A rollicking and poignant romantic comedy about a young widow who decides to get in shape...and winds up getting her groove back—and a whole lot more!
Holly Brennan used food to comfort herself through her husband’s illness and death. Now she’s alone at age thirty-two. And she weighs more than she ever has. When fate throws her in the path of Logan Montgomery, personal trainer to pro athletes, and he offers to train her, Holly concludes it must be a sign. Much as she dreads the thought of working out, Holly knows she needs to put on her big girl panties and see if she can sweat out some of her grief.
Soon, the easy intimacy and playful banter of their training sessions lead Logan and Holly to most intense and steamy workouts. But can Holly and Logan go the distance as a couple now that she’s met her goals—and other men are noticing?
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About the Author
Stephanie Evanovich began writing fiction while waiting for her cues during countless community theater projects. Now a full-time writer, she’s an avid sports fan who holds a black belt in tae kwon do.
Read an Excerpt
Big Girl Panties
By Stephanie Evanovich
HarperCollins PublishersCopyright © 2013 Stephanie Evanovich
All rights reserved.
I'm sorry, Mr. Montgomery,” the pretty employee behind the
counter said apologetically, “but for the next flight out, it's the best
I can offer.”
Logan Montgomery rarely hated anything, but flying coach was
an exception. He thought he had left those days behind long ago.
Even with two seats side by side, there was never enough room. He
could've waited until the middle of the night and flown first class,
but Logan chose to get home sooner. Not only was he ready for a
night in his own bed, he simply had too much to do on the other
end of his flight.
Logan was booked solid for the next three days, thanks to the
shuffling he had to do to accommodate this trip. Football season
was gearing up, basketball was winding down, and baseball was
in full swing, and if it had been anyone but Chase Walker who'd
asked him to fly from New York to Toronto on the spur of the mo-
ment, he would've begged off.
Chase was first baseman for the New York Kings, and while the
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Kings had extremely qualified trainers on staff, Chase wouldn't
settle for anyone but Logan. And, what an overpaid baseball player
and best friend wants, he gets. Logan had stretched Chase out for
two days and then worked him out earlier that morning, and the
Golden Boy was ready to go. Logan really couldn't complain. The
cost for such spontaneous, unparalleled ser vices was premium;
the money was already in Logan's account.
Logan slid into his seat, long legs wedging up against the seat
in front of him. He tried in vain to sit up straighter, attempting to
somehow create more room, then took a deep breath. He closed
his eyes, filtering out the external noise, the passengers filing in
around him, their accompanying scuffles with the overhead com-
partments. A toddler fussed, refusing to sit down, insisting on re-
maining in her mother's lap. Logan exhaled a silent Zen mantra of
gratitude for his window seat and relatively short flight. Satisfied
that mind had overcome matter, Logan clicked his seat belt into
place. That's when he looked up and saw her.
Oh, please don't let her sit next to me, he silently begged, watch-
ing her make her way down the aisle, her thick thighs rubbing to-
gether and her ample hips bumping into seats as she passed them.
Her auburn hair was disheveled in ten different directions. She
counted the rows and stopped right in front of Logan, giving him a
quick glance. Why do I always get the old lady, the drunk guy, or the fat
chick? Logan thought. God, I hate coach. His mantra transformed
quickly into moping.
Perfect, Holly thought, withholding the maniacal laughter she
knew would have the flight crew calling for security. It wasn't
enough that she hated to fly. It wasn't even enough that she had to
give up her original same- day flight and stay in Toronto overnight
after what felt like twelve rounds with the Mike Tyson of corporate
Big Girl Panties
raiders. She even managed to maintain her sanity after mistaking
the hotel's tiny bottle of body wash for shampoo and lathering her
already overgrown hair into an unmanageable, flowery- smelling
mop. Blow- drying only made it worse. She couldn't even find a
rubber band to pull it back with. The waistband of her pants felt
like a tourniquet due to the weight she'd gained in recent months.
She could feel her bra strap cutting painfully into her right shoul-
der. And now she had to spend the next two hours squishing
Holly could almost feel his disgust toward her radiating out of
him, as if the irritated expression on his handsome face wasn't
enough of an indicator. Another round of her pissing someone
off just by showing up. She gritted her teeth and stuffed a large,
brown, worn- out- looking satchel under the seat in front of her
and ran her fingers hurriedly through the rat's nest on her head
before sitting in it. In an effort to create some extra room for her-
self, she moved the armrest up. Trying to appear casual, she took a
deep breath, sucked in her stomach as best she could, and buckled
At least she doesn't need the seat belt extension, Logan mused. He
was a little afraid to inhale, recalling a fat woman he sat next to
some years ago who smelled of hard- boiled eggs and rotten cheese.
Tentatively, he drew in a breath. She smelled like baby powder and
lavender, distinctly lavender. He relaxed a bit, giving a small nod
in her direction.
He couldn't help but notice how white her knuckles got on
takeoff. Her fists were clenched so tight against the seat. Curi-
ously, she showed no other outward signs of fright. At least she
didn't start wailing or get the vapors or do absurd tricks to take
her to her “happy place.” But with a second glance, Logan realized
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she wasn't just gripping her armrest. She wasn't moving. At all. He
took a quick look at her face to make sure she wasn't turning blue.
She was staring straight ahead, eyes wide open, fixated on some
focal point in the front of the aircraft.
“Breathe, girl,” Logan found himself saying.
Holly blinked once, her face pale, and tried to inhale, which to
Logan sounded more like a gasp. “I'm not so good at takeoff,” she
responded on an exhaled whoosh of air.
“You're doing fine,” he told her confidently, and opened a mag-
Thanks, Superman, she thought, feeling the plane start to level
off. Easy for you to say. I'll bet you can actually fly and are just on vaca-
Once they were safely in the air and Holly's panic passed, she
noticed how perfectly groomed he was. He probably got a hair-
cut every four weeks without
Excerpted from Big Girl Panties by Stephanie Evanovich. Copyright © 2013 Stephanie Evanovich. Excerpted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
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