Beth Michele - Scarred Beautiful

I open the door just as she’s about to knock, and the dazzling grin on her face gives me a boost of confidence.

“Wow!” she says excitedly, eyeing me from top to bottom and nodding in approval.

“Thanks. You look hot, too.” I giggle as we link arms, a genuine smile encompassing my face. I feel like the old Fran, and it feels good.

As I jerk my wallet from the back pocket of my jeans, I hear laughter in the distance. It momentarily distracts me, but I resume my focus on the bar and try to get the bartender’s attention. It’s hard to admit that Caleb’s right, but I’m a bit wound up and definitely need to relax. I thought that selling the company a few years ago would ease some of the tension I feel. Instead, it’s done nothing but increase it.

I already know the exact moment the switch flipped, the final straw that had me deciding to sell the firm and slow my life down—right after Brad got beaten up and I came pretty close to losing him, too.

He was on his way to Gabby’s apartment after leaving the gourmet coffee shop he owns in Manhattan when he was jumped from behind, sustaining a serious head injury that left him unconscious for several days. At the time, the doctors were unsure whether he would pull through. I remember the crushing feeling that overwhelmed me, the desperate prayers and pleas as I bargained with the universe for his life. It had been hard watching Mom and Clara battle breast cancer, but the aftermath of Brad’s assault almost put me over the edge. My chest floods with relief and gratitude that he survived…even though he’s the only one who did.

I shake it off and hope I can drown my sorrows for just a little while. “Hey, Caleb, what do you want to drink? Your usual?” I ask, and when I don’t get a response, I flick his shoulder. “What do you want to drink?”

“Huh?” he replies, as if in a trance, his eyes focused on something or someone at the end of the bar.

I step around him to see what’s caught his eye and notice two women deep in conversation and laughter. “Do you know them or some—” Just as I’m about to finish my sentence, the one with long, dark hair throws her head back on a laugh and I’m frozen in time. I know that face. “Holy shit,” I mutter, not realizing I said it a little stronger than I’d intended. I squint, trying to get a better look to make sure I’m not seeing things. I’m definitely not seeing things. “Holy shit!” I say again, but this time much louder, before I start walking in their direction.

Caleb’s voice calls out from behind me but I keep walking. I shove one hand in my pocket, running the other one through my hair a couple of times as I get closer. Once those emerald eyes come into focus, I immediately know there’s no mistaking her. How could there be? She’s fucking gorgeous.

I clear my throat to get her attention just before I speak her name. “Fran?”

She looks over at me and her eyes widen in disbelief, while a slow smile creeps across her lips. “Matt?”

“The one and only,” I reply, grinning, unsure as to why I’m suddenly so excited. Women don’t typically have that effect on me.

“Holy shit,” she says, mimicking my reaction, laughter bubbling up from her throat as she drops her head, her dark hair a curtain around her face. But she doesn’t stop laughing and it’s kind of ticking me off, my jaw working its way back and forth. I can’t figure out what’s so funny. Maybe she’s drunk. I’m about to say something when I hear Caleb’s voice and turn around just as he clasps my shoulder.

His brow furrows as he looks from me to Fran and back again. “What’s going on? You guys know each other?”

Fran continues to laugh which causes her friend to start laughing too, leaving me completely at a loss and Caleb very much in the dark.

“Okay, is someone gonna tell me what the hell’s going on?” he asks, while eying Fran’s friend who is without a doubt very attractive as well, with her caramel-colored waves and her cleavage peeking through the top of her black dress.

Fran finally manages to get a hold of herself, clutching her belly to try to suppress the laughter. She waves her hand in my direction. “Peyton Vinsant, meet Matt Dixon, Brad’s brother. Matt, this is Peyton, my roommate and really good friend.”

Peyton’s eyes pop open as she slowly appraises me, starting from the bottom and working her way up. “Brad’s brother?” she asks, arching one of her brows and licking her lips like a cat on the prowl.

“Yes,” I reply, unable to take my eyes off of Fran. She’s just as stunning as I remember, even though I only saw her for a short time while Brad was in the hospital. I’ve been back to New York several times since then, but somehow never ran into her. She’s unforgettable, though: the yellow flecks against the bright green backdrop of her eyes, her hair like black silk, not to mention the woman has curves. Jesus does she ever.

Caleb coughs loudly and I realize he’s waiting for an introduction.

“Oh, sorry. Caleb, this is Fran Heller, Brad’s fiancée Gabby’s best friend, and Peyton of course. Ladies, this is Caleb Brody.” I smack him on the chest. “My oldest friend.”

Caleb reaches for Fran’s hand first, kissing the back of it like the gentleman that he isn’t, and then moves on to do the same with Peyton. “Nice to meet you two lovely ladies. Can we buy you drinks?”

“Sure,” Peyton replies, and Caleb takes the opportunity to sidle up next to her at the bar while Fran and I continue staring at one another.

“What are the chances?” she murmurs quietly, shaking her head and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I know, right?” I’m trying to think of something witty to say, but failing miserably. I barely know her and I’m already off balance. It makes me uncomfortable so I cross my arms over my chest to protect myself…from what I have no idea.

Caleb hands us each a drink, then goes back to his conversation with Peyton. I look to Fran who almost seems as unsure as I am about what to do next.

“You want to sit?” I ask her, motioning with my hand to a table by the window. The view is pretty amazing, so if we can’t find anything to say we can always just stare out at the lights of the city.

“Sure,” she responds, and I let her go ahead of me, still shaking my head at the bizarre nature of this situation and at the same time catching a quick glimpse of her ass.

We take a seat at the table, both of us still reeling from the strangeness of it all. Fran twirls a strand of her hair around her finger absentmindedly, while I take a sip of my drink, eyeing her over the rim of my glass.

“So, Fran,” I say, placing my drink on the table and settling back in the chair.

“So, Matt,” she follows, continuing the lazy twirl of her locks.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her, lacing my hands behind my head and shifting my feet under the table.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replies, raising a brow and smiling mischievously.

“I’m here for the conference. It’s my company who sponsored it.” I lean forward and grab a couple of peanuts from the bowl as I wait for her response.

“No shit?” she comes back with, and for some reason it makes me chuckle. She’s got quite the mouth on her, and I let my eyes drift to it momentarily.

She catches my gaze and grins at me, resting her elbow on the table and her head in the palm of her hand. Her tongue sneaks out to drag across her bottom lip. “Something appeal to you?”

Well, she’s either drunk or very forward. Not really my style either way. I’ve had my share of drunken women and I can’t stand women that are overtly flirtatious like they’re trying too hard. She’s gotta be plastered, because to look at her, you wouldn’t think she’d have to try hard at all.

“No, not particularly,” I reply with an abrupt smile, scraping my hands down the front of my jeans, not knowing why the hell I’m reacting to her this way.

“Geez, kill me with kindness, why don’t you?” She smirks. “So I guess it’s safe to say you’re not as sweet as your brother.” Her laughter rings out, and I can’t tell whether she’s serious or not but I’m immediately taken aback. She doesn’t even know me.

I narrow my eyes, my lips forming a hard line. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

She flicks the ice in her glass with her finger before looking back at me, assessing me a little too heavily for my liking. “You seem…uptight. Like you need to dislodge the stick that’s up your ass.” She lets out a hearty, and I think, drunken laugh. “I’d give you some help with that, but it’s not my thing.”

What the fuck? Fran’s got some nerve. The girl has barely spoken to me and already she’s pissing me off. Maybe because there’s a ring of truth to her words. I didn’t realize I was that transparent.

I smirk and sit up straighter, rolling my shoulders to ease the discomfort there. Suddenly I’m very curious what her thing is. “First, you imply that I’m not sweet, and now I have a stick up my ass? Boy,” I chuckle, before adding, “you’re a real ego booster. Remind me to hang out with you more often.”

I’m sitting across from Matt, slightly buzzed and amused all at once. I think I’m getting under his skin and I like the feeling. I wouldn’t mind getting under him, period. Gabby would probably scream at me if she knew I was lusting after Brad’s brother in just the ten minutes since we’ve been in each other’s company. He’s definitely not sore on the eyes, though, and more ruggedly handsome than I remember: sandy brown, shaggy hair that falls over eyes the color of sea glass, a chiseled jaw with just a hint of stubble, that adorable dimple on his right cheek, and the subtle curve of his lips. Not to mention the way those jeans hug his slim waist and that black t-shirt clings to the defined muscles of his chest—I have to stop myself. That would be wrong, right? He’s Brad’s brother.