“I’ve noticed you checking her body out in the mirror,” Mable grumbled, “I bet you’re more in love with your new tits than you are with me.”
Peter shook his head, trying to keep a serious face, “Mable. I’m not checking her out.”
“Uh huh,” Mable snorted, “She has a nice ass, doesn’t she?”
She was testing him.
Peter hesitated, knowing he was walking a fine line. He sat down next to Mable.
“I’ve seen you staring at her tits, Peter,” she stared daggers through him, her voice tinged with accusation.
She was relentless.
He tried to put his arm around her shoulder, but she turned away, “Don’t touch me.”
“What’s going on? You were fine with …this before! Why are you suddenly mad?” Peter asked, baffled by her sudden change in attitude.
Mable glared at him, “Fine? I’m not fine, Peter. My husband is in another woman’s body and all you can do is stare at her boobs!”
“Listen,” Peter said, trying to sound sincere, “I don’t want any of this. I want to be back to normal just as much as you do.”
Mable didn’t look convinced
“Okay,” he admitted, “How am I supposed to avoid …looking at …myself?!”
“I know you, Peter. You are NOT looking at yourself in that way. Be honest,” Mable said, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade, “Do you like it? Do you think she’s sexy, Peter? Do you think she’s more beautiful than me?”
Peter gulped. He had, in fact, been checking her out.
Peter let out a breath of defeat, “She’s young and pretty, but she’s not you, Mable.”
“Right,” Mable said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
He felt exasperated, “Seriously! I’m not enjoying this as much as you think.”
“Fuck you,” Mable-in-Tom stormed back into the house.
Peter sat there, stunned and feeling like an asshole. He had no idea how to make this better. It seemed that no matter what he said, Mable didn’t believe him.
Did he even believe himself?
He stared at the back door of the house, feeling anger simmer in his gut. She was being unfair, wasn’t she? He hadn’t asked for any of this. It wasn’t like he’d planned on waking up in Isabelle’s body, and yet here he was, being accused of something he didn’t even know how to control. He hated that they were fighting when they should be figuring out how to fix this mess.
If she was abandoning him like this, then he was going to have his revenge.
He looked at himself in the reflection of the window, really letting his eyes take in Isabelle’s body without guilt. Isabelle’s body stared back, with her breasts straining against her white t-shirt. Mable was right about one thing—Isabelle did have a nice ass.
Peter turned sideways, arching his back slightly. His new curves were outrageous in her tight blue jeans. If Mable thought he would just sit there and mope, she had another thing coming.
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