Almost Beautiful, page 13
“Can we agree then that we’re both afraid the other is going to leave, and we know now that we’re both staying?”
He nodded again. “You’re really mine,” he said.
“I’m really yours.”
His mouth pulled away long enough for him to trace a line with his lips down my neck to my collarbone, noticing the strap over my shoulder. He looked over me with longing, his eyes pouring over my black, flowing tank top and matching panties. At the same time, I was thankful that was all he’d have to remove to be inside me. He stared at my skin as he slid the narrow fabric of the tank’s strap down, kissing the very spot he’d been focused on.
With one of his hands and in one motion, my torso was bare. He moved his mouth slowly and tenderly down my chest and stomach, pausing just long enough in all my favorite places to make my insides ache. He leaned me back against the mattress, and I relaxed, closing my eyes.
I had never felt so at home with not only someone else, but inside my own skin. Travis made me feel like the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and more loved than anyone had in my life.
He didn’t just want me, he needed me. He worshipped every inch of my body.
I was his religion.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said, his voice muffled as he situated himself between my thighs.
He reached beneath me, yanked down my panties, and then returned to the apex of my thighs as if he’d been starving for me all day.
My knees involuntarily quivered, and I moaned his name along with a few inappropriate religious references.
He kissed my thighs and then my stomach, gazing up at me with a proud smirk. He barely gave me a chance to recover before he was crawling up my body and staring into my eyes as he slowly sank himself inside of me.
Those were the times I was glad that he was unable to restrain himself. I’d only had an idea of what Travis had been like with other women, but with me, he didn’t hold back. He’d let me peel away all his layers, to see every weakness—I was one of them, and it no longer felt like a bad thing.
Neither one of us knew before the day we’d met that we were both waiting for the other to come along, and in that moment, in the cafeteria of a tiny college, our lives began.
There was no before or after.
Travis knew from the beginning that we had always been, and we would always be. That truth was finally in his eyes, in the way looked at me, the way he was gazing at me in that moment as he hovered just inches from my face.
“Oh my fuck… Pidge,” he breathed. He looked at me in awe, the exact expression that was on his face the first time he made love to me—and every time after—as if he were still surprised at how perfect and amazing I felt.
He worked agonizingly slow, paying attention to every part of my skin. Even after an hour had passed, Travis didn’t skip a beat.
My muscles were trembling with fatigue and, although he refused to pick up the pace, I was unable to catch my breath. The longer we were tangled together, the more I needed him. I felt insatiable, easily seducing Travis over and over, from one climax to the next until we were both exhausted.
I lay on my stomach, peeking from my pillow at my husband who was doing the same. Our pinkies were crossed over one another, the sheet haphazardly draped over a small section of our backsides. My skin was glistening with sweat, my eyes heavy, and my hair tangled all around me.
Travis’s free hand was above his head, twirling a caramel strand of my hair.
We didn’t speak, we didn’t need to. Everything each of us needed to hear had been said.
We were saturated with one another, the air filled with sex, love, and satisfaction, but more importantly, the confidence in the knowledge that no matter what obstacles were put in our path, we both knew the other would stay.
And there was no love deeper, more precious than that.
Chapter Fourteen
Twisted
Travis
I SCREWED THE COLD METAL of my wedding ring around my finger as I stared into the Iron E gym from the parking lot. It was Monday, cold, and it was shit fucking weather.
Spring was making its presence known, the rain clouds above pissing all over my car, the raindrops bouncing off the pavement in a hundred thousand tiny splashes. And, if I wasn’t in a bad enough mood, I had to act like I didn’t want to murder Brandon Kyle just for breathing in my direction.
I turned off the ignition and grabbed the wheel, pressing my head against the headrest. I was nearly late. It had been a challenge for Abby and me to coordinate our schedules to get everywhere we needed to go with just one vehicle, especially on the days it was raining. Today, though, I had a bigger problem.
Perkins Plaza nearly surrounded me with boutiques, a golf equipment store, a small organic foods store, a nail salon, a coffee shop, and in the center, Iron E gym. Every building matched, painted white with each store’s name in simple black letters.
It reminded me of the old generic groceries Dad would buy when I was a kid. Now it meant modern.
The thick, gray clouds outside made people walking around inside the gym under the fluorescent lights more visible. They were lifting, spotting, or running on one of the fifteen treadmills. Brandon was behind the front desk, nuzzling the receptionist’s neck with his nose.
I clenched my teeth. To be honest, I didn’t get the appeal.
Brandon stood just shy of six feet but had a thickness that made him look stubby. His body was ill proportioned, and although he worked out, it looked like the muscle he had was residual from a year ago or more.
His brown eyes always had too much white around them when he talked, making him look crazy, and his ridiculous hair, even crazier. He kept it too long, used too much gel to make it stand too far off his head. He looked like a washed-up Disney villain.
I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to be seen with him, much less work for him.
Eakins had plenty of flexible jobs for college students. The problem was that it was nearing mid-April, and most of the jobs that were still somehow available were only meant to support a weekend partying habit, not a married couple.
I had scoured the classifieds. Three dozen people had held my application in their hands and had either told me to come back next year for the Christmas rush, or that they had already hired several college kids and didn’t need more until the end of the semester. I wasn’t stupid.
The summer break exodus meant there wouldn’t be enough business to sustain more employees. The trick was to find something early in the fall semester, and timing just wasn’t on my side. Jobs on campus paid nine dollars an hour or less—nothing that could pay rent and bills with the hours I could work around my classes.
Most of all, I was pissed that I’d wasted so much money on bullshit over the past two years. I didn’t save anything left over after tuition, and worse, I’d spent it on booze, tattoos, furniture and motorcycle mods.
I had no idea I’d meet the love of my life and get married at the same time the fights ended, leaving our income landing just below the poverty line.
Working for Brandon and letting local cougars paw at me while they pretended to work out was the last thing I wanted to do, but the bills had to get paid somehow. Abby was on her second week of tutoring, but that barely covered the groceries and gas money.
I took a deep breath, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and slammed the door behind me, feeling the pooling rainwater slosh under my feet. I knocked on the glass door and waited. There was a code box outside, and each member had their own four-digit PIN.
A man whose neck was twice as big as his head set down his bar bell and, with the telltale stick-up-the-ass-and-arm-swing walk of a weightlifter, he opened the door and greeted me with a nod.
The man looked over his shoulder. “Brandon,” the meat head called with a gruff voice. He smiled at me, and it lightened his entire expression. “I’m Chuck,” he said, reaching his thick hand out to mine. “I was hoping you’d come in.”
“Travis. Nice to meet you.”
Brandon was mid-peck behind the receptionist’s ear when he looked up. Chuck noticed it, too, and his smile vanished.
It was nice to know not everyone at the gym agreed with Brandon’s antics.
“Maddox!” Brandon exclaimed, holding out his arms. “The fuck, man? What took you so long?”
He grabbed my right hand in a tight handshake and then pulled me in, tapping his shoulder to mine, patting my back with his free hand. The douche bags always went for the bro hug.
“You’ve met Chuck, he’s the management for all three gyms. Are you here to fill out an app or what?”
I nodded.
Brandon turned, reaching out toward his receptionist and snapping his fingers. “An application, Tiffany. Now.”
Tiffany turned her back to us and bent over, pulling open a filing cabinet and fingering every file.
Brandon back-handed my shoulder, chuckling and nodding toward Tiffany’s ass like a twelve-year-old.
I didn’t smile, or frown; I just concentrated on appearing indifferent.
Tiffany found what she was looking for and trotted over to Brandon with pen and the paper in hand.
“Found it,” she said, waiting for praise from her boss.
“You’re great,” he said. “Isn’t she great?”
If fucking a married man with a pregnant wife is an admirable accomplishment. “Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat. “Filing is hard.”
Tiffany dipped her chin a few times in dramatic nods, appreciative that I understood her plight.
“You wanna fill that out in my office?” Brandon asked.
“You got an office?” I said, only half joking.
Brandon puffed out his chest. “Right this way. Tiffany,” he said, snapping at her again. “Water.”
She nodded, rushing away.
“Chuck, Maddox is finally filling out an app. We need to start a list of clients for him.”
Chuck nodded, then resumed his workout as if Brandon hadn’t said anything at all.
As predicted, the walls of Brandon’s office were covered in posters with ripped, half-naked fitness models.
I was hesitant to sit down in the chair opposite his desk, sure he’d jerked off there every night. A corner of my mouth turned up, remembering Abby’s similar disgust over my old couch the first time she’d visited the apartment. I’d come a long, long way since that night.
Tiffany brought in two cold plastic bottles, and then nodded when I thanked her. She kept her eye on Brandon as she turned around, as if he didn’t already know she was dying to be bent over his desk. Again.
“Married,” Brandon said, shaking his head, staring at Tiffany’s ass until she closed the door behind her.
I sat down and placed the application on his desk, clicking one end of the pen with my thumb and filling out the information as quickly as possible.
“What made you do that?” he asked. “Can’t just be that she’s hot. You used to get two on a slow weekend, am I right?”
“No. How long have you owned this place now?” I asked without looking up. I didn’t want to punch Brandon in the mouth for talking about my wife, so I chose to change the subject.
“Four years,” he said. “Three of that was with Joan.” His chair creaked as he leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. “She signed it over to me in the divorce. It’s not what you know, it’s who you know, am I right?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. You inherited it.”
“Kids inherit things from their parents, Maddox. Joan opened this place with her ex-husband, but then I fucked her brains out and she gave me everything I wanted. This place was a shit hole, for old bags and fatties. I married that geriatric, made this place into what it is. Now, it’s mine. I bring in triple what Joan ever did.”
I scribbled down the little legitimate prior work history I had beside The Circle—landscaping in high school for my dad’s old partner—and then signed my name, sliding the paper toward him.
Brandon looked it over. “You’re missing something, aren’t ya?”
“No.”
“Didn’t you make banks in those campus fights?”
“No clue what you mean,” I said, straight-faced.
Brandon laughed. “Right. That fight ring was all about secrecy. I get it. No worries, I happen to know for a fact you KO’d everyone you’ve ever come across. Except that last dude. I guess the fire KO’d him.”
I frowned, unable to maintain the indifference I was going for.
Brandon laughed it off, and then rambled on forever about the history of the gym, still having to deal with Joan, and how pissed she was that he’d gotten one of his girlfriends pregnant. Now, Becca was his wife, and Brandon made her—just two or so months away from delivering a baby—deal with Joan so he didn’t have to.
He was an all-around piece of shit, and he was now my boss.
I gripped the arms of my chair and listened, trying to think of Abby, the wedding, our new life together, anything that reminded me that having to be in the same room with Brandon every day would be worth it. I glanced at my watch, feeling exhausted just by resisting the urge to snatch his tongue out of his bitch ass mouth.
Brandon had been describing how awesome he was for nearly two hours.
Tiffany knocked on the door and peeked in. “I’ve closed out. I’m going to head home.”
Brandon waved her off. “I’m going to take Travis out for a drink.”
“That sounds fun,” Tiffany said with a hopeful smile.
I stood. “I hate to cut you off, man, but I’ve gotta get home.”
“Oh right,” Brandon said, his voice thick with condescension. “Married life. You know, you need to set boundaries and intentions from the beginning. If you let them stop you from carrying on business-as-usual, they’ll always expect it.”
“Isn’t that the point of being married? To stop acting like you’re single? There’s nothing I’d rather do than hang out with her, anyway.”
“Consider yourself lucky, then. Becca is boring as fuck.”
“Pregnancy has a tendency to wear them out I hear.”
“I guess,” he said, his lip curling up in disgust. “They’re literally built for that, though. No reason for my life to stop. When can you start? It won’t take you long to build a clientele.”
“Next week,” I said. “Monday.”
Brandon stood and held out his hand.
I took it, feeling like I’d just sold my soul to Satan.
“I’ll start you off with the Betties,” he said.
“The who?”
“Betty Rogan and Betty Lindor. They smell like moth balls and have more wrinkles than a starved elephant, but they pay double so they can work out together and ogle the guys. They’ll love you. Start you off decent money-wise, too. They’ll ask you to lunch your first day. Go with them. They’ll pay your rent for May. Here,” he said, holding out a small booklet and another piece of paper. “This is our policy handbook and the contract. The handbook talks about your pay and commission. Don’t tell me about your tips. I don’t want to know how much you make or how you get them. A perk of working at Iron E.”
So that’s how he keeps his employees. He’s actually a fucking pimp.
“Thanks,” I said, rolling the papers and stuffing them in my back pocket. “See you Monday.”
I dodged Tiffany without acknowledging her and walked across the empty gym, pushing out of the glass door. The sky was dark, and small ponds had formed in the parking lot, reflecting the tall lights that peppered the plaza. The Camry sat in the center of one of the larger pools.
“Fuck,” I said under my breath, pulling my keys out. I fished out my phone from the other pocket and looked at the display. I’d missed four calls. “Fuck!” I growled, dialing and holding the phone to my ear.
“Travis?!” Abby said, sounding panicked.
“I’m sorry, Pidge. Brandon talked forever and I couldn’t find a good place to tell him to shut the fuck up, and—”
“Oh, my God. No, it’s fine. I was just … nothing, it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine. Feds are sniffing around, the weather is shit, you know I hate Brandon and I’m not answering. I could’ve been arrested, in a wreck, or fired before I got the job. I don’t blame you, babe. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, just … come home. I miss you.”
“On my way. I’ll be there in a sec.”
“Travis?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful. I have a bad feeling.”
“I will Pidge. I’ll be there in less than ten minutes and I’ll hold you the rest of the night.”
She sighed. “Okay. See you soon.”
Chapter Fifteen
Not Bad for a Girl
Abby
THUNDER ROLLED, SHAKING THE WINDOWS of the apartment. Shepley and America were on the couch, watching a cheesy rom com—America’s choice, of course—and I was standing next to the kitchen sink, lost in thought, staring at the messages on my cellphone.
Travis was at the gym, and even though he knew about my plans, I’d purposefully kept him out of the details. He felt guilty enough that I was going to play poker again, this time to save his ass instead of Mick’s.
“Mare?” I said, drying my hands.
“Yep,” she said, groaning and stretching as she stood. She lazily walked over to me, peering out the window. “Ugh, I’m so over the rain. It’s been gray for days.” She yawned as she spoke her next thought, “It makes me feel exhausted.”
“I need some advice.”
“Sure,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning her hip against the counter. “Whatcha got?”
“I also need some air,” I said, gesturing for America to follow me outside.
I grabbed an umbrella, and America stayed snuggled up to me as we walked to the complex playground. “This is scaring me.”
