Beautiful Disaster

by Laura Spinella

  A majestic oak stood in front of the building where Mia’s business law class was about to let out. He’d waited there the day before, just watching. Like when he’d seen her on the street downtown, on campus she was surrounded by a group of chatty girls, all of them beautiful, Mia the standout. They were all clad in short shorts or micro minis with skimpy tops. She was the rebel, not caring for the trend, feeling no need to fight the heat, dressed in low-slung jeans, cheap flip-flops, and a gauzy shirt. The sheer fabric caressed her breasts and he forced his eyes elsewhere. One more fantasy about them and Flynn was sure he’d be meeting some baseline criteria for perversion. Her hair was longer than he recalled, a caramel shade of brown that, when soaked by the warm Georgia sun, radiated highlights that glowed like a halo. A deep tan flattered her supple skin—something natural or something she worked at, he wasn’t sure. But wondering where those tan lines ended had kept him up several nights in a row. She was beautiful, sophisticated, and almost too sexy until he recalled a sprinkle of freckles across that delicate nose. To Flynn, they accentuated her innocence.

  The tree’s hulking branches were good cover yesterday and he’d gone undetected. Flynn had waited and watched, feeling a little ridiculous and somewhat ashamed. For God’s sake, he was practically stalking her. This was not his usual pattern. But he wanted to make sure that the attraction was as strong, the impact as meaningful. Hell, he wanted to make sure she was real. He’d gone to the Laundromat that same afternoon with all his clothes. Today he waited in the hot sun, exposed to every element, in freshly washed jeans and a clean T-shirt. It would have been difficult to wait in anything else—it was all he owned. Looking nice and not smelling like hot tar and exhaust fumes hadn’t been an issue in some time.

  Students began to pour out from various buildings, crowding the narrow sidewalks. A few moments ago he was the only person standing there on the old north campus, his heart in his hand. Now he felt like a big ugly slug in a swarm of honey bees, boys and girls buzzing around him in every direction. It almost made him turn and leave. He didn’t realize that this was a good thing. Not until he heard Mia’s voice. It was like cool rain on hot pavement, washing over him.

  “I’ll be sure to give it to her. Really, I don’t mind.”

  “I’m glad I ran into you, Mia.” Flynn didn’t move, observing from the sidelines a man who looked more like an instructor than a student. He shadowed Mia’s slim frame, clearly hanging on to the stack of papers he was trying to hand her. “It was a nice surprise.”

  “Michael Wells hanging out in the art building—imagine that,” Mia said. “Roxanne’s never set foot inside.”

  “I like to check out the paintings. Besides, Roxanne has no time. She’s too busy trying to one up me in calc. Give her that,” he said, finally relinquishing the papers. “It’s the converging series problem that I just solved using Taylor’s theorem—she’ll be crushed.”

  “Okay.” Mia laughed, stuffing the papers into her backpack. “Tell me something, Michael. Do you ever take a break?”

  He retreated, smiling at her. “The second after I rule the world.”

  “Have at it,” Flynn mumbled, watching.

  “See you, Mia.”

  “See—” But as she turned toward Flynn, Mia never finished the sentence.

  He could see it. Her prior conversation vanished into nothingness, books, papers, and lessons learned fading fast as Mia’s eyes met his.

  “Flynn,” she said, her voice smoky, softer than in the moments before. Mia clasped her hands to her chest, guessing he might see her heart pounding through it. “How did you . . . ?” Not find me; maybe he’s not looking for me. “What are you doing here? I . . . I thought you left.” She watched him take a big gulp of air. He almost looked nervous. The dark brown waves of hair were pulled neatly into a loose ponytail, accentuating those prominent cheekbones. It looked as though the beard had been trimmed. Too warm in the intense summer heat, she guessed. He pulled sunglasses from the bridge of a nose that clearly wasn’t as straight as God intended. Flynn’s gaze rested on her. His eyes were a buoyant shade of blue that didn’t match his image. Mia remembered thinking that was why he hid behind the sunglasses. His eyes gave him away. She stepped closer and touched his forearm. It was sticky from the rising humidity. Nevertheless, skin never felt so inviting.

  “I didn’t leave. I just had some things to do before . . . before I could see you again. I . . . I mean, if that’s okay. You . . . You look just beautiful, Mia.”

  The way he said it, the words struck her as if they were his most private thoughts tumbling out, uninhibited and pure. Mia’s face broke into an instant smile. She was wearing only a hint of mascara, yesterday’s jeans, and a black eyelet blouse that had seen better days.

  “I meant, if seeing me is anything close to what you want. If you don’t want me to go.”

  “Go?” It was all Mia could say, shaking her head in disbelief. Want you to go? Is this possible? Could you have had the same aching, out-of-body experience I’ve had for the last eight days?

  “Hmm, language problems again.” He wiped the broad palm of his hand over his bearded mouth, then folded his arms. His straight stance widened at the leg, almost at ease. “Look, I’m just going to be blunt. I thought a lot about fancy, lyrical things I could say, but it all sounded like bullshit to me. I don’t want anything like that between us. I don’t do this that often.”

  “Do what?” It was a natural question, but frankly, Mia could not have cared less what the answer was. Her senses had already dismissed the world around her, forgotten where she was, where she was going. Flynn was the only thing she saw. Whatever he wanted to do was fine by her.

  “This,” he murmured, pulling her toward him. His lips kissed hers with an ease that said they’d been doing it forever. Her backpack slid to the ground and her hands moved willingly around his shoulders. He held her tighter than he did in the motel room, as if to say he wasn’t letting go this time. Mia’s entire body curved into his; she could feel his belt buckle dig into her stomach. She could also feel the answer to any lingering question about his desire for her. It caught her by surprise and she pushed away slightly, sheepishly glancing at her toes curled up tight in her flip-flops. A nervous giggle escaped before she could squelch it, the words Reader’s Digest exiting her mouth.

  “Excuse me?”

  Her eyes didn’t budge from her feet. “When I was twelve I read in Reader’s Digest that curled toes were a sign of heightened sexual arousal. I’m thinking that’s true.” She laughed, wiggling her toes.

  “Sweetheart, your toes ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  Flynn tipped her chin up, his lips gliding over hers again, smooth and anxious, her mouth opening wider for him, wanting more. He tasted like a burst of crisp, fresh air, his soft beard tickling her face. She wanted to know what the rest of him tasted like, and it occurred to Mia that she’d never entertained such a thought in her life. His hand slid from her back to her bottom and she leaned harder into him. The kisses were deeper now, his tongue penetrating her entire mouth. Lord, but he could kiss. Everywhere he touched tingled with expectation. The prospect of aroused toes faded as other parts of her body began to clamor for his attention. The girl who lived a civil, three-beer-maximum life suddenly interrupted. Mia reluctantly pulled away, her hot forehead pressed against his chest, her peripheral vision catching the unwanted stares of passing students.

  “We’re, um, we’re making out in the middle of campus. We’re making a scene,” she murmured, wondering why she even cared.

  “Mmm, I see that.” He tucked her head under his chin, rocking her in his arms. “Maybe we should go somewhere else, if you want. But don’t you have an art class next?”

  “Uh-huh. Art. Abstracts. We’re doing abstracts,” she said, caught somewhere between reality and a salacious dream. “Good art takes time. It can wait. We probably shouldn’t go to my apartment. Roxanne will be there. But she’s going home for the weekend. We could wait until . . .”r />
  “Don’t even say it. Being with you isn’t going to hinge on her schedule. It’s fine, I’ve got it covered.”

  “But you checked out of your motel,” Mia said, realizing that each was oddly privy to the other’s whereabouts.

  “Yeah, my new place is better. Air-conditioning,” he mumbled, as preoccupied as she was. “The front desk clerk is friendly, diabetic. No candy.”

  “Oh, I see.” Mia realized that her hands were clenched, gripping a fistful of his white cotton T-shirt. It was unlike her, and unnerving. She let go, smoothing the fabric back into place, feeling his hard chest beneath her palms. She gave up, resting her splayed hands there. It remained a wrinkled reminder of the heat between them. “I need to know something, Flynn. I’ll be honest, I don’t think it matters what the answer is. I think you know I’m going with you either way. Could you just tell me, is this going to be a one-time thing? Will you disappear as mysteriously as you showed up?” Like a wild brush fire out of nowhere, destroying everything in its path. “As long as I know, I think it will be okay.” It was a lie, but Mia thought she needed to sound casual about casual sex. She looked up from the T-shirt where she had directed the question, and into his face. It wasn’t sitting well with him.

  “I suppose this is where I feed you some line about living for the moment or offer you halfhearted assurances about my intentions. You deserve an honest answer, so I’ll try to give you one.” Mia gave a small nod, unsure if she was going to like this explanation. “I’ve done things in the last week that I’ve never thought about doing in my life, including flirting with a guy named Chip.” Uncertainty crept onto her face. “Ah, he was cute,” he said, a wry smile sneaking across the beard, “but no competition for you. Anyway, staying, going, they aren’t rules I adhere to. Unless”—he hesitated—“unless somebody has locked the door. And that probably has a lot to do with how I ended up like this.” It was a hint, but he wasn’t about to elaborate. “The way I live, it’s not like the way most people live. It’s not how you live, that’s for sure. How about this?” he offered, stroking the long line of her throat with the edge of his fingertips. “I won’t just vanish. I promise. You’ll know what I’m thinking all the way. Is that enough?”

  What made you like this, Flynn? So intense and remote at the same time. I want to know. Mia looked past his shoulder, breaking eye contact, trying to let reality and clear thinking guide her. They were both out to lunch. “All right, Flynn. For now it’s enough.” Well, didn’t I make that super easy. I just told him I’d sleep with him no matter what! She sounded like she was giving in. Roxanne would be appalled. No, Roxanne would slap her silly and drag her home. She sharply reminded herself that Roxanne had no place in this conversation. Mia picked up her backpack, and Flynn automatically took it from her. “So, where’s your new place?”

  Chapter 9

  His bike was parked just outside the historic arch, the black iron symbol that welcomed all onto the campus. She saw two helmets hanging from the motorcycle. It was a huge sign. “For me?” she asked, taking the shiny black helmet a size smaller than his.

  He smiled, dismissing it. “Well, I sure as hell didn’t buy it for Roxanne. Riding without—that’s how you end up as roadkill. Motorcycles are dangerous. You have to be safe when you ride. No games.”

  “So, why do you ride one?”

  “Hmm, good question. When I . . . got out, there wasn’t much fate left to tempt. It seemed like the logical thing to do.” He helped her put the helmet on and adjusted the strap, the careful gesture saying more than words.

  They breezed out of the city limits to the next town over. The college lifestyle, a pace that dictated everything, faded. Thoroughbred horses dappled grassy hills as scores of didactic brick buildings trickled down to a few, all of it slipping away on the waning horizon. Kudzu overtook everything roadside. The lush vine fascinated Mia. Nothing like it existed in the coastal Maryland town where she grew up. It was really no more than a weed, strangling the otherwise pristine landscape, climbing on telephone polls, trees, and houses. Even so, she loved the green, the effervescent life it seemed to bring to all it touched. The air intensified in the wide-open space. Mia breathed in summer heat, renewed from this different perspective.

  A few miles later, Flynn pulled into a place called Annabelle’s, where tidy cottages sat in a row behind the main building. “It’s perfect. How did you ever find it?” she asked, trying to remove her helmet with some semblance of know-how.

  “I’m just a natural at spotting perfect.” He grinned, the compliment hitting on the beat this time. “There’s a bike shop about two miles farther down. I got a job there. The guy who hired me recommended it.”

  She stopped in her tracks, a cloud of dusty gravel swirling up around them. Mia gently grasped his arm. “You got a job? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Didn’t think it was that important,” he said, walking a few feet, turning back toward her. “It’s not like it’s my life’s passion. Guy’s got to eat, pay the rent.” He motioned toward the cottage. “Come on and see. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s clean and it’s common ground. There’s even a pond out back.”

  She hadn’t given any thought to his financial situation. He gave the distinct impression that he could live off air. Mia walked a few steps behind, glancing at the helmet that swung from his hand. She had no idea what something like that cost, but it couldn’t have been cheap. Her eyes traveled his lean body. Was it that way because he could only afford to eat once a day? She tried to remember back to when he paid for the drinks. Was it a roll of cash or just a few bills? A twenty. He’d put a twenty on the bar, but left a five-dollar tip. At the motel he had paid cash too. Mia looked at Flynn’s back pockets, admiring the fit. No hardship there. No outline either. For such well-worn jeans, the imprint of a wallet would surely be there. No wallet probably meant no driver’s license. No name. No attachment to anything except the here and now. That was the way he wanted it. Her stomach lapsed into an uneasy flutter as Flynn turned the key in the lock.

  Once she was inside the room, Flynn wasn’t exactly sure of the protocol. Tossing her on the bed and tearing off her clothes, although tempting, didn’t seem to be the right move. He could always sense fear, and Mia’s was no exception. There was conversation; they’d done well with that the other night, as long as it was about her. She fascinated him—everything in life was in front of her. No doubt she’d start asking questions about him, and that’s when things generally went sour. He watched her survey the room, her eyes going grateful when she saw the sitting area with an undersized sofa, the TV facing it. It told him something. As much as she might want this, she wasn’t ready. Don’t let me blow this. She isn’t the kind of girl you just fuck. Who am I kidding? This isn’t even the kind of girl you have an affair with. This is the kind of girl you have a life with. And, damn it, a life was the last thing he deserved.

  “Mia, can I get you a soda or a beer?” he asked, motioning to a small refrigerator.

  “Sure, sounds good. Whatever you’re having.”

  “Well, you know I’m not much of a straight soda drinker . . .”

  “Then the beer’s fine,” she cut him off.

  The tough attempt not to appear intimidated wasn’t lost on him. He opened one and handed it to her, their fingers mingling over the icy sweat that rolled down the side of the beer. As the cold can made contact with her lips, Flynn’s concentration rested solely on her mouth—just like the other night. He wanted to kiss her again. She caught him and mistook his stare for something far more dangerous.

  “Don’t worry, it’s just one beer. It won’t make me do crazy things. Or maybe that’s not the right answer.” She sat on the edge of the dresser, her eyes glossing over him, as if trying to read his thoughts. “Is that what you want, for me to lose control? Would it make it easier?”

  “Make what easier?” He didn’t like the sound of her voice. It had gone from soft and vulnerable to accusatory. “I’m not trying to make anything happ
en here.” Oddly, he found that he meant it.

  “That’s a lie.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t lie, Mia. Where’s this coming from?”

  Her eyes darted away, focusing on his small pile of belongings—all bags, like any homeless person: saddle, sleeping, and duffel. He could see her forehead crinkle beneath a layer of wispy bangs. She bit her fingernail, glancing pensively between him and the pile. Then, from nowhere, she bolted.

  “Whoa, Mia, wait. Where are you going? What’s happening? What did I do wrong?” In one quick step he blocked her exit and snatched her wrists up, holding her captive. Her eyes went wild at the implication. He released her immediately, his arms flying up like he was under arrest, but it was too late. She nearly catapulted to the door, clawing at the lock in a panic-stricken frenzy. His big hands came from behind and calmly snapped the bolt over, opening it slightly. Mia held on to the knob, debating which way to run or perhaps whether to stop and tell him off first. To his amazement, she turned and leaned her weight back against the door, but the feral look remained on her face.