Every Inch of You Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  EVERY INCH OF YOU

  Kayley Loring

  Contents

  Every Inch of You

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Connect with Kayley

  Other Books By Kayley Loring:

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Kayley Loring

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Kayley Loring

  Cover photo from iStock

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  To those stubborn last five pounds and the carbs that created you—you complete me.

  Chapter One

  VIVIAN

  It was a Sunday night, and I swear I was happy.

  I was at home, drinking a glass of pinot noir, binge-watching Friends and singing Nineties girl-angst songs really loud to annoy Justin Timberlake.

  Justin Timberlake is my cat.

  I was right in the middle of I’m With You by Avril Lavigne when my sister FaceTimed me. I considered not answering it, but then she would have just called and texted all night until she got a response from me, so I paused Netflix and Spotify and accepted the video call.

  “Hey! What’s up?!”

  She was smiling. A lot. It was weird. “Hey Vivvy. What are you doing?”

  “I’m…watching a documentary and reading the New Yorker.”

  “Oh really? Is it a documentary about women who sing to their cats?”

  “Oh my God are you spying on me?” Aubrey lived in Seattle, where we grew up, but ever since I’d moved to Portland over two years ago, I often found myself looking over my shoulder because I felt her watching and judging me. I’ve felt that all my life, really. She was only two years older than me, but I have no memory of my sister ever actually being a child.

  “Haha! I knew it!”

  “You’re a witch.”

  “Don’t you care about the neighbors?”

  “I only sing out loud when it’s raining really hard, plus Mrs. Friar is hard of hearing.”

  “Don’t you care about your cat?”

  “JT doesn’t care what I do as long as I feed him and clean his litter box. He is the best guy I’ve ever known.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re happy with your guy, you deserve it.”

  “I am happy. I’m fine.”

  “I know, that’s what I said.”

  “Yeah but you said it with that condescending tone.”

  “Viv—I wasn’t being condescending.”

  “You’re constantly condescending. Your face is condescending.”

  “Okay, can we start over? I don’t want to—I called because I have some news.”

  “Oh my God—are they dead?”

  “What? No. If our parents were dead I probably would have led with that piece of information.”

  “Is it Grandma?”

  “No, nobody died. That I know of. Shut up and listen…I’m getting married.” She smiled even bigger and weirder and held her hand up to the camera so I could see the enormous rock on her ring finger. “He proposed this afternoon.”

  “Oh my God. Aubrey!” I held my phone up closer to my face. The ring was beautiful, and Aubrey looked so happy. I was tearing up. I was so happy for her. She had known that she wanted to marry her boyfriend Eric since before their first date, over three years ago.

  “I know.” My sister wasn’t a tearer-upper. But I could tell she was emotional. Whenever she gets really emotional she clears her throat. She cleared her throat twice, and then told me that I would be her maid of honor, and that the wedding would be in June.

  “This June?”

  “Yes. Otherwise known as three months from now. I’ll be sending out save the date cards in two weeks, as soon as I’ve locked down the venue I want.”

  “Wow.”

  “So block out all the weekends in June on your calendar.”

  “I will. Of course.”

  “Yeah but do it now.”

  “I’m not going to forget that you’re getting married in June.”

  “Just put it in your calendar.”

  I had to force myself to not roll my eyeballs. If she turns into a bridezilla I’ll kill her. I reached for my laptop, which was on the floor, under Justin Timberlake. “Sorry, buddy.” I slipped it out from under him, and he disappeared to the bedroom. I put the phone down while I added AUBREY AND ERIC’S WEDDING!!! to my June calendar, which had been completely free of events, aside from Upgrade phone?!

  “Where did you have in mind?” I asked.

  “Orcas Island.”

  “Awww. Beautiful.”

  Orcas Island is part of the San Juan Islands, off the coast of northern Washington. We used to go there in the summers, with our parents, when we were kids. We’d pretend we were at the Dirty Dancing resort, prancing around in rolled-up jean shorts and tied-up blouses that bared our midriffs, singing I’ve Had the Time of My Life, and making my Dad mumble about sending us to a nunnery. It would be stunning there in June. It would be perfect.

  “Let me know what I can do to help,” I said. “Anything at all, just give me a list.”

  “I think I’ll have it under control…”

  I happened to know that Aubrey had been secretly planning her wedding ever since she and Eric first said “I love you” to each other, three years ago.

  “I’m going to start buying penis party favors immediately.”

  “I’m not having a bachelorette party.”

  I shrugged. “Who said they’re for you?”

  “Fair enough. So…I have the bridesmaids dresses picked out, and they’re…sleeveless. I just sent you a link.”

  I opened up the email on my laptop and clicked the link, which took me to the Nordstrom online store, and a pretty, tasteful, lilac spaghetti strap chiffon dress. I gulped. “It’s pretty.”

  “It’s a great color for you. I already ordered it.”

  “Oh. Okay…What size?”

  It was two sizes smaller than what I would currently feel comfortable in.

  I coughed. “Is it returnable?”

  “Here’s the thing—it’ll be s
o flattering on you if you just…?????” She basically spoke the last few words inside her mouth, like she was eating them.

  “If I just what?”

  “If you lose the weight you’ve gained in the past few months.”

  I said nothing.

  “I mean, you’ve been in great shape your whole life, it can’t be that hard for you to drop two dress sizes in three months.”

  “You think I’m fat.”

  “No! Not fat—I just want you to get healthy again.”

  She totally thought I was fat. I wasn’t. I just couldn’t fit into my favorite clothes anymore. I had to size up my jeans a month and a half after the ex left, and once again around Valentine’s Day. I mean, it’s not like I was Jabba the Hut. I was just growing and wasn’t as toned as I used to be. I was over 25 years old now—it was the natural progression of a woman’s body to become more rounded…after eating so many baked goods. “You think I’m fat because the last time you saw me I wore my super skinny jeans, which was a mistake. I was bloated. I look fine if I wear the right sized clothes!”

  “I’m not saying you’re fat. You’re just…”

  “It’s just the angle I’m holding the phone—and the lighting—here look.” I held the phone up as far as my arm could reach above my head and looked up at her, turning my head to the side, sucking in my cheeks like Zoolander. “Better, right?”

  “Viv. I love you. You’re gorgeous. You’ll always be gorgeous. I don’t think you’re fat. I’m just worried that you’re depressed.”

  Since when did staying home every night to drink red wine and eat pie make a person depressed? “I am so not depressed. I’m just spending more time with Justin Timberlake. He has one less person in his life now—I don’t want him to get lonely.”

  “It’s been three months, honey. You need to move on.”

  “Oh I’ve moved on. I’ve painted every room pink. I rearranged all the furniture that he didn’t take. I got rid of everything he ever gave me.” Except the shame, humiliation and suppressed rage.

  Aubrey took a deep breath and took a sip from her bottled water before saying: “He’s going to be one of Eric’s groomsmen.”

  Right. I couldn’t believe I didn’t think of that as soon as she told me about the wedding. I met my ex through Eric. “Well,” I said. “That’s three months from now. A lot can happen in three months. I mean, we could all be dead by then! Don’t worry about it.”

  She took another sip of water and another deep breath. “He’ll be at the wedding with his fiancée.”

  What?

  WHAT?!

  “What?”

  “He’s engaged.”

  “To Slutface?”

  “To the woman he dumped you for, yes.”

  Wow. Connor Devlin was engaged to Slutface. I did not see that coming. I thought for sure that Connor would either realize what a stupid idiot he was for leaving me for her, or he’d realize what a stupid idiot she was for making him cheat with her while he was still living with me, or that they would have murdered each other by now because they’re both terrible stupid asshole idiots. But I guess that meant they were perfect for each other. Good for them. A toast to the terrible stupid asshole idiots and their terrible stupid idiot asshole love.

  I emptied the rest of the wine bottle—directly into my mouth.

  “Are you…okay?” I’d momentarily forgotten that I was FaceTiming with Aubrey. I’d dropped my phone into my lap.

  “Oh hey!” I put the wine bottle back down on the coffee table and held up the phone, because I knew she’d just seen me from the worst possible angle. “Hi. I’m totally fine. I’m glad I heard it from you first. Thank you.”

  “Are you…sure you’re fine?”

  “Yes! Moving on. Let’s talk about you. You’re getting married! Mom and Dad must be so excited. Oh my God. Tell me how Eric proposed! Did you tell me already? You didn’t, did you? Tell me everything!”

  She told me every detail of Eric’s marvelous proposal but I didn’t hear any of it because I was concentrating on moving super slowly so she couldn’t tell that I was opening up another bottle of wine.

  She also may have said something about me joining a gym, so I could fit into the dress, but I’m pretty sure she was kidding.

  Chapter Two

  VIVIAN

  I would have slept through the alarm if Justin Timberlake hadn’t pounced onto my chest. It was an overcast March morning, typical of the Pacific Northwest this time of year, but it felt dark and cloudy in my brain and my body too. It wasn’t a hangover. Only three glasses of wine had been consumed the night before, when Aubrey shared her big news with me, but I had a serious case of the Mondays and an even worse case of You’re Going To Die Alone and Justin Timberlake Will Eat Your Dead Lonely Face.

  My sister was right. I may have been a little depressed. It had been so easy to live in denial of any anger, sadness and feelings of abandonment in the three months since Connor had moved out, and the time just flew by. Even in the dead of winter and the aftermath of the absolute worst holiday season ever, I was able to focus on how lucky I was to not have to spend one more day living with a man who didn’t love me the way I deserved to be loved, who didn’t allow “bad carbs” in the house (but was perfectly fine keeping it cluttered with bad vibes), and who got really grumpy if I ever left my books and papers lying around when I was in the middle of reading or writing on them.

  The first glorious break-up phase, wherein I could rejoice in my freedom, was now over. Phase Two had begun. The man I’d moved to Portland with had become an engaged man while I was busy engaging in carbohydrate orgies all by myself. The man I’d given up a great job opportunity in Seattle for, so he could take a great job in Portland, had moved back to Seattle and started a new life with Slutface, while I had been sitting on my ever-widening ass every night on my new sofa, watching every single movie and show he’d refused to watch with me. I hoped Slutface knew that even the worst episode of Sex and the City was better than the best night of sex with Connor Devlin.

  Okay, if I was being honest, when he brought his A-game to bed it was pretty great. It was binge-worthy. But I was not going to think about that. I wasn’t going to think about anything besides feeding my cat, replenishing my fluids, and getting to work on time for my meeting with my boss.

  I was one minute late for my meeting with my boss, but he was five minutes late so it didn’t matter. Traffic in Portland wasn’t anywhere near as bad as in Seattle, but it had gotten pretty ridiculous. My tiny rental house was in the Alberta Arts District, and the law firm I worked for as a corporate paralegal was located in the heart of downtown Portland—about a twenty minute drive. I got out of the house twenty-two minutes before the meeting because I had made the rather poor choice of opting to hunt for pictures of Connor and Slutface on my Seattle Facebook friends’ pages instead of showering or eating.

  In the time it had taken me to get to work, I had gone from promising myself that I’d stay positive, take the high road, and never ever go on Facebook again, to vowing to ruin Connor and Slutface’s lives, to mentally composing an email to Connor that expressed my gratitude towards him for leading me to the tiny house that I loved, that was within walking distance of the greatest artisanal ice cream shop on earth, and wished him and his fiancée love, happiness and success—and then I asked Siri about voodoo revenge spells, but Siri gave me directions to Voodoo Donuts instead. Because Siri and all of foodie Portland conspired to get me to eat my feelings instead of going negative. Well played, Siri.

  I had every intention of going to Voodoo Donuts after work that day.

  But my sister had other plans for me.

  My sister’s plans were literally the opposite of me going to Voodoo Donuts after work.

  When I’d gotten out of my morning meetings I headed directly to the break room for a desperately-needed organic granola bar and gossip sesh with my best work friend—Frankie, but when I saw the fourteen texts, missed calls and emails from Aubrey I knew I had t
o call her back immediately. Maybe she had important news about my ex’s humiliating breakup!

  She didn’t.

  She had important news about a personal training session at a gym—that she’d set up for me for that evening.

  “It’s called Good Form, and it’s in Kenton. Is that near you?”

  “Not really.”

  “Great! So this guy’s supposed to be the meanest, toughest, hottest trainer in Portland.”

  “Sounds like I should stay away from him then.”

  “My friend Paige and her husband use him—they swear by him. He totally whipped them into shape. His name’s Mitch—he owns the gym and he’s usually impossible to book, but he just had a cancellation, so you have to go tonight.”

  “I have to? I kind of had plans for this evening.”

  “Really? Do these plans involve other people, or do they involve baked goods?”

  “They involve other people serving me baked goods.”

  “Honey. I think joining a gym would be really good for you at this point in your life.”

  You mean you think it would be good for the dress you bought for me.

  “You need to get out of the house and meet some new people.”

  She was not wrong about this. She was not wrong about very many things. Like, ever.

  “I just texted you the address. Your appointment’s at seven. Don’t be late—you’ll have to fill out some forms. Oh by the way—I’m paying for all of this. I’ve already paid for three months of personal training sessions and a one year membership.”