Rachel slipped a red dress over her head and felt the silky fabric settle over her skin. It felt cool and soft, a nice contrast to the lacy black bra and panties she wore underneath it. She looked at herself in the mirror and barely suppressed a groan.
"Why can't I be thin?"
"Because then you wouldn't have these sexy curves."
Rachel jumped when she felt Vince's hands on her hips. She hadn't heard him come in.
"Yeah, right."
"Yeah," he said, giving her hips a squeeze. "Right."
"I'd have hips if I were thinner, you know."
"Not these hips. These are the world's sexiest, most perfect hips."
Yeah, right. Rachel bit back the words. No point in arguing. She'd just be happy he thought so. And try not to let herself notice whether he looked at other, thinner hips while they were out.
Rachel hadn't ever been thin, and now at thirty, she was an hourglass. The bra under her dress was a 38D. Her hips were the same, 38 inches. She put her hands on her waist. At least it was still nipped in.
She settled into the front seat of the car and waited for her husband to walk around and get behind the wheel. After ten years together, he still made her heart beat fast. Part of her insecurity came from the attention he got from younger women. Women with slender hips.
Vince pulled into a parking spot at Rachel's favorite restaurant, and she smiled up at him. He was good to her. Good for her. God, she loved him. I'll have a salad tonight, she thought. Just a salad. My diet starts...now.
When they got inside though, Rachel had to use the ladies' room and Vince changed her plans. When she got back, she found that he'd ordered her a steak. And wine. Red wine, her favorite, a whole bottle on the table.
It was just her luck that they were seated directly across from a table of beautiful women, ten years younger and thirty pounds lighter than her. One, a redhead, looked at Vince ... tall, dark, muscular ... and then at Rachel, then whispered to her friend.
What a heifer, Rachel imagined she'd said. What's she doing with a hottie like that?
Her hottie wasn't looking at them, though. He was looking at her. He'd pushed his chair around so that he was right next to her, his leg pressed up against hers. They had such an easy relationship, best friends. They laughed and talked, and Rachel forgot about the redhead.
She ate her steak, deciding that with food this good, she'd start her diet in the morning. She watched Vince eat his. Gorgeous, Rachel thought as she poured her third glass of wine. Stunning, really. Beautiful. A strong jaw, dimples, a wide mouth and bright blue eyes. His black hair fell across his forehead and Rachel reached up to brush it back. He'd been touching her since they came in the restaurant. His leg against hers, his hand on her knee under the tablecloth. Nothing overtly sexual, just keeping the connection.
That was when Monica walked in. Tiny, perfect, Monica. A blonde pixie with perfectly pert tits and a tiny little round bottom. She walked in, looked around, and lit up when her eyes landed on Vince. She didn't even glance to Rachel.
Vince must have felt her leg tighten. He put his hand on her thigh, under her dress...well above her knee...and squeezed. He leaned over and whispered, "You're the most beautiful woman here," just as Monica sat at their table.
"I'm waiting on Jim. He's late. Of course." She spoke to Vince, as though Rachel wasn't at the table. Rachel poured herself another glass of wine, her head was pleasantly foggy now.
"Jim is never on time. Not like you, Vince."
Rachel watched the perfectly manicured, delicate hand flit over Vince's. The woman held hands with Rachel's husband, right in front of her. Rachel looked up at him, and then relaxed when she saw that he was looking at her. As though Monica's hand was nothing more than a fly. Monica droned on, buzzing about how maybe Vince could come over and help her hang some pictures that she couldn't get Jim to pitch in with. She upped the flirting level to the point that Rachel would have been angry. Or at least embarrassed.
