Page 3 of Big D!ck Energy

“Challenge accepted, sweetheart,” he winked, before striding away to toast his friend, high-fiving fans who recognized him.

I downed the rest of my champagne in one gulp. This wedding was going to be a disaster. And not the fun kind they script for Wrestle Jam.

CHAPTER 1

THE BREADSTICK OF SHAME

DAVINA

One Year Later…

I had been staring at the same breadstick for twenty-three minutes.

I knew exactly how many minutes it had been because I checked my phone approximately seven hundred times, and each glance confirmed two equally soul-crushing facts: Landon from Lovable was not coming, and this breadstick was silently judging me.

“More water, miss?” Antonio appeared beside my table, water pitcher in hand.

“I'm fine, thanks.” I flashed him my boardroom smile. “He's stuck in traffic.”

Antonio nodded. “Ah, yes, Saturday evening traffic is very... unpredictable.”

He wasn't even pretending to believe me, and I respected that.

I took a vindictive bite of the breadstick. If I was going down, I was taking it with me.

Twenty-seven minutes.

I refreshed my messages for the eight hundredth time. Nothing. Landon's last text, sent at 6:47 PM: Almost there! Can't wait to meet you!

That emoji was mocking me.

Here was the thing: I was good at literally everything else in my life. I was a retired plus-size model who now ran a successful company. I was the co-host of a very successful and popular podcast. I've traveled the world.

But dating? Dating was where Davina Lawson went to die.

Thirty minutes.

The couple at the table next to me were feeding each other pasta and giggling. She was petite and blonde and wearing a dress that required double-sided tape to stay on.

I looked down at my red body con dress with slit sleeves and rhinestones around the cuffs, that hugged all my curves. The one I was apparently wearing for an intimate evening with breadsticks and my own crushing inadequacy.

And then…because the universe had clearly decided I hadn't suffered enough… I spotted him.

Dallas Dodger.

Sitting at a corner booth across the restaurant like some kind of Greek god. His hair was down tonight, falling past his shoulders in waves. He was wearing a black Henley that clung to muscles I refused to acknowledge, and he was leaning across the table toward a brunette who looked like she'd recently graduated from... high school.

She laughed at something he said, flipping her long straight hair in a way that made me want to throw my breadstick at both of them.

Of course, he was here on the night I got stood up. I’d seen him a few times since Brooke and Matt's engagement party a year ago, and every encounter went the same.

The man was insufferable and annoyingly, impossibly good-looking, which only made him more insufferable.

His date excused herself to the bathroom, probably, and I watched Dallas check his phone.

“Miss?” Antonio was back, and this time his pity had evolved into genuine concern. “Perhaps I could bring you some wine? On the house?”

And there it was. Free wine. The international symbol for 'we feel bad for you.'