Perfectly Unmatched (30 page)

Her smile is too tiny. I try again.

“Maybe we
might
get thwarted by some of the bigger stuff. Like world hunger or time travel. Maybe. Other than those two, I think we’re solid.” I kiss her lips. “C’mon, something else is bugging you. Tell me.” She shakes her head and I kiss her again. “Tell me. That’s what I’m here for. That and your sexual satisfaction, of course.”

Finally, she laughs, and my heart feels free and open. “It was Ithaca. I didn’t realize until she actually talked to me how much I’d been missing her. We used to be inseparable. We used to have such an amazing relationship, and then it was gone.”

“Was it Andre?” I ask. It’s strange because, as intimately as I feel I know Benelli, there are so many tiny details of her life that are still hidden from me.

She pushes her hands through her thick hair and sighs.
“Yeah. I thought it was puppy love, you know? They were so young, and they didn’t make any sense together.” She chuckles when I bump her shoulder with mine. “I know, I know...people who make no sense fall in love all the time. But it was more than that. I didn’t just disapprove of him. I guess...I didn’t say anything when my family packed together and got this whole plan in motion to alienate him. To make sure, no questions, that he’d be out of her life permanently.”

“I’m sure you thought you were protecting her.” I rub circles on her back with my hand, and she stares into the rushing water below.

“We do a lot...my family does a lot that’s pretty damn shady in the name of protecting the people we love. And when someone is brave enough to stand up to them, like Winch was, we make it hard. Sometimes it’s like we turn our backs on each other just when things get tough.” She hangs her head between her knees. “Are we monsters?”

“No.” I don’t know about her father for certain, but I can answer the question in regards to her without an iota of doubt. “You’re nothing but love,
Benelli. And if your family needs a lesson from you in that particular kind of love, don’t be afraid to give it. Maybe it’s time for that.”

The sky gets darker as the sun lowers on the horizon.
Benelli is looking at me with eyes that want, that need and won’t be denied.

“Come here,” she whispers, untying her dress and letting the cloth fall open.

I swallow hard. “It was a good pep talk, then?”

Her laugh shakes her tits, so exquisite in their lacy cups. “It was an amazing pep talk. And I want to thank you for believing in me. When no one else does, when no one else sees me or understands who I really am or what I’m really like, you see me. You know. And I love you for that.” The dress slides back off her arms, and she opens the clasp of her bra.

My mouth goes dry. “I love you...for everything. Don’t give me too much credit. Just because I can see how amazing you are doesn’t make me so awesome. It makes me lucky.” I pull her close, her soft skin filling my hands and mouth, the smell of her and the feel of her everywhere around me.

She sheds the little thong that was barely covering anything anyway, and climbs on my lap. “
I’m
lucky. I’m lucky to have found you. My perfect match.”

I unbutton my shirt and shake it off while she makes short work of my pants. She’s glued to me, her kisses hard and sweet, her hands roving up and down my body like they’re
possessing me, branding every inch they touch as theirs, and I approve their every possession. Her fingers circle my dick and run up and down, over and over as her hips inch closer.

By the time the condom is snugly on and she’s lowered herself onto me, I’m sure I’ll lose everything I attempted t
o hold still and tight for, because she’s setting a crazy rhythm, pumping against me hard and fast, clawing her fingers over my shoulders and back, sucking at my neck, licking along my jaw.

It’s all a gorgeous blur of her dark hair and her smooth caram
el skin, her long limbs, firm around my chest and waist, the press of her, so hot and tight, I attempt to think about any and every undesirable thing I can to keep this from ending.

Nothing, not zombie feeding frenzies, not puppies being kicked off cliffs, not reams of geometry theorems
, or any the thought of any number of my sneering, nasty teachers going at it like mad can help me now.

Benelli’s
pure sexiness trumps an entire legion of anti-sex thoughts, and I can’t hold on a minute more. I kiss her hard, I fill my hands with her, and I pump, a long, sweet, completed thrust as deep into her as I can go before I drag her close to me and groan with the satisfaction of my release.

I fall back onto the rock,
Benelli, still glorious, naked, sexually proud, looming over me.

“Did you say you hid some merlot here the other day?” she asks, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright.

“Don’t we have to get back to your family? Your parents will worry.” I have no idea why I’m turning down the opportunity to drink wine, naked, in the moonlight with this girl, but, apparently, responsibility has overtaken my brain.

She leans close to me. “The time for my parents’ rules is ending,
Cormac. I’m about to pull that damn bow back like nobody’s business and things are changing. Things are going to change. Now, where’s the wine? Because I want to celebrate, and then I want to have sex with you a few more times before we head back home. Can you help me with that?”

I nod because any word I may have wanted to say is currently mangled in my throat and tied up in her remarkably attractive authority. I do manage to point to the place in the rocks where the merlot was forgotten when I picked up the rest of our engagement feast and accepted her parents’ lavis
h entertainment instead.

She leaps down from the rock before I can offer to go instead, and I’m left with the ravishing vision of her naked self prancing along the rocks, her sun-kissed skin completely naked and making my weak, sex-crazed mind and body more than ready to have her back in my arms again, as soon as possible. I can’t tear my eyes off of her.

My little Naiad, my gorgeous warrior, my perfect match and always love.

My
Benelli.

Benelli
8

I let a fe
w days go by before I approach my father.

Because I’m a huge,
bokking chicken.

Bok
bok bok.

Cormac
says it’s because I needed time to let things sink in, time to really collect my feelings and figure out what it is I want to say and how and why.

But he’s the most amazing, generous, loving person in the world, and he always assumes the best when it comes to me. He doesn’t think I’m a giant chicken.

Lala isn’t afraid to tell me the truth.

After the drunken kiss she laid on
Cormac, I was ready to kick her ass to the curb in a permanent and real way. But something Ithaca said to me stopped all that drama from going down.

“Don’t hate her too much. Hard as it is to be around you when you’re your usual perfect self, now that you’re perfect
and
have an awesome love life, even a saint would want to take you down a peg. And Lala’s no saint.”

My little sister’s cold green eyes, so barren and still, choked all the hate I was holding out of me. Because I didn’t want my eyes to look like hers; empty and bitter. And I planned to see life back in those eyes as soon as possible.
As soon as I figured things out.

It’s not the Youngblood way to forgive. We’re about fists and destruction, not olive branches and rebuilding. Reaching out and changing goes against my
blood. But if the last few months has taught me anything, it’s that nothing will bring you to your knees and tear your heart out faster than letting down the people who love you.

Love is hard. It’s forgiving your best friend when you want to shove her away. It’s admitting that you played a hand in ruining your sister’s relationship, then accepting her cold shoulder even after you’ve poured your heart out
over and over in tearful apologies. It’s fighting to make sure the person you love gets to do the weird thing he loves, even if you know he could have unbelievable power and success doing other things. It’s being generous to your brother’s girlfriend because you’ve been forced to admit you laid blame at her feet and his when there was no reason to.

Humble pie is mouth-twistingly bitter, but I never back down from what I know I have to do, and I’ve got a buffet of it to eat.

And, though Lala makes it even more bitter sometimes, she’s ready to stay by my side and cheer me to the last, disgusting mouthful.

“Just talk to him.” Her skin is pale, but she looks good. We’re out at the lake, and she has no makeup on, is wearing a huge cover-up over her tiny bikini, and is squeezing a stre
ss ball in short, quick pumps in an attempt to give her nails a chance to grow back and to edge off her nicotine rages. It’s a Lala I almost don’t recognize, but that may not be such a bad thing.

We’re all changing. And that feels good. It feels right.

“You don’t get it. My dad is--”

“Please don’t drag
me into your daddy/daughter drama. I get it, I’ll never understand because my daddy ran out on us--”

“That’s not what I said,” I object, desperate to backpedal away from the nastiness I’ve been trying so hard to keep myself away from.

“You didn’t have to, and you don’t have to apologize.” She whips her sunglasses off, those hazel eyes bloodshot and small-looking without the pounds of mascara. But they’re also starkly clear and honest. “I don’t want you to apologize. I want to be honest. And I know that you love me. I know that. Even if you’re a self-centered bitch sometimes, that’s okay. Because I’m an out-of-control psycho asshole, and you put up with me, right?” Her small smile is nervous, undoing the bravado of her words.

“Okay.” I sit for another long minute. “I know. I know I have to talk to him. The family is falling apart, and the more rules he and Mama
set up, the worse things get. We’re lucky Winch came back. We’re lucky Colt and Ithaca are just slamming their doors and pouting. It could be so much worse.”

I bite my lip and look at her sideways, knowing that she just told me that she didn’t mind my being honest, but the mention of Winch has to hurt. I know that.

She squeezes the stress ball with more vicious intensity. “You
are
lucky. And, you know, what Winch said about you being the bridge is right. Okay? Don’t look so shocked. I can say his name without breaking down. He made a great point. You know, he made a lot of great points, and I ignored him more than I should have. He and I were never going to work. I know I’m sad about it, but the Winch I really want is the Winch who’s with...her. And she has something with him...I didn’t have it. God, it fucking kills me to say that. But I didn’t have it. And things would have been bad with him and me.”

“You deserve someone amazing,” I say, taking her hand and grabbing it over the rapid stress-ball squeezing.

“Damn straight,” she says, but her voice wobbles. “Now, what are you going to say to your father?”

I shake my head and she and I stare at the lake, the pebbled sand,
the screaming kids splashing each other, laughing and crying in the waves. “I have no idea.”

It’s half a lie, because, the next day, when I go to find my father, there’s this whole long speech I
run over. I’ve had it locked in my head for days on end. I know what I have to say to him. I’ve known for a long time. It’s almost like I have too much to say right now, too much to think through and make him understand.

“Papa?”
I catch him out in the garage where he keeps his gun collection and the fridge full of beer, the shelves of homemade vodka, and the cigarettes and cigars he thinks Mama doesn’t know about.

“
C’mere, princess. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

I stand next to my father and rub my fingers over the smooth metal of the rifle’s barrel. “Beautiful.”

He turns his blue eyes to me, and they well up with love that undoes my heart. “You know, your mother wanted to only name the boys after guns. When you were born, she looked into your face, all squished after that hellish birth, and she said, ‘No more guns. I’m naming her Angelique, because she’s an angel.’”

I’ve actually heard this story before. I pull up a stool and sit on it, smiling at my father. “And what did you say again?” I love the image of the two of them arguing over a baby me. It’s a testament to my mother’s total love for my father that she agreed to my name. And it took a long time. His first choice was
Bersa, and he was pretty adamant that it was the perfect name for his little girl. My poor mother.

“I said, ‘That kid’s no angel. She’s strong and beautiful, like a gun.’” He grins at me. “Did
Cormac tell you about the meeting? With the guys from Spain? Did you know your boy speaks Spanish? They were eating out of the palm of his hand. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I swear, I never would have picked that one for you, but maybe my smart daughter knows better than her stupid old pop now and then, right?”

“I need to talk to you, Pop.” He puts the rifle in its safe and locks it up. My father has a love affair with guns, but he also respects them. It was always safety first with all of us growing up in a house
full of violent weapons. “It’s about Cormac.”