacy had known for ages. According to Stacy, Phil was the perfect guy. He’s s ensitive and the best listener , Stacy would text their friend group. Their relationship started as a blind date arranged by his mother, Stacy’s coworker, and it took him until their wedding day to get the courage to stand up to his bigoted father. As it turned out, Phil had a long-term boyfriend and everyone, but his father and Stacy, were happy for him.

As Stacy droned on about her failed love life, Vickie let her gaze drift over the bar. It was another packed ladies' night, and predictably; they were among the oldest women present. At thirty, Vickie felt downright ancient next to the barely legal blondes in their tiny tops and skin-tight bottoms, their perfect bodies on full display. A small part of her was jealous; her body had never looked like that.

Scanning the room, she saw a group of Marines chatting up a gaggle of sorority girls, a few sleazy-looking older men nursing beers and leering at any woman who happened to wander too close, and a group of four men in suits throwing back shots around their table. The music was loud, the energy high, and she glanced at her watch, wondering how much longer they’d be stuck here.

She was itching to go home, slip out of her bra, get into leggings, and curl up on the couch with her cat, Theo, and her Kindle. Her leftover chimichanga from the best Mexican spot in town was waiting in the fridge. It would be the perfect end to a long day; having closed on a home earlier in the morning and spending the afternoon sending in comps to keep the sale on another house alive when the appraisal came back much lower than anyone had expected. She was exhausted and peopled out. She’d wanted to go home hours ago. When Stacy texted her, she should have said no. Should have let one of their other friends go in her place. She should have stood her ground…

Should have but didn’t. She was the responsible friend, the dependable one. The fat one. The one who made her friends look skinnier and prettier by comparison. The one who couldn’t say no. She was the perfect sidekick, standing by, invisible, so her friends could be noticed. Once, when drunk, Stacy had let her true feelings out. A stick compared to another stick didn’t seem skinny. A stick compared to a thick tree trunk would look small in comparison. Stacy was the stick, Vickie the tree trunk. She should have been offended, but Stacy wasn’t wrong. Standing next to Vickie, Stacy appeared skinnier than she was. Standing next to the rest of their friends, Stacy was merely average. Although she tried to not let it get to her, facts were facts, it still stung. Truth was, society did not treat curvy women the same way they treat their thinner counterparts, a fact that Vickie was too well aware of.

Stacy nudged Vickie and tilted her head towards the end of the bar. Two men were staring their way—or rather, staring at Stacy. The taller, lankier one slipped off his wedding ring and tucked it into his pocket before signaling for the bartender. They clinked shots together and threw them back before starting their approach. Stacy’s eyes sparkled; she loved this. Even if the guy was a dud, Stacy relished the attention, happily soaking up whatever perks—free drinks, dinner, gifts—were tossed her way for simply existing as her beautiful self.

One of the men, muscled and wearing expensive name-brand clothes down to his shoes and watch, made a beeline for them. Right away, Vickie braced herself for what was coming. She wished her drink was something stronger than Diet Coke.

“Good evening, ladies,” the muscular man said smoothly, leaning toward Stacy as he motioned to the bartender. “Refill their drinks and put it on our tab.”

Vickie held back an eye roll. Could he be any more cliché?

The married man looked her way. “What are you drinking?”

“Diet Coke. I’m driving.” And, she thought, you’re married.

“Responsible. I like that. Are you two from around here?”

Ah, the routine. Distract the friend while the main attraction made his move. Vickie flashed him the practiced, aloof smile she’d perfected over years of these encounters.

“Look, I know what you’re doing,” she said, cutting to the chase. “We don’t have to play this game.” The man’s forehead wrinkled.

“What game?”

“Why don’t we head to that table over there?” She nodded toward a familiar two-person high-top in the corner.

“Uh, sure?” He glanced back at their friends, who had, predictably, already forgotten they existed.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” He had nothing to worry about. She wasn’t about to disrupt his marriage or his friendship.

They picked up their drinks and walked over to the small table. It was close enough for her to quickly respond if Stacy needed her but far enough to get her some iota of privacy. The married man’s friend immediately sidled closer to Stacy, casting a wink over his shoulder.

Vickie plopped down onto the stool and positioned herself where she could see the entire bar and, more importantly, monitor Stacy for their agreed-upon signal if she needed rescuing.

The married man stood awkwardly to the side. If he sat across from her, he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on his friend, either. Vickie wondered if the thought of facing her directly made him uncomfortable, like the reactions she sometimes got on airplanes when people saw she’d be their seatmate. She wasn’t about to let anyone make her feel inferior. She paid the same price for her space, and while she didn’t need a seatbelt extender yet, she’d already resolved to either buy a second seat or stop flying if it ever came to that.

“You’re married,” she said plainly, watching him flinch.

“What? No, I—” He quickly covered his left hand with his right.

“It’s okay, really. I’m not interested,” she said with a small smile. “I saw you take your ring off and stick it in your pocket. And, dude, just uncover your hand—see the pale ring where your tan stops? Kind of hard to deny.”

Color drained from his face, matching the stark white band on his finger.

“Look, I get it. Your friend’s newly single? Going through a rough divorce? Needed a wingman, and you drew the short straw?” She offered him a sympathetic smile.

“How’d you know?”

“We’re not in college anymore. The bar scene isn’t exactly where people our age go to find love. At this age, if we’re back here, it’s usually due to heartbreak or a breakup.”

“Are you married?” he asked, a flicker of hope in his voice.

“Nope. Never been in the cards for me.”

He didn’t put his ring back on, clearly preferring that no one assume they were together. She was used to this; it wasn’t the first time she’d been paired with a married wingman in this very spot.

At that moment, the waitress walked past, and Vickie caught a glimpse of a man sitting down nearby who could have stepped right off a romance novel cover. His sheer presence made her heartbeat quicken. Casually scrolling through his phone with one massive hand while his other held a beer, his solid build radiated strength. Vickie quickly refocused on the conversation. A guy like that wouldn’t look twice at a woman like her.

“I’m sorry,” the married man said, bringing her attention back.

“Why? I’m not.” She replied with a shrug.

He took a long pull from his beer, eyes avoiding hers.

“I’m happy to be single and independent,” Vickie said. “It’s nice to go where I want, when I want, without checking anyone else’s schedule.”

“Or without sharing those special moments with someone you love?” he asked, his question striking closer to home than Vickie wanted to admit.

“I’m sorry. I forgot to ask for your name,” Vickie deflected smoothly.

“Jon.”

“Nice to meet you, Jon. I’m Wendy.” She offered her hand, which he shook with genuine warmth. She hadn’t expected that.

They chatted for a while, keeping their conversation light as Vickie stole glances at Stacy and Jon’s friend, who seemed deep in flirtation. By now, Jon had relaxed, his earlier awkwardness fading. They discussed work and travel, and Vickie found herself having more fun than she normally did in this role.

“How about you? Does it ever bother you? Being the wingman?” Jon gestured toward their friends. “My wife is at home with the kids tonight, and honestly, I’d rather be with them. As stupid as this might sound, playing Monopoly at the dining room table with my kids has become more fun than throwing back shots and talking to strangers while Trevor hits on women. After his divorce, we’ve been taking turns. My wife said we should make him an online dating profile and let him find a woman that way.”

“So why haven’t you?”

“Oh, we have. Tonight is his last chance to meet someone in person. Tomorrow, we’re putting his profiles up on Match.”

“Just Match? No Hot for Farmers ? No Looking for my Sugar Daddy ?”

Jon laughed belly-deep, the sound drawing glances from Stacy and Trevor. Vickie waved and smiled.

“You’ve sidestepped my question with a question,” Jon said, his tone turning more serious. “Does it ever bother you? Being the wingman?”

Vickie sighed. “It’s a complicated question. I’ve been in this role since high school. Although back then, I don’t think any of us realized it, you know? It’s kind of perverse how early we define our roles in society. Men learn how to weaponize invisibility, and we socialize fat women, like me, to just accept it.”

“You shouldn’t call yourself fat!” Jon protested.

“Why we’ve given that word so much power is beyond me. Fat is just a descriptor. It doesn’t inherently have a negative meaning. But we’ve given it this value it shouldn’t have. I’ve got perfect cholesterol, great blood sugar levels, no blood pressure, or heart issues. In fact, according to my doctor, my insides are like those of an athlete. Probably because I was an athlete. These thick thighs come from years of playing sports in high school.”

“What do you mean by weaponized invisibility?” Jon raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes.” Vickie cringed at her choice of words. She should have chosen something less confrontational. Most people didn’t like hearing about their unconscious biases. “Weaponizing invisibility is when people purposely ignore those, they find unattractive, to assert power over them.”

“Huh. Can you give me an example?” Jon wrinkled his forehead but was actively listening and Vickie appreciated that more than she could say. Most men would have denied her words and tried to gaslight her into feeling like she was making the entire thing up. Normally, they’d get defensive and sometimes angry. Jon was a breath of fresh air. Taking a deep breath, Vickie continued.

“Sure. A wealthy, muscular man walks up to a group of beautiful women in a club. There’s one overweight woman in the group. He introduces himself to the women he finds attractive, looks at the one who dares to be unattractive, rolls his eyes, turns his body away from her, and continues talking to the others. He’s told her with his silence that he disapproves. They haven’t exchanged a word. He’s deemed her worthless by appearance alone.”

“Fuck, Wendy. People have done this to you?”

“Men and women alike. As the designated fat friend, I’ve been on the receiving end of that treatment a lot. I’ve grown a thick skin from it.”

“I’m offended that your friends stand by and let it happen.”

“I’d like to say they don’t see it happen because they aren’t the ones experiencing it, but over the years, I’ve realized they have to know, even subconsciously. The world wants to regulate plus-size women into certain roles. In some places, it’s introversion—seen but not heard. Our size alone makes our friends look thinner. If you take us out of the equation and compare them solely to each other, they don’t look as skinny. If you compare a giraffe to another giraffe and ask which is skinnier, it takes longer to decide than if you put a giraffe next to an elephant and ask.”

Jon chuckled. “You’re hardly an elephant.”

“Elephants are amazing animals. Loyal, intelligent, family orientated. I don’t mind being one.” Vickie smiled. Elephants had always been her favorite animals. “My problem isn’t with being curvy. I’m not insecure about my weight. It doesn’t make me cry myself to sleep. I’m not on fad diets or drinking shakes that make you poop. I don’t obsess over it. Am I aware of how people treat me because of my weight? Hell, yes, I am. It’s hard not to be.”

“Damn. I’m impressed by your attitude, but sorry society treats you so shitty. Look at those two,” Jon gestured toward Stacy and Trevor. “We might not need to write that personal ad for him after all.”

“I wouldn’t delete it yet. Stacy’s hella picky. Her checklist is pretty impossible.”

“You know, I recently saw an advertisement for a new dating app for plus-sized people to find love. It would attract men who like?—”

“Big girls? BBWs?” Vickie interjected.

“Yeah. If you were to write an advertisement for a dating website, what would yours say?”

“Hmmm.” Vickie thought for a moment. “I’ve actually thought about it. I wouldn’t want to find love on a website for chubby chasers. Some men think fat girls are easy targets and try to hit on us for a quick lay. I’d be picky about where I posted.”

“That’s fair,” Jon nodded.

“The headline would read: Must Love Curves ,” Vickie said, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

Jon chuckled. “That’s catchy.”

Vickie glanced at the man sitting next to them. The sexy stranger was staring at his phone, his face unreadable. Did he just hear her? She quickly looked away. No, this wasn’t some cheesy meet-cute at the beginning of a romance novel. Get it together, Vickie.

“ Must Love Curves ,” Vickie continued. “Single curvy extrovert with thighs strong enough to crush a beer can but soft enough to cuddle. Seeking friendship that turns into love. Are you strong enough to handle my weight? And I don’t just mean the luscious pounds on my body, but the weight of my expectations: loyalty, respect, and a high libido.”

“High libido?” Jon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you worry that might attract the wrong guy? One who’s just looking for a one-night stand?”

“I mean, that’s just the intro,” Vickie said, slightly embarrassed but pressing on. “The profile would go on to talk about my likes and dislikes, my passion for travel, good food, and how reading romance novels has ruined me because now I need a man who’s bigger than me—taller, stronger, broader. I won’t settle for anything less than an alpha male who wants to protect me. Not just physically, but my heart, too. A man who would lay down his life for the woman he loves without hesitation. A man who puts his hand on the small of my back to guide me as we walk, who pushes me to the inside of the sidewalk and growls sexy suggestions in my ear…”

Vickie trailed off, realizing how ridiculous she must sound. She sneaked a glance at the giant next to them. Her cheeks flamed. Did he hear her? Their eyes met, and the stranger raised an eyebrow. She quickly turned back to Jon.

“Growls sexy suggestions?” Jon laughed as he parroted her words. “And you said Stacy had a long list of hard-to-meet expectations.”

“The difference between Stacy and me,” Vickie said with a wry smile, “is that Stacy thinks her list is realistic. I know mine isn’t. That’s why I haven’t looked for a man. Romance novel heroes don’t actually exist in real life.”

Their phones buzzed at the same time.

“Speaking of the devil,” Jon said, glancing at his phone. “Looks like our friends are going home together. It’s truly been nice getting to know you, Wendy.” He stood, pushing himself up from the barstool. “I’m going to settle the tab. Are you staying around a bit? Want anything before I leave?”

“Did Trevor leave you to pay the tab?” Vickie asked incredulously.

“He left me with his credit card to pay for it,” Jon said with a grin, pulling the card from his pocket and waving it in the air. “I have it on good authority that it has a high limit.”

“No, I’m good,” Vickie said, shaking her head. “I’m heading home too, but thanks.”

“You said their wings were delicious,” Jon said. “Want to order some to-go? It’s the least Trevor can do.”

Vickie smiled. “Sure. I’ll wait a few extra minutes. They’ll make for an excellent lunch tomorrow. Thanks, Jon.”

They placed the order, and Jon settled the tab, telling Vickie he’d given the bartender a significant tip. In another situation, she thought, they might have become friends.

Pulling out her phone to pass the time, Vickie opened her book app. The topless man on the cover, with his broad chest and stern gaze, reminded her of someone. She glanced at the sexy stranger again. He looked exactly like the man on the cover—clean-cut hair, freshly shaven face, broad chest under a tight black t-shirt. She shook her head, trying to focus on the words on the screen. She had long ago stopped hoping that men like him would notice her. There were only ten minutes until the wings came, and she was on her way home. What could happen in ten minutes?