Other Side of Beautiful (A Beautifully Disturbed #1) (13 page)

Chapter 23

Ben

“This is becoming habit.” She’s waiting for me by the couches in the main common of the social science building. Her beautiful smile reaches me eons before her hug. A sweet hug on her part, a greedy one on mine. The kind where I pull her taut against my chest. The kind where I’m able to bury my nose against the peaches and cream skin of her neck. “I’m so sorry,” I say. She looks shocked or confused, so I clarify. “Collin texted me.”

“Oh, of course he did.”

“Are you angry?”

She shoves me, my shoulder. “Be serious. He’s your best friend. I guess…I guess I got a little rattled.” Her shoulders slump. She’s pulling away.
Oh, Brontë, you are more than a little rattled.
Dealing with more than just a run in with some old hookup. More than the confrontation with Kelly or the phone call from Cricket. There’s one part of me that wants to grab her by the arms and shake her, shake some sense into that brain of hers. Then there’s another part that wants to demand she knock off the bullshit and really let me in. I need her to tell me where all this stems from. Why is she still so guarded?

But I won’t do either of those, because either one would be like signing the death certificate on our relationship. What I do, do—wait. For her to be ready to tell me something. Anything. I don’t move and neither does she.
Please, Brontë. Please do this
. I will her to make a move to speak some truth for me to hold onto. Something to prove we’re going in the same direction. And I don’t know if it’s the willing or if it’s her, but she opens her mouth and real honesty flows.

“You know, this is going to scare you off.” Her voice trembles enough for the both of us this time. Maybe I don’t want the truth after all. When I search her face, the furthest I get is those eyes. Deep. Soulful. Guarded. It’s that damn light bulb moment. The one that screams I don’t give a fuck what she has to say. Whatever it is, we’ll deal, together.

And it’s clear she doesn’t expect me, holding her closer instead of pushing her away. We dance. Standing in the middle of the common, I press down against her hips to get her to move, swaying. Swaying without music. Her head moves to rest against my chest. Swaying.

“I’m kind of a lost cause,” she finally continues. I don’t think I’ve heard anything more heartbreaking. My heart is breaking. If I listen closely, I can hear the shattering of hearts all over campus, Michigan, North America—however far her voice travels. But she’s not finished with me yet. “I don’t take rejection well. I’m so afraid—” That’s it. No more. My lips come down on hers hard, harder than I mean them to. Pleading, searching, and bruising from corner to corner. She doesn’t push me away, gripping my shirt in her fist, every reaction bringing us closer together until there’s no telling where one of us ends and the other begins.

Not until a wind kicks up and the temperature in the room drops, so I know someone walked in, not even when students started filing out of class, no, the chilled wind is what finally breaks us. “I’m here, not rejecting you. I’ll
never
reject you. Please, if you trust anything, trust that. You…that is, I…oh god. Who would’ve thought I’d be so bad at expressing myself?” Her face sparkles from my humiliation. If humiliation is what it takes for her to believe me, then so be it. Finally I breathe out, close my eyes, and say it. “You affect me, Dinninger.” That’s not how it was supposed to come out. “What I mean is, I affection you.”

Shit
.

I hate emotions, and she’s gotten more of them out of me than anyone since, well, it seems like a lifetime now. I feel splayed open just waiting for scavengers to pick me clean. Or maybe I’m not waiting, maybe I’m inviting them.

“I affection you,” I say again. It needs to stop. She’s staring at me. Maybe I shouldn’t have picked those words. Maybe that little tidbit should’ve gone to my grave, but it’s out there now, floating in the space between us, because the words haven’t been absorbed yet. Because she’s still staring. Dumbfounded.

And then there are tears. Hers or mine. They shouldn’t be mine. But I realize they’re from the both of us, for the both of us. “I…I affection you too,” she whispers. She affections me too? Fuck, if hearing those words aren’t better than every Christmas and birthday I’ve ever had, lumped together. Funny, with all my writing skill, all I can muster up in response is, “Good.”

“Good,” she says back.

We lean our foreheads together. “Good,” I say again.

“You just said that.”

“Good.”

Chapter 24

Elle

High winds rock his Jeep, crazy rock it. We’re in a car not a cradle, and I grip his hand until my knuckles turn white. The polar vortex, making our drive home treacherous. Not that it deters Ben in any way, rubbing soft circles on the fleshy part of my hand with his thumb to calm my nerves. Every so often he glances at me and mouths
good
. It is good.

Even better when he stops off at The Brew and runs in. Watching him run from the cold, oddly, it’s Kelly I think about. I’m here now because of her betrayal. He’s here now because of her betrayal. Thank you forms on my lips. She’ll never hear those words in person. But they’re there. A private pact between us she’ll never know.

Ben climbs back in with two cups, steaming mocha for me and a large black with half.
Thank you
, I think again.

“Wish we could eat dinner together. I feel bad about leaving you alone, but I can’t skip today.”

“It’s okay.”

“But hey, maybe start packing.”

“I will.”

We pull up outside my apartment. He turns into an empty parking spot instead of idling. “Why are you parked? Thought you have class.”

“Because I’ve got fifteen minutes, and I plan on using them to toss you on the bed and kiss you until you’re dizzy and unable to stand for, I don’t know, at least an hour.”

“That sure of yourself?”

Oh, he’s that sure of himself, all right. He uses every precious second of those fifteen minutes to kiss me senseless. So senseless I can’t see him to the door when he has to leave.

Today has been an emotionally exhausting day. Staying here with Kelly just won’t work any longer. But I don’t think I’m mad, either. Still hurt. But not mad, and that’s a revelation. It’ll be different not living here. He affections me, though. I wonder what holds him back. Why affection and not love? It’s a deliberate word choice. Affection. Not love. I know it’s stupid of me to overanalyze his intentions. He’s given me more than has been given since the last time my dad spoke to me fifteen years ago. But what if he spoke more to some girl in eleventh grade and she broke his heart? That’s when Collin said he stopped ‘doing the girlfriend thing.’

I don’t know what to think anymore. Sabrina might. Sabrina usually has an opinion on everything.

Chapter 25

Elle

My eyes still burn from all the crying earlier. Emotion is a bitch. At least they’re just bloodshot and not that horrible puffy, makes your whole face look ugly redness. Sabrina sits across from me in the booth, picking at her steamed rice with chopsticks. She’s in for the shock of her life tomorrow. Errol’s going to propose. The ring is beautiful. Sparkling. Classic. Just like Sabrina. I’d helped him pick it out weeks ago. What they have may or may not be in the cards for me. I like to think it is, thinking back on those penguins. When did the shift happen? Yesterday we were freshman, scared and lonely and lucky to find each other. Fearsome with our group loyalty, even more so with our partying. We’re only twenty-one. So why do I feel my youth slipping away? Like our time is winding down?

Her empty finger catches my eye, and I can’t look anywhere else as I sip on my egg drop soup. Good thing for my phone buzzing, because really, could I be any more obvious? Ruin the surprise, why don’t I? Thankful for the distraction, I answer. “Hey, Col, I’m at dinner with Bri.”

“Good to hear that. Hey, Bri.” He yells loudly enough for her to hear him through the receiver and she calls “hey” back.

“Kip and I want you to come out with us tonight. We’re not taking no.”

“I’ll be a third wheel.”

“It’s the night before Valentine’s Day. One out of three people will be a third wheel. You’re coming. Now, finish your food.”

Okay, so we’d finished dinner, which concluded the stalling portion of the evening. What
does
one get for a guy you’ve been good friends with for the past two years but only recently started dating, and fallen in love with? Oh yeah, that too. Fallen in love with.
Fallen
. In love with. Those words feel strange leaping off my tongue into the wide, wide world where anyone could find them, pick them up, and deliver them to Ben. He’d have them then. He’d have them, and I don’t know if he really wants them. What would Dr. Packard have to say about my predicament? That it’s a bad idea? That I’m not stable enough? Maybe. Probably. Yes.

After leaving the restaurant we head to the mall in pursuit of Ben’s perfect gift with nothing really catching my eye, try as we might. We walk past clothing stores, shoe stores, phone kiosks, home goods. None of it works. His gift has to be special, from the heart. He deserves special and from the heart.

I actually have three different calendars laid out in front of me when my brain finally clicks back on, doing what brains are supposed to do, finding common sense instead of holding on to the desperation which had just previously occupied the space between my ears. I mean really, discounted calendars?
Happy Valentine’s Day, Ben. Here’s how much I care for you.
Gifting him a part of myself. That’s what he deserves. The story I’d written. For our first—hopefully not only—Valentine’s Day together. I couldn’t give him more, because what I’m giving is nothing less than all of me. Raw and uncut, showing the feelings I’m not always able to express vocally. Bri seems disappointed that we haven’t found him the perfect gift. She doesn’t need to be, but I won’t tell her about the story. It’s between me and Ben and the walls that will watch as I give it to him. It’s between me and him and the sun or the stars, the wind and the snow or the couch and the quilt. This gift will be ours and ours alone.

Bri is quiet on the drive back. I asked her to drop me off at Ben and Collin’s apartment. My stuff is still at Kelly’s. We’ll probably pick it up tomorrow or the day after. The whole thing is kind of hard to wrap my brain around. I lived with my dad, then with Cricket, and then with Kelly. That’s it. Now we’re about to take such a monumental step, for me and I suspect for Ben as well. I want to ask her how they make it work. I want to ask her so many things about what to expect because I’m so scared of screwing up, and I had so many opportunities at dinner but couldn’t find the words then. Still can’t find the words now. She still hasn’t told me what she got Errol, either. So I don’t feel too bad about keeping my little secrets. But then, what kind of friend does that make me?

“Hey, Bri, thanks for today.” She nods but doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “We need to do this more often. I miss you.”

She reaches over the cup holders and squeezes my arm. “Don’t worry about the gift,” she says. “You’ll figure something out.”

Kip has the door open before I even get up to the stoop. “Enjoy shopping?” he asks me. I don’t know what makes me do it, but instead of answering, I hug him. He tentatively wraps his arms around me, but when he squeezes, it’s real.

“I’m so glad to be doing this with you.” I don’t have to give more than that. He understands. In the short time we’ve known each other, he’s become important too. Kip and I have a connection, a distinction, and somehow he helps me feel less thumbs while fumbling through new relationship territory. He just tightens his hold.

“Me too,” he whispers.

“What exactly are you doing with him?” Collin steps up behind Kip, placing a hand on his back. It’s both loving and possessive and entirely adorable.

“Nothing you or Benton have to worry about,” he says back. Turning, he catches Collin off guard with a kiss that nips the side of his chin. Then he winks at me.

We take Collin’s car. Some kind of sports car, it’s beautiful and sleek and sexy, just like Collin. But not at all the kind of car you want to face these brutal Michigan winters in, sliding and skidding despite traction control and snow tires.

Haze from the smoke machine hangs heavy, saturating the industrialized atmosphere around us once inside the club. The thurm thurm thurm of the techno beat vibrates my eardrums, invading us, inviting us to have a good time.

Collin and Kip are so lucky I’d rather sit just now, because as they scour the room for a good spot to dance, which is difficult as all the couples and their third wheels turn into a conglomeration of sweaty bodies, a table opens up on the opposite wall from the entrance. I dash for it, sliding into a chair moments before a group of three guys and two girls reaches me.

“Hey. We saw this table first.” This guy already smells strongly of whiskey and gets right in my face. I don’t want a confrontation.

“Didn’t see you.”

“So are you getting up or do I have to—”

“There a problem here?” My friends walk up holding drinks. My friends become my heroes. “I believe she was here first. Do you have a problem?” Collin asks. Drunk guy backs off, at least smart enough not to start something he would not be able to finish. Collin is intimidating. Beautiful and strong, almost cat-like when he stalks. His friends grab his arms and none of them even look at us again, leaving for the bar.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

“Must I always come to your rescue?” It’s a joke, but it stings. Too close to home.

As he waits for an apparent answer, my usual smartass comeback, I don’t and snatch a shot from his hand instead. Shooting it, I slam the glass upside down on the table and stand. An animalistic urge to move takes me over. So I do—sweat dripping from every pore, lose yourself in the music, and forget your troubles kind of dancing. The strobe flickers to the techno beat, reflecting off the glitter, and bounces against our shoes from the rhythmic pounding of our feet.

When the music slows I sit back down. Collin leads Kip to the center of the floor where a soft pink light filters over the dancers. Kip is an open book. I know love when I see it. When you spend so many years without it, you learn to look for it, because sometimes just knowing it’s out there for someone else helps you get through the day. Collin’s harder to read. Holding Kip with soft touches, his face remains blank and void of all emotion. Not like he doesn’t have them, emotions. But that he’s trying like hell not to feel them.

Kip moves his hands slowly up and down Collin’s arms, and I see the moment the walls come down. He cares for Kip. Really cares. And I watch him lean in, kissing Kip with one of the most intimate kisses I’ve ever seen. It feels like I shouldn’t be witnessing their moment. The slow and tender kiss erases the rest of us, so since I no longer exist, I look away. Standing, I roll my hips in time with the slowly building eroticism of the song playing overhead, sliding my hands up my neck and through my hair. Another shot down. With the momentum of the tide of music and dancers, I’m pulled further away from the table. I bend low at the knees, rolling back up again. Then a tingling sensation surprises me as two strong hands grip my hips. Peeking over my shoulder, a handsome woman holds me, pressing up against me. If I dated women, she’s strong, has strong hands, I think I’d like her. Funny, out of all the third wheels, she sought me out. Not many women frequent this club. They usually prefer to hit up a place downtown.

“Damn girl,” she breathes into my ear. “The way you move…”

I’ll admit to intoxication and ego boost, but mostly intoxication. They strip my inhibitions enough for me to push myself, grinding my rear against her button fly. Her grip tightens as she nuzzles her nose against the soft flesh of my neck.

“If you come with me, I’ll make you come for me.” Her hands slide seductively from my hips up my ribs to cup my breasts, rubbing and stroking them while I keep dancing, grinding against her.

“My boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate that,” I sigh. Her hands stop toying with my chest just as Collin takes my hand, breaking me away from her hold. “Thank you.” I smile sheepishly at her, Collin leading me back to our table.

“What the fuck was that?”

“
Dancing
.”

His voice so low and serious sounds angry, but he’s not. “Is that what you’re calling it? Because if you’re doing anything close to the shit we just watched you do for Ben, no wonder he can’t get enough. Fuck, you almost gave
me
a hard-on.” I laugh through the effects of the Cuervo I shot before the dance.

“Damn girl.” Errol. His words greet me, and I’m so glad he’s here.

“People keep saying that to me tonight.” Yeah, I might still be riding that dancing high.

“Damn right!” Sabrina high-fives me.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“Errol was home when I got there. He surprised me. So I texted Col to find out where you were. We slapped ourselves with a pretty stick and came running.”

“I’ve already been propositioned three times and we’ve only been here ten minutes.” And right here is why I love these people. A lot of straight guys are too narrow-minded to come clubbing here, but here’s Errol excited he got hit on.

Kip shows up with more shots. “Have I told you I love you, Kip?” I ask, carefully taking a glass from his tightly compacted balancing act.

“Ooo—
sorry
. I’m taken.”

“Me too,” I say back. Tilting my head for a thank you, I shoot my drink. “It’s perfect. We can just use each other for some dirty, dirty shoe shopping and watching
Steel Magnolias
.”

“You get caught watching
The Notebook
once and suddenly you’re labeled for life.”

“It’s okay, Kip.” Errol claps his back. “We haven’t pulled your man card yet.”

“Apparently she has.” He points at me. “And after I sent Col over to rescue you. Didn’t think Benton would appreciate you having your first counterculture experience on our watch.”

“I wasn’t going to go with her. But probably a good call.”

“Very good call.” He circles his firm fingers around my waist and kisses my shoulder. His smell. The hardness of his body. Him.

“Ben.” My voice ripples out breathier than I mean it to.

“I was watching you,” he whispers low enough so no one else hears. “My little beauty has a fan club now. I thought it was just guys. But now I have girls to worry about too. You are too sexy for your own good.” And he bends, nibbling on my earlobe.

“She was just being nice.”

“Brontë, that wasn’t nice. What she wanted had nothing to do with nice.” I roll to face him. Ben’s eyes shimmer at me underneath the filtered lighting bright as the water rolling over a sandbar. Each of his breaths are warm against my neck and smell of peppermint. Peppermint and citrus and laundry. I should probably stick with girly drinks from now on, because looking in those eyes, smelling his unique scent, it’s too much and I go for those lips. I have to taste them. Ben might be talking, but when my mouth finds his, he kisses back with no hesitation. There’s a shift to my breathing as his fingers smooth over and twist the apex of my breast, his other hand dropping to rub between my thighs over my jeans, right here in public, driving me toward a very public climax. This isn’t me. It’s never been me. I’m awkward and uncomfortable in my own skin. Allowing Ben to touch me so intimately in front of our friends?

My reaction slams into the both of us. He’s hard. His cheeks flush. And his breathing picks up too. “Hey, Col, Kip. Thanks for taking care of my girl. We’re going—now.” And even though I should be mortified when our friends snicker, he has me more turned on, too turned on to really think about it. “You might want to stay gone for a while.” That’s what does it—they hoot, whoop, and cheer at the prospect of us having sex. My secret, I don’t know if I can do it yet. I want to. I need to.