Free Just My Type by Erin Nicholas Page A

masked, colored, trimmed, massaged and generally pampered, her headache was gone—as were her natural curls. She’d let the woman straighten her hair, cut two inches off the length and color the light natural blond with chestnut streaks. It was time for a change, time for everyone outside of her to realize she was serious about being a new woman, so maybe 46
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    Just My Type
    they needed to see the outside of her differently. She was even able to ignore the slight stinging of her new tattoo.
    She walked right past Mac, turning to watch him stalk toward the front doors of the spa with barely a glance in her direction. Amused, she watched him enter the spa and leaned back against the warm stone wall of the building to wait for him.
    Less than two minutes later, he was on the sidewalk glancing in each direction with a deep frown.
    “You come here often?” she said, in a false, husky voice.
    He turned toward her voice and then stopped. “What happened to you?” She propped a hand on her hip. She knew she looked good. She also smelled good. She’d asked about the local shop that made their own soaps and one of the girls had offered to run over and get Sara whatever she wanted. Upon their recommendation, she now owned, and smelled like, a tangy pineapple-and-mint combination. Which Mac would like if he got close enough to catch a whiff.
    “I shopped and got my hair cut.”
    He looked from her to the front of the spa, which was quite obviously geared toward the tourists with some money to spend, then back to her. “That takes two hours and fourteen minutes?”
    “You were timing me?”
    “I snorkeled for an hour. Then waited. And waited.”
    “You said four o’clock.”
    “I’m hungry.”
    “So go eat something.”
    He shrugged and, if she wasn’t mistaken—which she surely was—looked a little sheepish.
    “Figured you needed to eat too.”
    “They served me fruit and rum while I was getting my pedicure.” Instead of admiring her toes he looked at her with a frown. “Rum?” She laughed. “It’s a local staple, Mac, they had to at least offer. I did turn it down. I ate the fruit, though.”
    “Yeah, this looks like an authentic island hangout,” he said sarcastically. “It was probably here when Columbus landed.”
    “Well, whatever, it’s not your job to make sure I eat. I’m perfectly capable of knowing when I’m hungry.” She pushed away from the wall. She wanted him ogling her in her sundress and complimenting her hair and wanting to kiss her as badly as she wanted to kiss him, not being, well, how he was being.
    “Fruit is a side dish,” he said, falling into step beside her. “You have to eat more than that.”
    “Such as?”
    “A burger, a steak, chicken,” he said.
    She shrugged. “I don’t eat a lot of meat.”

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    47

    Erin Nicholas
    He sighed. “I know. You’re damn picky.”
    “It’s not picky, it’s…” She thought about the fact that a lot of food either didn’t appeal to her or upset her stomach. She didn’t eat anything too spicy, too greasy, too heavy, too sweet… “Okay, maybe I’m picky.”
    Jessica had raised Sara since she was twelve and their father had died. She’d read probably twenty parenting books and had taken the healthy eating and nutrition stuff to heart, since it was something she could control—unlike the nightmares that plagued Sara at least four nights a week for the first eight months.
    Sara hadn’t had soda, candy bars, potato chips or any other junk food. She hadn’t even tasted a Cheeto until she was twenty. She ate pizza on occasion and liked ice cream, but she simply hadn’t developed a taste for snack foods. She wasn’t all that crazy about eating, period. She ate because she got hungry, but rarely had a craving and didn’t know of a food she couldn’t live without.
    “This is the Caribbean. The fish here has to be phenomenal,” Mac suggested as they walked.
    She didn’t