Scarred: A New Adult Romance (The Anderson Brothers Series Book 1) (7 page)

“I
was okay, I guess.” She tries to fight down a smile, and I know she’s being
modest. “Anyway, I never really got back into it since I didn’t have the time.
And I really loved Miss Beaumonte. I didn’t think I would ever find another
teacher like her.”

“Well,
some things you never forget.”

The
waitress returns with a tray of water glasses and a bottle of wine. “Would you
two like to try our special Riesling tonight?” she asks, setting down the
glasses of water.

“Sure,”
I say just as Denise adds, “Please.”

“I
will need to see your IDs, please.”

I
flip my driver’s license from my wallet, and Denise does the same. As the
waitress scans them, I peer at Denise’s ID, hoping to get a glimpse of her
birthdate, but I can’t see shit.

“Thank
you,” the waitress says and fills our wine glasses a quarter of the way with
white wine. I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. She’s twenty-one,
at least. Thank God I won’t be drinking alone tonight.

Denise
and I place our dinner orders, and the waitress disappears again.

“I
saw you looking,” Denise says, smirking.

I
blink. “Huh?”

“Trying
to know how old I am. Or were you just trying to sneak a peek at my horrible
picture?”

I
never even thought to look at her picture. But I suspect it was anything
but
horrible—unlike mine. This girl
doesn’t look like she takes horrible pictures. “Well, uh, you know, it’s
impolite to ask a woman her age, so … ”

“Yeah,
if they’re insecure about it. Honestly, age is just a number.”

I
smile. This girl is really one-of-a-kind. “All right, then. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one
and proud. You?”

“Twenty-two.”
I pick up my wine glass. “A toast?”

Denise
lifts an eyebrow. “To what?”

“To …
ballet. Yeah.”

She
chuckles and picks up her glass. “You’re crazy. Fine. To ballet.”

We
clink glasses and take a sip. The wine is a little dry for my taste, but Denise
seems to enjoy it.

“So
what about you, Mister Mysterious?” Denise asks, with a lick of her lips that
really gets my motor revving.

I
set my glass down.
She wants to know more
about me—perhaps my past—but there’s nothing there I would want to talk about.
“Well, I’m an engineering major at UDub.”

“Yeah,
you told me that already.” She leans her elbows on the table and rests her chin
on her fists, staring at me intently.

Oh damn, that look.
She obviously wants to know
something personal about me. I pick up my water glass. “Did I already tell you
that? Okay. Hmm … ” I take a small sip to hide my discomfort.

“Are
you from Seattle?”

“Not
originally, no. I was born in the Bronx and moved to Renton when I was three.”

Her
eyes glitter. “The Bronx? As in New York? Wow. I’d love to visit New York
someday.”

“I’m
sure one day you will.” I grin. “Lots of ballet shows on Broadway.”

“So,
let’s see. You ride motorcycles, fix cars, study engineering … you must’ve
totally been a jock or something when you were growing up.”

I
chuckle. “Well, I did play football my junior and senior years.”

“Really?
Wow, never would’ve guessed football. Maybe basketball or soccer.”

“My
brother played basketball. He was really good. He was on the varsity team all
four years of high school. Ended up with a full ride to UDub, where he became a
legend for three years. He could’ve gone pro.”
But he had to go and throw it all away by dropping out.

“Why
didn’t he?”

“He
lost interest.” I take another sip of water to hide my frown. I’m not sure if
it’s true or not, but that’s what he always told me whenever I asked. But part
of me has always thought otherwise. I see the guilt and regret in his eyes
every so often. He sacrificed his dream.
Because
of me. Because of the shit at home with Mama. Because he knew how miserable I’d
been in that house alone with her and Uncle Adam. And those memories.

Those fucking memories …

“So
why did you choose engineering, of all majors? Did your parents put you up to
it?”

I
set down my water glass. It’s leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. “So what kind
of movies do you like?” I ask, hoping she’s willing to take the hint.

She
pauses and looks at me strangely, but to my relief, she lets the life story
thing rest. “I like action,” she says, then picks up her water glass. “The more
car chases and explosions, the better.”

“I
like action movies, too.”

The
waitress returns with our food—Mongolian beef over rice with steamed vegetables
for me and teriyaki chicken with a salad for Denise. The food is excellent, and
we eat in silence, occasionally looking up and shooting little glances at one
another. Denise still looks damn good, but sometimes I think I see a little
frown between her eyebrows, like something’s bothering her. I hope it’s not the
food. I
really
hope it’s not me.

We
both finish, and I check my phone to see what movies are playing. “Let’s see …
there’s a movie that came out last week that’s supposed to be pretty good. Lots
of action in it. It’s starting around 9:55. Wanna check it—” I look up and
notice Denise has her arms crossed, and she’s jiggling her foot under the
table. I can see the tablecloth bouncing. “What’s wrong?” I ask, shutting off
my phone.

Denise
looks down and starts fidgeting with the tablecloth. “Just nerves.”

I
scratch the stubble of my beard, trying to make sense of it all. “Are you … not
enjoying yourself?”

“First
dates always make me nervous. You know, having dinner with a complete
stranger.”

“Are
we really complete strangers? I mean, we can get to know each other little by
little.”

She
runs her finger around the brim of her water glass. “Yeah? You don’t seem to
like talking about yourself very much.”

Yeah, because I don’t want
to gross you out with my past.
“What else can I say? I’m just a normal guy.”

She
chuckles, and I relax a little. “A ‘normal guy’? No, Dominick. Normal guys
don’t do what you do.”

I
purse my lips, wondering what her past boyfriends did to her to make her so
defensive. “Well, I guess I’m not a normal guy, then. I’m trying to do this
right, you know. No obligations, no one-night stands. Just a quiet dinner and a
movie afterward. That’s all.”

“That’s
just it. No obligations? Let’s be real, Dominick.”

Of
course she doesn’t trust me—maybe she doesn’t trust guys at all. I guess in a
way that’s smart, but now I’m even more curious about what her past boyfriends
must have done to her to cause this icy shield. I don’t want to lose my cool in
front of her, but she is starting to push the wrong buttons. “Yeah, no
obligations. I’ve treated every girl I’ve met like this—or at least I’ve
tried
to,” I say, trying to keep my
voice calm. “And you know what? They didn’t want it. I was too boring for them.
Old-fashioned. They were
expecting
some sort of obligation.” The anger begins rising in my chest.
I don’t understand why some of you chicks
prefer guys who treat you like shit.

Her
eyes widen, and she gapes at me. “So what are you saying? That I don’t
appreciate this?”

I
take a deep breath. I had gone off on her, and I didn’t mean to. “I wasn’t
talking about you in particular. I won’t lie, I’ve had other girlfriends in the
past. But none of them lasted longer than a few days. It was either because
they wanted a one-night stand or because they felt like I was cramping their
style.”

She
stares at her half-empty water glass, which is covered in condensation. She
idly runs her finger down the side of the glass, catching the water droplets.

Fuck
going to the movies tonight. I’m too pissed.

The
waitress returns with the bill, and I stick three twenties in the black leather
holder and hand it back to her, telling her to keep the change.

“Can’t
a girl be curious?” Denise asks once the waitress leaves again.

I
frown.
Cautious, you mean.
It’s not
fair for me to generalize like this. Denise is very smart. I should appreciate
that she wants to know more about me instead of just spreading her legs to a
stranger. “Hey, I’m sorry. I just … want you to trust me. I wanna be the best
guy I can be for you. The fact that you trusted me enough to ride on the back
of my bike meant a lot. And sitting here having dinner with a beautiful and
intelligent girl like you means everything.”

Her
head tilts to the side and she smiles, her cheeks turning a slight shade of red
against her smooth, caramel skin.

“I
know we’ve only just met,” I say, “and you feel like you barely know me, but I
like taking things slow, no pressure.”

“I
guess. It’s just weird. Most guys I’ve dated wanted to get into my
pants the very first night.”

I
frown. In truth, I do want to get into her pants, and I feel horrible for
thinking that, but I can’t help my urges. Denise may have given up ballet in
middle school, but she still has that luscious dancer’s body.

“Thanks
for dinner, by the way,” she says, and I realize I hadn’t responded to her
previous comment.

“You’re
welcome.” I nod.

“We
should get lunch sometime or maybe an early breakfast before classes.”

An
opportunity to spend more time with her? Hell yeah. But I’d never seen her on
campus before. “What’s your schedule like?”

“I
have a nine-thirty sociology class and a two-hour world literature class
starting at 11:10 on Mondays and Tuesdays, then the rest of the week are all
afternoon and evening classes.”

I
make a mental note of her schedule. “All of my classes are in the morning,
starting at eight, and the last one ends at 1:10. I go to work after that.”

“That’s
convenient.”

I
shrug. “Eh, it works. I don’t have much of a social life on the weekdays
because of it, though. Hey, in June my motorcycle club is having a community
cookout to raise money for a member’s little girl who has cancer. Would you be
interested in coming out?”

“I’d
love to. I’m sorry to hear about the poor little girl.”

“We’re
hoping it’ll be a big turnout so we can help the family out.”

“It’s
two months away, but I will try and make plans to be there.”

A
quick check of my phone shows 9:52. I slide out of my chair and extend my hand
to her. “I might as well take you home. Let’s do a movie next time.”

She
takes my hand as she stands. Hers feels soft, smooth, and warm. “Next time
sounds good.”

We
leave the restaurant and get back on the bike. She doesn’t seem afraid this
time as we ride through town and back to her house. She gets off, shrugs out of
the jacket, and stands at the curb.

“Thanks
for dinner. And the motorcycle ride. It was nice.”

I
put the jacket on and become engulfed in her warmth and cocoa-pear scent. I
smile from underneath my helmet, but realize she probably can’t see it, so I
give her a thumbs-up instead. “Anytime. Maybe I’ll see you Monday?” I wonder if
my voice sounds muffled to her.

She
nods, my only indication that she can still understand me. “Yeah, sure.” She
gives a little wave of her hand, though I can see from the look on her face
that she’s troubled about something. “Hey, Dominick, I—” She looks away. “Never
mind. Bye.”

Before
I can say anything more, she turns and heads for the front door. I frown.
Bye, Denise.

I
wait until she’s safely inside before I leave. Her troubled look remains etched
in my mind. I know that look. She wants to trust me but doesn’t think she can.

* * *

He haunts my dreams again.

“Turn around.”

I
shudder and feel my eyes burn with fresh tears, but I hold them back. I’m not
gonna let them fall. Not in front of him.

“Only little pansies cry,”
he says.
“If you’re going to be a little pansy, then
I’ll treat you like one.”

He
spanks me on the ass. Hard. I yelp, but I hold the tears back. He pushes me
face first to the floor and kneels down behind me. I just want it to end.

* * *

The sound of the front door slamming downstairs jerks
me out of my sleep. Staring blindly at the darkness, I lie still in bed and
listen to the sounds of two sets of footsteps. I check the clock on my phone.
4:45. Damn, way too early. I recognize Chris and Adrienne’s low voices, which
are suddenly cut off by the sounds of Chris’s bedroom door closing. With a
sigh, I get out of bed and retrieve my music player and noise-cancelling
headphones from the desk. The walls are thin, and once they get going, I’ll hear
every moan and groan from their fucking. Slipping the headphones on, I lie back
in bed. I start up the player to a random hip-hop song and close my eyes,
letting the music take over while I try to relax. I mull over my
dreams—nightmares—and my date with Denise.

That
look of doubt on her face. Like tonight didn’t even matter.

Who
knows if I’ll see her on Monday? Maybe by then she will have forgotten all
about me. Just my luck, she will have moved on to someone else. Like they all
do.

Chapter 7

I wake up late, despite my trouble sleeping last
night. I couldn’t stop thinking about Denise all night, and she remains
on my mind even now.

I totally fucked up
last night.

I check my phone, curious if she’s called, but there’s nothing.
Not even a text. I know I shouldn’t be worrying about it. I mean, it’s too
early to tell whether or not she’s interested in me. But even as I think the
words, my heart aches at the thought that I might never see her again.