Brutally Beautiful Read online

  The slamming of the trailer door and hooting alerted us to Dylan and Fran’s arrival. Grabbing our coats, we followed their voices and found them lounging on one of the couches in a deep conversation about the healthy effects of drinking red wine as opposed to beer. Fran was going off on one of his tangents, stopped, looked me up and down, smiled and said, “You look nice tonight,” and continued his rant.

  Nice. Isn’t that the adjective every woman wants to hear?

  Fran’s rant took us all the way through the drive into town to a huge bar called Shenanigans, where a decent sized crowd sat drinking and listening to people horribly singing Karaoke. I pointed Dylan to the empty booth closest to the exit. “Let’s sit back here.”

  Natalie waved to us from the bar and skipped over with a round of beer in her arms and winked, “First round is on me! And I ordered chips and dip; it’s so delicious here. So good.”

  Fran attacked poor Natalie with another enthralling conversation, explaining what the rest of us had heard him drone on about for the entire car ride there, how healthier a glass of red wine is for your body. Dylan laughed and shook his head as Natalie sat listening closely to everything Fran hit her with.

  After another round, I was bored out of my mind listening to Fran and Natalie telling me what I needed to do to live a healthier lifestyle, and Bree looked about ready to stick a fork in one of their eyes. In one large gulp, I drained my beer in front of the both of them and slammed my bottle down against the table hard. When the chips and dip arrived, it just got worse. As soon as Fran tasted the chips and dip, he would not shut up about it. Would. Not. Shut. Up. Maybe it was just me. Maybe I was losing my patience and easily irritated. I looked at Dylan and Bree who both wore the same expression as I did. No, it was all Fran.

  “Lainey, you have to try this sauce,” he moaned, through a mouth full of chips.

  It’s dip, not sauce. I took a chip because I was starving, but I didn’t feel like dipping into a huge bucket of dip where everybody was double dipping their saliva. Ugh.

  “Lainey, just dip it in the sauce. This sauce is delicious. You have to try it. Dip it in the sauce. Just dip it in the sauce,” he pushed.

  What the hell kind of sauce fetish owns this moron? “Jesus, Mary, and Jerome…I don’t want to just dip it in the sauce,” I said calmly. I wanted to slam my fist into the stupid bowl of chips to shut him up, but instead, I sat cool and composed, plotting how I was going to get him and Natalie together, so he would leave me the hell alone. I grabbed Dylan’s beer and downed the rest of his as he sat back beerless, and laughed at me.

  When I looked up, my heart nearly surged out of my chest. Kade had arrived and was walking his way over from the door. While it was true that, everyone seemed to turn to look at him with some sort of fear, I just looked at him with awe, knowing how strong he must be to go against his comfort zone, and he was drop dead gorgeous. Dressed casually in a worn pair of jeans and a beaten to hell leather jacket, he looked the part of a dangerous, reckless, and completely out of control man. It made my cheeks flush, and it made my insides heat, knowing that he came here because I asked him to.

  “Hey,” I said, sliding over in the booth to make room for him.

  “Hey,” he mumbled back, smoky grey eyes blazing at me through thick dark lashes. Leaning in slowly towards me, he tentatively brushed his hand against my forearm. Bringing his face closer to mine, he whispered, “Stunning.”

  Holding steady eye contact with him, my breath faltered, and what felt like a goddamn inferno surged through my body, slapping me in between my legs with such a forceful heat that I suddenly believed in self-combustion.

  “Okay, ladies and gents. This next round is on me. What is everyone having?” Fran shouted out across the table. “Kade, my man. You have to try the sauce, it’s outstanding.”

  Everyone ordered a beer, but Fran came back five minutes later with a beer for everyone and a glass of red wine for me, and a glass of red for him.

  “Please tell me you did not just get me a wine on purpose,” I said.

  Fran winked at me from across the table, “It’s a wonderful year. Have a sip.”

  “Oh, my God, I’m about to lose it,” I muttered, and before I could say anything else, Fran interrupted me with more of his tactful conversation skills.

  “So, Kade. It must be very gratifying to be such an accomplished and famous writer. You must have a plethora of women adoring you and throwing themselves at you. I bet you chew them up and spit them out, eh?” Fran asked, clearly trying to alert me to his presumptions about Kade’s promiscuity. I knew, because he smirked at me after his pointed asinine question.

  “Not if they taste good,” Kade deadpanned, and then he slid his beer over to me, grabbed my glass of wine, and took a sip. “Most of them don’t taste very well, mind you, but, once in a while…Once in a while, you find someone that you taste and it changes the way the rest of them do, and no one seems as sweet or delicious.” His eyes locked on mine.

  Fran was speechless, for once. And Kade? Kade was sitting next to me, stealing the air from my lungs with his closeness and his words, and I just burst out laughing. You know, one of those nervous, psychotic sounding laughs that end with a snort. Bree fell into a fit of giggles next, followed by some chuckles from Dylan and Kade.

  Fran looked around at the people who seemed to be staring at us, and his cheeks reddened, “Lainey, try to control yourself. People are looking over here.”

  “Oh, my God, Francis, stop.” I downed the rest of my beer. “That beer was delicious, Kade, thank you. I think I want a cup of coffee now,” I laughed.

  “Lainey, we’re at a bar, stop with the coffee. You’ve probably had more than enough caffeine today. I’ll get you another glass of wine. No more caffeine; I watch your hands tremble enough. And you don’t even like beer. It’s like you don’t know what’s good for you.”

  “Francis,” I threatened, “if you don’t stop this inappropriate compulsion with my eating and drinking habits, I believe I might cause you great bodily harm with some form of male testicular torture,” I said, laughing hard.

  He scoffed. A little snort followed by a smirk and that nasty crinkle of his nose, which was always plastered on his face. “Are you premenstrual right now?” he asked in a low whisper, as if it were an appropriate question. “An over-emotional female prone to exaggeration does not suit your personality type. This sort of change in your personality is what I’ve been trying to explain to you. It’s from too much caffeine.”

  “That is the most arrogant, condescending, male chauvinistic and patronizing mansplaining bullshit I have ever heard,” I said.

  Kade slammed his fists down on the table and his presence seemed to expand and crowd into my small space on the booth. Before he could say anything, I brushed the back my hand over his arm, just as he had done to me a few moments before to let him know I could handle the situation. He visibly relaxed and leaned back into the cushions of the bench we occupied. It kind of made me feel beautiful.

  Next to Fran, Bree covered her face with her hands and Dylan’s expression looked shocked. I stood up, flattened my shirt down and wiped my clammy hands on my pants. I gave Fran a measured stare, leaned over the table, and asked sweetly, “Do you think yourself as a man that’s well endowed, Francis?”

  He squirmed in his seat, and gave me a slight nod.

  “Let me ask you then,” I leaned in closer and licked my lips, trying to act as seductively as I could. “Can your penis reach your rectum?”

  Slowly, a flirtatious smile emerged on his face; he nodded and leaned his head closer to mine.

  “Then go fuck yourself,” I said evenly. Climbing behind Kade in the booth, I jumped off the seat, made my way to the bar, ordered another beer and a shot of whiskey, and stared down at my trembling fingers.

  An icy cold beer and whiskey shot slid in front of me almost instantly.

  “I’m taking you out of here,” Kade’s voice rumbled in my ear, fanning warm breath against
my neck.

  Gulping back my shot, I turned my head and looked up into his eyes, our faces so close, our lips mere inches apart. Slowly, his eyes trailed down to my mouth and he shifted his body to face me, “Come on, I’m in the mood for coffee.” His dark features softened, his body slackened and relaxed against the edge of the bar as if he really felt comfortable next to me.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I slid my gaze over to our table and heaviness settled over my chest when I locked eyes with Fran, then back to Kade. I had never dealt with any of this nonsense before. I’d never had two men at the same time vie for my attention (if that’s what it was), but I did know what it was like to be with someone who tried to control you, and that, I didn’t need. So, without any trepidation or fear, I followed Kade Grayson out of the bar with a wildly beating heart.

  After I climbed into Kade’s truck, I texted Bree to tell her I left. Shivering from the cold air, my teeth started to chatter and Kade looked at me questioningly. “You didn’t go back to the table for your coat, and I didn’t think to bring it to you when I asked you for coffee,” he stated, the mist of his warm breath dissipating into the cold air of the front cab of his truck.

  “Wasn’t in my escape plan, no.”

  A slow sexy smile transformed on his lips as he unzipped his leather jacket and quickly yanked his arms from their sleeves and passed it to me.

  Slipping the coat over my shoulders, I was hit with the intoxicating smell of Kade, a mixture of spices, man and thick, rich worn leather. Twisting the key in the ignition, his truck rumbled to life. The cold leather seats beneath me vibrated, as a Metallica song blasted deafeningly from his speakers with James Hetfield’s deep raspy voice singing Whiskey in the Jar. Pure, raw nostalgia surged through my veins, teenage angst, and memories flooded my mind.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, fumbling to turn his audio system off.

  “Don’t!” I yelped. “Don’t shut it off. I love this song. I was obsessed with Metallica when I was younger.”

  “You? You listened to Metallica?” he laughed harshly, doubting my honesty.

  I despised it when people didn’t take my word for truth, and I hated when people doubted me. So, I sang the words to him as the music played, “…stand and deliver or the devil he may take you…”

  His eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t respond at all. He quickly looked out his windows for any oncoming traffic and pulled out onto the dark road. His eyes found mine again and narrowed.

  “…I took all of his money…”

  His brow wrinkled.

  “…It was a pretty penny…”

  He bit down on his lip to keep from smiling. I sang louder.

  When he finally let his smile free, I danced around the cab of the truck singing and playing air guitar, until the song ended and he clicked off the audio system.

  Emptiness. It was thunderous.

  With the sudden loss of the music, a heavy white-noise-roaring silence fell over my ears. It had a tangible weight to it and my shoulders felt its heavy burden. I hoped I hadn’t push too far. I hoped that being myself for a minute with him wouldn’t cause him any more damage. Shifting over, I quietly leaned my forehead against the cold window and glanced out at the darkness of the tall trees that rushed by us alongside the road. Kade must have been speeding, because the trees were blurring past my eyes too fast. I said nothing though. If he needed to drive this fast, I needed to let him. Besides, I was the mother of all lead-footers; nobody drove as fast as I did.

  Pulling into a large parking area off the main road, he parked his truck in front of an all night diner that sat in the middle of an empty highway. With both hands, he tightly clutched the steering wheel until his knuckles were white from lack of blood flow. The muscles of his arms tightened and bulged, his back was rigid and his face stared straight out the windshield into the dark trees the grill of the truck was pointing towards. He had turned the engine off, so the temperature inside the cab of the truck was dropping fast and I could once again see the mist of his breath. “How do you do that?” he whispered, coldly.

  Unbuckling my seatbelt, I shifted my body around to face him, “Do what?”

  “Act comfortable around me,” he said, as his head turned and his intense eyes collided with mine.

  Pulling the handle of the door, I pushed it open and climbed out. Standing in the open door of his truck with the dome light on, I looked at him dead in the face. “I’m never comfortable with anybody, Kade. Ever. I just deal with whatever situation I’m in the best way I know how.”

  Slamming the door, I walked around the truck towards the front entrance of the diner, practically dragging his enormous jacket on the ground. Kade’s door echoed mine, and instantly, he was in front of me blocking my way, his body so close to mine, but not once…not once touching me. And, I wanted him too; I wanted him to touch me. Leaning his face closer to mine, daring me to look up at him, I did. Pain was evident in his features; confusion, struggle, and heartache were embedded in his skin. My heart broke for him.

  “How?” he asked, leaning closer.

  “Easy,” I smiled, hoping to lessen his tension with humor. “You just gotta find your happy place, Kade. Mine is with Tatum Channing and a bottle of rum.”

  Caught off guard, his smile lit up the night, “Tatum Channing, huh?”

  “Yes, please,” I smiled, walking into the diner, melting with the warmth of the air that hit me as soon as we stepped foot inside.

  Without speaking, we both headed for the first booth by the exit. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. He just sat down, back against the wall, eyes scanning the handful of customers that had ventured out just as we did. I could see the tension in his rigid posture and the tightness in his jaw as he surveyed the layout of the building, and I understood, more than he would ever know, I understood. When his gaze landed on mine, his tension seemed to slacken some, but not completely and I understood that too, I was just glad to notice that I helped in some sort of relief for his coiled body.

  The waitress, an older lady with an impressive grey head of hair swept up into a 1960s beehive hairstyle, leaned her knee against the cushion of my seat and snapped a wad of gum in her mouth, “Hey, kids. What can I getcha?”

  “Two coffees,” Kade mumbled, “and I need a cheeseburger deluxe.” He looked at me shrugging, “Sorry, I’m hungry. Would you like to eat anything?”

  “Actually, a cheeseburger deluxe sounds like heaven, so make that two,” I smiled at the waitress. His eyes continuously scanned the room as the waitress walked away. Then after about three sweeps, his eyes met with mine again. He muttered another apology about being hungry, and held his eyes in a steady unwavering stare with mine.

  “Don’t be sorry. I am going to destroy that cheeseburger with my soul, I’m so damn hungry,” I laughed.

  Two huge mugs of steaming coffee were placed in front of us and he smiled tightly into the dark liquid as he poured in milk. “So what’s the story with you and Francis?”

  Sipping at my coffee, I rolled my eyes, “There’s no story. I explained to him weeks ago, and I seem to have to remind him daily that I don’t want a relationship with him. He has a hard time listening.”

  “He’s about as fun as a funeral. And he’s a big dick,” he stated, trying to hide his small smile behind his coffee. “Dating him must be mind-blowing,” he said dryly.

  “You know what they say, having a small dick is the leading cause of acting like a big one,” I quipped. He laughed at me and his smile was exhilarating, making me want to hear more. “And we’re not dating. Dating sucks. Relationships suck. There are too many creepers out there.”

  “Creepers?”

  “Yes,” I said, smiling and winking. “There are all different kinds of creepers too. Let’s see,” I said, tapping my finger against my lips. “There’s the touchy feely, hands-on creeper, the boob-gawking-mouth-drooler creep, the dirty talker creep, oh, or the fetish dude creeper, who stares at your feet during whole conversations. The dominant creeper
who likes to victimize, is the worst in my book. There’s the creepy geek freak, who talks Vulcan or quotes Star Wars facts during sex, or the dirty old man creeper. Can’t forget the married creep or the cat guy creeper, or the creep your friend set you up with. There are so many,” I laughed. “My favorite is the online creeper.”

  “Online creeper?” he asked, chuckling.

  “Yeah. You know, the guy you meet online with an affinity for sending photos of his penis with every contact. For some strange reason, they love sharing pictures of their dicks publicly, like they are trying to promote them, make them famous or something. It’s the equivalent of being a flasher in an overcoat on a train platform. And they’re always trying to sex-message you some God-awful picture of themselves next to a can of soda to boast their size.”

  Kade’s shoulders were shaking from his laughter, “What the hell is a sex-message?”

  “It’s one of those sex messages that you constantly get from people. Hi. I am so-and-so and I just saw your profile and think you are kind and lovable. I want to be your friend and share my life with you. Here is a photo of me, blah, blah, blah. Do you have any naked pics?” I sipped at my coffee, enjoying the warmth of it. “I’m dead serious, Kade. Just look at sites like Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr, you’ll realize the internet is a veritable sausage fest. Everybody is showing off their dicks these days. Creepers.”

  Laughing, Kade asked, “And what kind of creep was Fran?”

  “Oh, he was the creep your friend sets you up with, touchy feely, and the cat creep all rolled into one.”

  “Must be hard pickings around here for you ladies to lock your ball and chains on someone, if all the eligible men are as creepy as Francis is,” Kade said, reaching for a napkin.

  I drew in a deep breath, blew it out dramatically and laughed, “Why do all women constantly get dragged into the same stereotypical group when someone is talking about relationships, and women needing to be married, like it’s a universal constant? Not every woman wants to lock a ball and chain on somebody. It’s like saying that all men actually do think with their dicks.”