Beth Michele - Scarred Beautiful

He must sense me staring because he smirks even after I’ve insulted him. He’s kind of an open book, though. His clothes may be relaxed but his body language screams uptight, and I bet he’s a workaholic, too.

“So have you talked to your brother lately?” I ask him, trying to distract myself from my indecent line of thought.

“Oh, you mean, my sweet brother?” he taunts, raising a brow and throwing my words back in my face.

“Yeah, that one.”

His lips flip at the edges and he shakes his head as if he can’t believe I would think he’s uptight. “I just talked to him yesterday, in fact. He’s doing well, and he’s consumed with Gabby and their wedding plans. She makes him really happy and I’m glad. My little brother deserves it.”

I see the admiration and genuine love in his eyes when he talks about Brad. It mirrors exactly the way I feel about Gabby. After her fiancée died, I wasn’t sure she’d ever open up again, so finding Brad was truly a miracle.

“They both deserve it,” I say, drawing invisible doodles on my napkin. “Gabby finally has her fairytale ending.” My voice lowers and my smile fades at the thought of what lies ahead for me.

“What about you?” he asks, scrutinizing me under his thick, full lashes. “What’s your fairytale ending?”

I thought I had it. I finally accepted that maybe I deserved happiness after all, reaching my hand out to a future that was so close I could feel it, I could taste it, and just when I grabbed hold of it, Kyle was wrenched away from me. My throat begins to close up, only a few words leak out accompanied by a laugh that’s filled with sadness. “There’s no fairytale for me. It’s not in the cards.”

He cocks his head to the side, his expression shifting to one of concern mixed with maybe a bit of curiosity. I don’t know what possessed me to say that to him, it’s not something that should’ve slipped out. It’s none of his business. “Why is that, Fran?”

Luckily, Peyton and Caleb show up at the table just in time, saving me from having to respond to Matt’s question because there is no simple answer.

When I look up, Caleb is holding a tray of shot glasses. Peyton’s face is flushed pink and she can’t take her eyes off of him.

“Let’s get trashed!” Caleb shouts over the music now booming from the speakers around the bar. He takes a seat and immediately pulls Peyton next to him, playfully bumping his shoulder against hers. Her eyes make their way to mine and she winks, letting me know this night is about to get interesting.

“What is it?” Matt asks, picking up one of the shot glasses and swirling the liquid around.

“It’s tequila,” Caleb replies, passing one out to me and then to Peyton. “Ready, on a count of three—”

Matt holds up his hand. “You know I’m not a fan.” He places the shot glass down on the table and pushes it away.

I look over at him and smile, sliding it back in his direction. “Matt…remember the stick? Remove it, and live a little. You can always put it back in later.”

His lips turn up in a lopsided grin, forcing his dimple out and, for a brief moment, making me weak in the knees…and I’m sitting down. He picks up the shot glass and clinks it against mine. “Cheers.”

We down the tequila, followed by two more, and suddenly my body is heated and my head is swimming. I’m glad tomorrow’s Sunday because there’s no way I won’t wake up with a hangover.

I can see Matt staring at me from the corner of my eye before he gets up from the table. A minute later he returns with a large glass of ice water and passes it to me, his fingers skimming mine for the briefest of moments, and I can’t deny the quickening of my pulse or the desire building between my legs. I haven’t been with anyone in over eight months, since my last attempt to forget Kyle, which ended in complete disaster. Right when we were in the heat of the moment and he was about to enter me, I rolled over and asked him to leave. It wasn’t working. He wasn’t making me forget and that’s all I wanted him for.

“Drink,” he commands, continuing to watch as I gulp down the entire glass. A shiver rolls through me, the blast of cold a shock to my system.

“A bit demanding, aren’t you?” I tilt my head and let my eyes flirt lazily with his body, while other parts of me are more than curious just how demanding he might be.

Caleb and Peyton are whispering to one another, her fingers toying with the dark hair around his ear, and I already know where that’s leading so I decide I’m going to call it a night.

“All right lovebirds,” I slur, and notice Peyton giving me the death glare, “I’m heading up to bed.”

Matt stands up and kicks his chair back, the scraping noise jarring my drunken state. “I’ll walk you.”

Shit.

I say goodbye to Caleb and give Peyton a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you in the morning…after you’ve slept in,” I whisper, and feel a pang of jealousy hit my alcohol-ridden gut, wishing that I didn’t have so much baggage dragging me down, pulling me under and making it impossible for me to breathe.

Matt places his hand on my lower back and ushers me through the bar and out to the bank of elevators. If I was the old Fran, I’d have jumped Matt’s bones the minute I saw him…not that I’m not still thinking about it. He just can’t know that I’m thinking about it.

We step into the elevator, neither of us saying anything, but as the car ascends I can feel Matt’s stare boring a hole through my dress. I look up to meet his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says with a smirk and a shrug of his shoulders, “it’s just that you’re freaking cute…that’s all.”

I put my hands on my hips, my eyebrows crinkling, attempting to appear offended and not tip over at the same time. “I’m not having sex with you, Matt, so just forget it.” Even though I really want to.

Before I can even blink, Matt is standing in front of me. He places his hands on either side of my head and leans in, his scent filling the space around me, masculine yet sweet, intoxicating. His soft lips brush the shell of my ear, his breath a warm dusting across my cheek. “Did I say anything about wanting to have sex with you, Fran? Because if I wanted to be inside that hot little body of yours, you’d know it.”

My throat goes dry, his words turning me on. I drop my gaze to his mouth, close my eyes and inhale a deep breath through my nose, attempting to control my raging hormones. When I open them, he’s smiling down at me.

“Well, I’m glad we got that straightened out,” I croak, just in time for the elevator doors to open.

Fuck she’s hot. I can feel her uneven breaths against my lips as her chest rises and falls after hearing my words. Those eyes, like green panes of stained glass. That plump bottom lip, I’d love to take between my teeth. And she smells good, like jasmine and lavender.

I’m not sure what possessed me to say that to her. I know nothing about her. She’s like a little spark though. She lit me up tonight with her smart, sexy mouth, and now she’s got me thinking thoughts I haven’t in a long time, stirring something deep inside of me that’s been asleep. Like how I want to take her right here, make her scream my name while she comes apart beneath me.

The elevator doors open and she ducks down and sneaks underneath my arm to make her way out.

“Goodnight, Matt.”

I hold the doors open and watch her walk down the hall, taking one last look over her shoulder before she turns the corner to her room, leaving me with only one thought.

When do I get to see her again?

Shit. I’m fucked.

I slip the keycard into the door as quickly as I can, my hands somewhat shaky, my feet aching from the high heels I desperately need to remove. The moment I’m inside, I sag back against the door and slide down to the carpet, immediately taking off my shoes and tossing them aside. The guy went from tight-ass to hot-as-hell quicker than it takes a Ferrari to pick up speed. Maybe he’s bipolar.

I’m breathing heavy and I know it’s not from the alcohol or from any form of physical exertion, although I wish it was—shit. What possessed me to say that to Matt in the elevator? Gee, Fran, I don’t know, maybe the fact that all you could think about as he was sitting across the table from you was having sex with him.

With a frustrated sigh, I push myself up off the floor and strip down to my bra and panties. I pad to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face, trying to put out the flame that’s been ignited deep in my belly. There’s a part of me that wishes I could knock on the door to Matt’s room and just tell him what I want, but I know I’ll only regret it in the morning. It’s a temporary fix. It won’t fill the void in my heart, the crack that’s irreparable.

As I’m lying in bed, my hand lowers to my belly, touching the scars inked on my skin like a tattoo, the permanent reminder of the past that I’ll never escape. I remember sitting in school wishing I could just erase my father, take one of those No. 2 pencils and make him disappear, drawing a new dad in his place. The kind of dad who sits and reads you bedtime stories and seeks you out for a tackle hug when he comes home from work…a dad who doesn’t have a twisted fondness for a paring knife.

A knock on the door yanks me from that horrible place and when I glance at the clock on the side table, it reads 1:00 a.m. I can’t imagine who that could be at this hour. Even though I wasn’t sleeping, I let out an annoyed breath then look around for something to cover my skimpy tank and panties, when I spy one of those fluffy hotel robes hanging on the bathroom door. It might just end up in my suitcase. I wrap it around me and belt it, taking a second to revel in its softness before tiptoeing over to the door as if someone can actually hear me from behind it.