Later that evening, Booth got a call from Val just as his pizza arrived.

“So, how was it?” she asked.

“How was what?”

“The fashion show.”

After tipping the delivery girl, he went back into the house. “How did you…? Never mind.”

Along with two X chromosomes, women possessed some weird radar about men they were close to whether they were husbands, sons or brothers. That was the only explanation.

“It was okay.”

“How did Jane look?”

Booth sighed as he recalled Jane striding down the runway, that brilliant white robe fluttering behind her.

“She looked great. Really beautiful. She actually modeled some of the lingerie.”

“Wow. That takes guts. You could pay me a million, even two million dollars and I wouldn’t parade in front of people in my underwear. Did you get to talk to her?”

Certain Val’s radar would detect a lie, he said, “Yes.”

“How’d it go?”

How had it gone?

“As well as could be expected, I guess,” he said. “She was polite. A little defensive. I asked if she wanted to go grab a coffee and talk, and…”

“And…?”

“She ripped me a new one.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Boo.”

“And she wouldn’t believe me when I told her I’d changed.”

“She thinks you’re emotionally stunted too.”

Booth stopped short, the pizza halfway to his mouth. “Wait a second. What did you say?”

“Jane posted to her blog. About you and your encounter today.”

What the fuck. Already?

“What did she say?” he asked, barely able to keep his voice level. It frustrated him that, with Jane, he was either feeling sorry and guilty, or royally pissed off. There seemed to be no in-between.

At first, when Val told him Jane had written about him on her blog, he’d been angry, but then he eventually found the early blog posts where Jane talked about what he’d done to her, and the anger he’d felt at finding out she’d written about him and put it up for public viewing disappeared only to be replaced by shame. At seventeen, he hadn’t known enough about females to understand what a blow he’d dealt to her self-esteem. He had deeply affected her view of herself. According to her blog, she’d felt ugly for years and had withdrawn from everyone at school, certain they all looked at her with pity and disgust.

He, on the other hand, had felt guilty about what he’d done and had honestly tried to make it right with her over and over and over, but she’d refused to speak with him every time. Eventually he’d given up.

But he didn’t forget about her. Not by a long shot. He had loved her but he had done a piss-poor job of showing it.

So, filled with regret and shame, he’d gone to her fashion show and sat through several designers whose clothes were just flat out weird. Some of the clothes were pretty, but none of the models appealed to him. They were too thin for his taste, but then they announced Aphrodite’s Big Girl Panties line, and Jane’s models started down the catwalk.

Shiiiit. Those ladies were beautiful. They looked gorgeous and healthy. Like they wouldn’t blow away if a brisk wind kicked up. They had honest to goodness womanly curves—plump, luscious breasts, full hips, and asses that were made for a man’s hands. And the shit they were wearing? Off the charts sexy. As bored as he’d been before, that was how excited and engaged he was after the BGP girls took the stage. Each woman wore something more titillating and provocative than the one before. He wanted to ask each and every one of them out on a date.

Then Jane came out.

His face had been frozen in a rictus of surprise. Holy fuck. She was wearing a white silky robe that fluttered behind her as she strode down the runway like a boss. Was this the way fashion designers finished up their show, like when actors came out to take their bow? Then why wasn’t anyone applauding?

Just about the time when he realized she must be one of the models, she shrugged off the robe. His eyes about popped out of his head. Holy fuck. She was a vision. A naughty bride all in white, kicking ass and taking names, but she was walking so fast it was difficult to take in all the details. Her breasts looked amazing, jiggling with each step. Stockings, held up by a sexier than sin garter belt, circled her thighs, and all he wanted to do was roll them down slowly and lick every bit of skin that was exposed.

Before when he’d thought of Jane, he remembered someone young and innocent, optimistically naïve, up for anything he proposed, be it sneaking into a second movie at the Cineplex or sharing an ice cream cone because they didn’t have enough money to buy two cones. She never had her guard up, didn’t play manipulative games, was always just her most honest self.

Now, she seemed harder, more confident, like she had the world by the balls and wasn’t about to let go until she felt like it. Part of him loved this take charge version. He was glad to see in person that she’d bounced back, plus, she looked so sexy, the image of her in that getup was going to stay with him until the day he died.

Yet, part of him mourned the open-book, sunshiny girl from eleven years ago.

When he showed up backstage using the press pass a reporter friend of his had gotten for him, things had not gone anything like how he’d expected. As he’d reported to Val, she’d called him names. Okay, he’d thought there was a chance of that, and he was good with it. He deserved it.

But then she kept insisting that he hadn’t changed, and he couldn’t let that go. He had changed. It had taken him a while to own up to the fact that, contrary to what seemed like the majority of American males, he liked big women. He liked sex with ladies who he didn’t have to worry about crushing, who felt soft, not bony when he caressed them. He didn’t even like to see bones under the skin—hip bones, shoulder bones, especially ribs. He liked all parts of a woman’s skeleton to be covered with plump softness. After he admitted to himself that society’s definition of beauty and his didn’t intersect, he had to get over other people knowing it. It had been difficult. He had been teased about it back in his twenties. Strangely, that had become a barometer of whether a person was a friend or a dick. Now, it was different. His friends all accepted his affinity for plump gals, mostly because they were grown-ups.

So it irked him when Jane wouldn’t believe he could be a different person from the boy she’d known. It more than irked him. He discovered he hated the idea of her going on with her life thinking he was still a superficial, faithless creep.

Val’s voice brought him back to the present. “Want me to read what she wrote to you?”

Oh yeah…they were talking about Jane’s latest entry about him.

“Hell yes, I want you to read it to me.”

“Okay. ‘Hi, girls. You’ll never guess what happened. Donald showed up at the show.’”

“Hey, it’s Big Mac!” someone called.

Booth looked up to see a guy wearing a Barracuda T-shirt waving at him and walking quickly over. He had two little kids in tow. Damn it. He really enjoyed meeting fans, but sometimes it happened at the most inconvenient times.

Smiling at the excited trio, he said, “Val, I gotta go. I’ll call you back later.”

Forty-five minutes later, Booth let himself into the house and went straight for his computer. He opened up Big Girl Panties and there it was. The title of the post was “Two Wrongs Don’t Make A Right.”

Hi, girls. You’ll never guess what happened. Donald showed up at the show. Can you believe it? Me either. I’m still a little in shock. I have to admit he looked good and he wanted to take me out for a Starbucks, but sad to say, I didn’t take him up on it. I’ve always been honest with you all about my journey to self-discovery and I truly thought I’d moved past what happened between us, but I…I did not behave well today. Sadly, I stooped to his level—his level from eleven years ago. I called him a shallow, disloyal SOB. I accused him of being emotionally stunted when, it seems as if that is the pot calling the kettle black. Because, girls, if I were truly past this, I would have been able to calmly sip a latte in his presence.

Donald, if you’re reading this. I’m sorry too. Email me. Let’s put this thing to bed.

Booth didn’t hesitate. He clicked on the “contact me” link and sent her an email with his phone number.

Hi, Jane. I’m all for putting this thing to bed. How much longer are you in town? Let’s have that coffee.