Read Skin (McCullough Mountain 2) for Free Online Page A

even
get her purse.
    “Plates?”
    Mallory handed him two plates and a stack of
napkins. He carried the steaming box to the coffee table and
flipped back the lid. Sweet mother of cheese!
    “Stop eye-fucking the pie and grab a plate,”
he said, tearing off a stringy triangle.
    She sat down and mumbled, “I wasn’t
eye-fucking…”
    He laughed and dropped a greasy slice onto
her plate. She eyed the slice, knowing just one bite could be her
downfall. Finnegan inhaled his first piece and tore off a
second.
    “You gonna eat, Philly?”
    Hesitantly, she lifted the floppy slice,
heavy with hot grease and cheese, and bit the tip. She moaned
almost sexually as the warm tomato sauce and firm crust melted in
her mouth and he laughed.
    She didn’t just eat that pizza, she savored
it, eyes closed, senses devouring everything down to the warm
flavor on her tongue and the weight of the crust in her hand. It
quite possibly could have been a sexual experience, handled with
such reverent tenderness and hedonistic gratitude.
    Her eyes flew open when her plate grew
heavy. Finnegan tossed another slice on her plate and ripped off
his third. Only a quarter of the pie remained in the box.
    “What are you doing?” she asked.
    He shoveled a good four inches of folded pie
in his mouth and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” he asked
over a mouthful.
    She placed her plate on the wax paper in the
box and closed the lid. “I can’t have anymore.”
    His brow lowered as he slowly chewed and
studied her for a long moment. Once he swallowed, his Adam’s apple
making a slow bob, he put his plate on the table and turned to face
her with his arm resting carelessly over the back of the couch, his
knee brushing her leg.
    “What?” she asked, jerking her gaze to the
floor.
    “Why do girls diet?”
    “Because being healthy is important.”
    His lips pressed tight. “Yeah, but you are
healthy. You run every day, your fridge is filled with rabbit food
and bug-gurt, when’s enough, enough?”
    It’ll never be enough. “I need to
lose thirty pounds.” At least.
    “Who says?”
    “My doctor.”
    “Why though? You’re not fat.”
    She winced at his blunt use of the F-word.
“Finnegan, there is an extreme difference between me and other
girls. Don’t act like you don’t see it.”
    When his focused gaze ran over her body,
pausing at every bulge and curve, she’d wished she could retract
the accusation. “But you don’t look bad.”
    “Thanks,” she mumbled, her ears heating
under his scrutiny.
    “What happens when you lose thirty pounds?
Do you eat like a normal person and stop running?” His tone was
baiting.
    “No. It’s a lifestyle choice, not a
diet.”
    He was quiet for a long moment and she
fidgeted under his inspection. When he spoke his voice was gentle,
as though she were something fragile that could break. “Who was
mean to you, Philly?”
    Her head snapped up. “What? No one.” Liar.
    He eyed her skeptically. Faces from her past
flitted through her mind. Taunting whispers of skinny cliques
sniggering behind her back but within earshot. The dress rehearsal
during high school when her costume barely covered her butt and she
pretended to have Mono the entire week of the play so she didn’t
have to wear it. The uncountable guys in college who were offended
she’d even think she had a right to bat her eyes in their
direction. The way her aunts made comments about how she had such a
great personality in comparison to her sister’s beauty. The night
she was lectured for ordering beer at a take out pub because the
bartender assumed she was a pregnant. So many terrible memories,
each one a sharp blade slicing through her pride, made it
impossible to answer.
    “How much have you lost so far?” he asked.
She blinked, considering his question.
    Why was he so curious? She had no tears on
the subject of her weight. Tears didn’t count for calories shed so
why bother? “Fourteen.”
    “So you have sixteen to