Beth Michele - Scarred Beautiful

He hooks one leg over the bike and sets his other foot on the pedal, crooking his finger at me. “Hop on and wrap your arms and those sweet little legs around me,” he says with a devilish grin.

“You know,” I comment, tapping my foot lightly on the pavement, my arms folded across my chest, “you seem a little too happy about this, and….” I stall. “I can’t believe you own a motorcycle anyway!”

“Why not, us tight-asses can’t have motorcycles?” he asks, seemingly offended, but then he continues. “If you must know, the CEO bought it for me after I landed two big clients. It’s certainly not something I would buy for myself and I barely ride the thing.”

“So why now, then?” I ask, picking at my thumbnail, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Honestly?” He looks away from me and into the distance. “I don’t know. I just wanted to ride with you.”

There’s a subtle pleading in the tone of his voice when he says it, like he’s trying to break free and he needs me to help him do it. It’s been a long time since anyone has needed me for anything so that alone pushes me to choke back the fear and let go.

“Okay.”

“Great. Let’s do this.” He turns back, giving me a megawatt smile, showcasing his perfect white teeth and deep dimple.

I take a huge breath before I climb on, grabbing onto Matt’s arm and throwing one leg over before situating myself. Encircling my arms around Matt’s waist, I lean in with my head close to his shoulder and inhale his clean, fresh scent. It has a calming effect that all but disintegrates the moment he kick-starts the engine and it roars to life. I force my eyes closed and say a few silent prayers.

“Hold on tight, little spark,” he says, and I can hardly hear his voice over the rumble of the bike.

We take off like a bat out of hell and a loud yelp escapes my throat. Matt laughs over the thundering sound and I squeeze him tighter for fear of my body flying off of this godforsaken vehicle and onto the LA highway.

“You okay?” he yells, and I have to shut my eyes from the force of the wind pounding our faces.

“Yeah,” I scream back, finally relaxing a bit since Matt seems to have good control over the bike, which is surprising for someone who doesn’t ride much.

The scenery on the way to wherever we’re going is just breathtaking: miles of captivating beaches, camel-colored sand, and an endless landscape of blue sky. I’m not sure how much time goes by when we finally pull into what looks like a lagoon—a small body of water surrounded by sand and tall grass. There are a few people scattered here and there but for the most part it’s quiet and peaceful.

Matt jumps off the bike first, removing his helmet, then takes my hand to help me down. He unhooks the strap, his blue eyes never leaving mine, and I find it hard to look away. “So, what did you think?” He pushes my now matted hair away from my face, his hand lingering between my cheek and my ear, sending a shiver through me that doesn’t go unnoticed. “Cold?” he asks.

“No.” I don’t know what I feel but it’s definitely not cold. If anything, his touch shoots a warmth through me that’s unsettling, mostly because I don’t know what to do with it. There’s a part of me that wants to lean into his hand but I hold back.

“I really enjoyed the ride,” I say quickly, trying to ward off this strange sensation. “It was actually pretty freeing. I didn’t get the fascination before but I think I do now.”

“I liked it, too. More so because you were wrapped around me,” he teases with a sparkle in the steel blue depths of his eyes, earning a shove from me.

“Ass.”

“I like it when you’re forceful,” he says, stumbling, before placing his hand on my lower back and leading me to the sand. “Sit.”

“So, why here?” I look around, barely noticing any sound except for the water rippling along the shore.

“I used to come here a lot after my sister died. It’s a good place to think. Plus, it reminds me of a small reservoir in Connecticut my family spent time at when we were growing up.”

Thoughts of New York wander through my head and make me smile. “I have a spot I go to in Central Park when I want to think or just reflect on things, too. There’s a bench that pretty much has my name on it now and a musician who’s always at that same spot playing his guitar and singing. I like to sit and listen to him, get lost in the music. It helps me sort through things sometimes.” I shrug. “I think everyone needs a place they can escape to….” I pick up a rock and toss it, watching it skim across the water. “Where I grew up in Northern California there was a playground across the street from my house and I’d always go sit on the merry-go-round when I was upset, especially if someone had teased me.”

“Oh no,” he says sympathetically, surrounding his head with both hands and shaking it, “the dreaded teasing which no child can escape. What were you teased about?”

I let out a sharp laugh, my head falling back. “What wasn’t I teased about? I’ll never forget the things they said to me.”

“What kinds of things?” he prods, huddling closer to me, but continuing to stare out at the water.

“It’s so embarrassing. They used to call me ‘big fanny Fran’ in third grade.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I kind of always had a big butt.” My face heats at the memory of Gerald Windmeier chasing me around the playground screaming it and challenging the other kids to say it ten times fast.

Matt bumps my shoulder, a teasing grin lifting his lips. “I can’t confirm or deny unless you want to do a couple of twirls.”

I scrunch my nose and feel the wrinkle on my forehead popping out. “Fat chance.”

“That nickname really doesn’t suit you though,” he says thoughtfully, “I would’ve called you….” He cocks his head to the side, taking a second to peruse my face. “Sunshine.”

“Sunshine?” I cast him a quizzical look. “Why sunshine?”

He tucks a wind-blown strand of hair behind my ear, the blue in his eyes connecting with the green in mine. “Why sunshine? Because the light in your eyes causes your whole face to beam…so yeah”—he smiles—“sunshine.”

I wrap my arms around my knees as my gaze dips down, a shyness enveloping me. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time.”

Jesus. Her bright eyes widen a fraction as the word ‘sunshine’ leaves my mouth. The way she’s looking at me, that brilliant twinkle alight in the green of her eyes, it’s like I just gave her the world. The fucked up part? I suddenly want to give it to her. And that scares the shit out of me.

She curls into herself, her eyes dropping to the sand and I gently touch her shoulder, wanting to bring her back to me.

“Fran,” I say quietly, “look at me.”

When she lifts her face, all traces of that little spark are gone, replaced by someone I don’t recognize…someone sad and maybe even a little lost. Tears swim in her eyes and it makes me want to wipe them all away, to hold her and chase away the demons that are threatening to surface.

“I didn’t realize there was any light left,” she murmurs hoarsely, and I can’t bear the devastation I see in the dimmed green flame of her eyes. The rawness in her tone brings a burning ache to my chest.

Without hesitating, I bundle her in my arms and surprisingly she responds by circling hers around my waist, allowing me to comfort her. “It’s gonna be okay, Fran,” I whisper, rubbing calming circles around her back. “It’s gonna be okay.” The small whimpering sounds she’s making are breaking my fucking heart. I want to be able to fix this for her but I know from experience that’s not possible. All I can do is be here if she needs me.

After a few minutes she lifts her head away from my shoulder, sniffling, rubbing her eyes and her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry for losing it.” She straightens her shoulders and heaves out a sigh.

I tip her chin, grasping it between my thumb and forefinger. “You don’t ever have to apologize for who you are, Fran, not with me. Besides,” I tease, grinning, “I got a hug out of the deal.”

The edges of her lips curl and she rolls her eyes as she pushes to her feet.

“I got you to smile. Mission accomplished. Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

She cups a hand to her ear, her eyes set in concentration. “Don’t you hear that?”

I still, listening for whatever noise I’m supposed to be hearing, but am on the receiving end of silence. “I don’t hear anything.”

She smiles and rubs her belly. “My stomach is growling. I’m hungry. Let’s go get something to eat.”

We climb back on the bike after putting our helmets on and I wait for Fran to settle herself, wrapping her arms around me, our bodies molding together perfectly. She holds on tight, her breasts crushed against my back, the heat from her body settling into mine, working its way through every part of me. I’m definitely taking the long way home.

I’m waiting for Matt to stop at any one of the restaurants we pass by as we weave in and out of various side streets, but he never does. I can’t figure out where we’re going and it seems like we’ve been on this bike for a while, not that I’m complaining. It’s actually a lot more enjoyable than I thought it would be.

He veers into his condo complex and my stomach disapproves because I’m starving. He presses the remote for the garage and once it opens, pulls the bike inside, and cuts the engine.

“What are we doing back here? I thought we were going to get something to eat,” I ask, chucking my helmet at him, frustration and hunger drawing my grumpy side out to rear its ugly head.

He situates the helmets back on the shelf and turns around to face me. “We are getting something to eat. I’m gonna cook.”

“You cook, too?” My hand flies to my chest. “Say it isn’t so,” I tease, and he smirks. Matt seems to have a number of surprises up his sleeve and I can’t wait to see what’s next.

“Yes, I cook, and I’m pretty good, if I do say so myself,” he replies, confident. He leads us through a door at the back of the garage that takes us into his condo. The room we enter is a finished basement complete with pool table, an oversized flat screen TV, an air hockey table, and even a pinball machine. There’s a bar on the far wall and two black leather couches in an L-shape facing the television. A metal shelf sits behind them containing hundreds of movies.

“Holy shit. That’s a lot of movies,” I blurt out, and Matt chuckles at my comment. Walking over to the shelf, I check out the selection and find there’s everything from action and comedy, to drama, and even romance. Interesting.

“I guess it’s pretty obvious this is my man cave and I watch a lot of movies,” he says, before pointing out three other doors leading to a laundry room, a tool room, and a spare bedroom. For a place he spends a lot of time in, it’s exceptionally clean and barely looks lived in at all.

I follow him up to the next level and my mouth drops open as soon as we hit the last step. It’s gorgeous. The walls are painted in a muted green, complemented by cream leather couches laid out with chocolate brown pillows, black accent tables, and a selection of abstract art covering the walls. When I look to the left, there’s a full kitchen with granite counters, top of the line stainless steel appliances, and a center island. I catch a glimpse of Matt who’s staring at me. “This place is amazing. And it completely holds up to your tight-ass reputation.”

He laughs and heads into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine from the fridge. “What, because there aren’t any clothes lying around or beer bottles on the floor?”

“Pretty much,” I state blandly, taking a closer look at some of the artwork.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he begins, removing two long-stemmed glasses from a cabinet in the center island. “I was actually kind of a slob growing up…dropping clothes wherever they landed, leaving candy wrappers around my room. My mom always got on my case about it.” He holds up the bottle of wine. “Is white wine okay?”

I nod in response before spotting some photos on a side table and making my way over to them. There are five different pictures and all except one include Matt.

“That’s my mom and dad, and Clara. Of course you recognize Brad.” He continues milling about the kitchen, placing an assortment of peppers and broccoli on the countertop.

“Wow. You and Clara looked so much alike, and your mom…she was pretty.” I hold up the picture and examine it more closely. “Where was this? It looks like Martha’s Vineyard.”