The Men I Didn't Marry by Janice Kaplan

Author:Janice Kaplan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780307417251
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2007-12-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter ELEVEN

BACK AT THE HOUSE, Kevin disappears into the kitchen to whip up what he promises will be the best dinner of my life. I duck into the bedroom to change out of my wet T-shirt and soggy shorts and put on one of Kevin’s shirts. It’s long enough on me to be an improvised minidress. I glance in the mirror. Not a look I’d wear in New York, but not half-bad, either. For once, I’m not worried about my thighs. The Cellulite Exorcist might have recommended fourteen more weeks of treatment, but having a man find you attractive works even better.

“Whatever’s on the grill smells fabulous,” I say, joining him in the kitchen.

“Nothing on it yet. You’re smelling the charcoal,” he says with a grin.

“Mmm, well, then, maybe we should have that.”

“Good idea. I’ll save the steaks for someone else,” he says. “Should be another date coming over later.”

“Blond or brunette?” I ask.

“Don’t remember. Which one would make you more jealous?”

“You don’t need to make me jealous,” I say, laughing. “We’re not in high school anymore.”

Kevin stops mixing his marinade and puts his arms around me. “I’m glad we’re not in high school. I think I was too young to really appreciate you back then. I like you even better now.” He kisses me gently. It’s a sweet, romantic moment, which, of course, I can’t leave alone.

“You only like me more now because you finally got to see my breasts,” I tease.

“Well, that helps,” Kevin agrees with a smile. He pauses and flexes his fingers. “And you haven’t broken a single digit yet.”

I laugh and look around, ready to offer to help. But just as I’m about to explain how talented I am at tossing a salad, the doorbell rings.

Kevin looks up, surprised.

“Your other date,” I say calmly. “Should I sneak out the back?”

“I have no idea who that could be,” Kevin says. He wipes his hands on a dish towel and heads to the front door. A moment later, I hear loud, cheerful voices offering a chorus of congratulations.

“Hey, good work getting that movie gig with Angelina Jolie, Kev!” booms one guy.

“You work, we all work!” says another. “Thought we’d come over and surprise you with a little party to celebrate.”

“PAR-TEE!!” holler a couple of other revelers.

“Hey, guys, thanks,” says Kevin. “But this might not be the best time. I have someone here.”

“You bagged Angelina already?” asks a male voice admiringly.

The crowd who came to party now push past Kevin, in search of the star. But as they head into the kitchen, all they find is me.

“Hi,” I say tentatively to Kevin’s buddies, who troop in bearing six-packs of beer and big bags of chips. Two of the women are carrying plastic bowls filled with food.

“My famous pasta with mango and black beans,” says a well-tanned woman in shorts and a colorful tank top. She puts her container on the counter and holds out her hand to shake mine. “Hi, I’m Susie. I sometimes work with Kevin on shoots.

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