Beth Michele - Scarred Beautiful

Caleb reaches for Fran’s hand first, kissing the back of it like the gentleman that he isn’t, and then moves on to do the same with Peyton. “Nice to meet you two lovely ladies. Can we buy you drinks?”

“Sure,” Peyton replies, and Caleb takes the opportunity to sidle up next to her at the bar while Fran and I continue staring at one another.

“What are the chances?” she murmurs quietly, shaking her head and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I know, right?” I’m trying to think of something witty to say, but failing miserably. I barely know her and I’m already off balance. It makes me uncomfortable so I cross my arms over my chest to protect myself…from what I have no idea.

Caleb hands us each a drink, then goes back to his conversation with Peyton. I look to Fran who almost seems as unsure as I am about what to do next.

“You want to sit?” I ask her, motioning with my hand to a table by the window. The view is pretty amazing, so if we can’t find anything to say we can always just stare out at the lights of the city.

“Sure,” she responds, and I let her go ahead of me, still shaking my head at the bizarre nature of this situation and at the same time catching a quick glimpse of her ass.

We take a seat at the table, both of us still reeling from the strangeness of it all. Fran twirls a strand of her hair around her finger absentmindedly, while I take a sip of my drink, eyeing her over the rim of my glass.

“So, Fran,” I say, placing my drink on the table and settling back in the chair.

“So, Matt,” she follows, continuing the lazy twirl of her locks.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her, lacing my hands behind my head and shifting my feet under the table.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replies, raising a brow and smiling mischievously.

“I’m here for the conference. It’s my company who sponsored it.” I lean forward and grab a couple of peanuts from the bowl as I wait for her response.

“No shit?” she comes back with, and for some reason it makes me chuckle. She’s got quite the mouth on her, and I let my eyes drift to it momentarily.

She catches my gaze and grins at me, resting her elbow on the table and her head in the palm of her hand. Her tongue sneaks out to drag across her bottom lip. “Something appeal to you?”

Well, she’s either drunk or very forward. Not really my style either way. I’ve had my share of drunken women and I can’t stand women that are overtly flirtatious like they’re trying too hard. She’s gotta be plastered, because to look at her, you wouldn’t think she’d have to try hard at all.

“No, not particularly,” I reply with an abrupt smile, scraping my hands down the front of my jeans, not knowing why the hell I’m reacting to her this way.

“Geez, kill me with kindness, why don’t you?” She smirks. “So I guess it’s safe to say you’re not as sweet as your brother.” Her laughter rings out, and I can’t tell whether she’s serious or not but I’m immediately taken aback. She doesn’t even know me.

I narrow my eyes, my lips forming a hard line. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

She flicks the ice in her glass with her finger before looking back at me, assessing me a little too heavily for my liking. “You seem…uptight. Like you need to dislodge the stick that’s up your ass.” She lets out a hearty, and I think, drunken laugh. “I’d give you some help with that, but it’s not my thing.”

What the fuck? Fran’s got some nerve. The girl has barely spoken to me and already she’s pissing me off. Maybe because there’s a ring of truth to her words. I didn’t realize I was that transparent.

I smirk and sit up straighter, rolling my shoulders to ease the discomfort there. Suddenly I’m very curious what her thing is. “First, you imply that I’m not sweet, and now I have a stick up my ass? Boy,” I chuckle, before adding, “you’re a real ego booster. Remind me to hang out with you more often.”

I’m sitting across from Matt, slightly buzzed and amused all at once. I think I’m getting under his skin and I like the feeling. I wouldn’t mind getting under him , period. Gabby would probably scream at me if she knew I was lusting after Brad’s brother in just the ten minutes since we’ve been in each other’s company. He’s definitely not sore on the eyes, though, and more ruggedly handsome than I remember: sandy brown, shaggy hair that falls over eyes the color of sea glass, a chiseled jaw with just a hint of stubble, that adorable dimple on his right cheek, and the subtle curve of his lips. Not to mention the way those jeans hug his slim waist and that black t-shirt clings to the defined muscles of his chest—I have to stop myself. That would be wrong, right? He’s Brad’s brother.

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.