If I Were Beautiful (If I Were... #1)

by Devon Hartford

  “No, he said at least twenty-five,” I snarked. “If not fifty. Maybe more.”

  “Shut up,” she laughed. “He liked you, Jay! Couldn’t you tell? I could.”

  “It’s just a ruse. Mark my words. At some point, he’ll ask for your number.”

  Chapter 4

  “Have a safe flight,” I said to Chelsea as we stood on the sidewalk outside Terminal 4 at LAX the next morning. We hugged each other goodbye.

  “It was so good to see you again, Jay-Jay.” She rubbed my back and pressed her cheek against mine.

  “You too.” I pulled away. “Where did you get these sunglasses? They make you look like a movie star.”

  “No they don’t,” she frowned. With her stylish winter white pant suit, black shoes and black handbag, she looked like she was whisking away to a shopping trip in Paris.

  “Yeah, okay,” I snorted. Compared to her, I was dressed like a teenage boy. My outfit was my usual casual uniform of jeans and an Old Navy hoodie over a random print T-shirt. Today it was Lumpy Space Princess from Adventure Time.

  “You could dress like a movie star too.”

  “I don’t have your fashion budget, Chelz.” That was just an excuse. Putting nice clothes on a mole rat didn’t make it look like a movie star, so why bother?

  “Go to Goodwill in Santa Monica. They always have good clothes for cheap. I bet you could buy an entire outfit for less than twenty bucks.”

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t look as good as you if I did.”

  She rolled her eyes, “Jane, would you stop? You’ve been talking like this since we were kids.” Chelsea was in as much denial about her own looks as she was about mine. It was one reason she wasn’t a bitch and I loved her for it.

  “With good reason,” I chuckled, unable to pull myself out of my usual spiral of sinking self-esteem.

  “Yeah, well, I’m sick of it. Stop beating up on yourself or I will bitch slap the insecurity right out of you.”

  I smirked, “Okay, so you can beat me up but I can’t beat me up?”

  “That’s right,” she smiled. “As much as I’d love to stay here and kick your ass, I’ll miss my flight if I do.”

  “You’re just scared to throw down with your little sister. Especially not in your fancy outfit.”

  “Ha! You wish. Do you think I care about this outfit? I’ll throw down right now.” She was joking.

  “You can’t fight in heels. You’d lose,” I chuckled.

  She snorted, “I would so own you, you snarky little bitch.”

  We both laughed as I pulled her bags out of the trunk of my Hyundai and gave her one last hug. “Call me when you’re home safe in San Francisco?”

  “I will. I want to hear which other guys from last night want to see you again. I really liked Mike.”

  “You mean the first one I talked to?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You think he was better than Zack?”

  “Who cares? The more guys the better, right? That’s the whole point of speed dating.”

  “Right.”

  “Call me when you find out.”

  “I will. Hey, are you coming back next month?”

  “Probably.”

  “I already miss you.” I meant it and hugged her again.

  “Me too.” She kissed my cheek. “See you soon!” She wheeled her luggage toward the airport doors, looking every bit like a fashion spread in Vogue magazine as she breezed past a crowd of gawking male passengers and skycaps. She was oblivious to the attention as she turned and blew me a kiss. I caught it and waved goodbye as she walked into the terminal.

  I sighed to myself and drove home.

  Alone.

  I wasn’t holding my breath that Mike or Zack or any of the other guys from last night would actually want to see me again. Worse, I had the entire day off to dwell on it.

  Ugh.

  On the drive home, I called my best friend George Sweet.

  “Hey, Jane! What are you doing out of your coffin so early?” George and I had a running joke that I was a vampire because I worked the night shift.

  “What do you think, George? I spent the night getting drunk on virgins at a blood rave.”

  “Oooh! A blood rave! Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Because you’re not a vampire.”

  “Sadly,” he chuffed. George often lamented the fact that vampires weren’t real. “Did you dress up as Wesley Snipes from the Blade movies or Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”

  “Both,” I laughed.

  “I hope you have pictures.”

  “It was a blood rave, George. You know pictures aren’t allowed. Blood gets sucked. Virgins are turned. We vampires don’t like word getting out.”

  “That’s why you should’ve invited me,” he chuckled, “so I could get turned.” George was the only twenty-nine year old virgin I’d ever known who wasn’t a virgin by choice, but was defiantly proud of it. He wore his virginity like a reverse badge of honor, like being a loser was something he chose. I think secretly he didn’t want to be a virgin but he’d never admit it. One time three years ago, we’d been sitting together under a blanket watching The Nightmare Before Christmas on Halloween. I wanted him to kiss me, but he didn’t. I was also pretty sure I wanted to have sex with him. We’d been best friends for nine years. What was not to like about George? When I’d gone to the bathroom to pee, my chest was fluttering with excitement. I decided I would start a tickle fight with him when I came out. Hopefully that would inspire him to kiss me. But when I came out, he was gone. We hadn’t even kissed. He didn’t call me for a week after that. I thought I’d lost my best friend. Then he did call and acted like it had never happened. I didn’t bring it up and we never talked about it afterward. Even today, I could see myself with George. We should’ve been perfect for each other. He was the Bat-nerd to my Robin-nerd. But I didn’t think he could see himself with anybody.

  “I would’ve called,” I said, “but Kate Beckinsale wasn’t there as Selene from Underworld.”

  “Oh, then forget it,” he snorted. “But the next time you see Selene at one of your vampire parties, call me.”

  “What if I just see Kate Beckinsale?”

  “Mmmm? Nah.”

  We both laughed.

  George was the only male friend I’d ever had who’d never made a move on Chelsea. I sometimes feared he was holding out hope something would happen between them some day, but he’d been around her hundreds of times since I’d met him in college. He and Chelsea were always friendly with each other, but I think after nine years it was safe to assume nothing was going to happen. They were just friends. I think the reality was that George preferred the fantasy women of his comic books, cartoons, and video games over real life women. I sometimes wondered if he was gay but didn’t know it, or just afraid to admit it to himself.

  He said, “So, how was dinner with Chelsea last night?”

  “Dinner? Nuh uh. It wasn’t dinner. My lying sister tricked me into going speed dating.”

  “Speed dating? She should’ve taken you speed skating.”

  “Skating?”

  “Yup.”

  I shook my head. It was such a George thing to say. I said, “Um, is that a good way to meet guys?”

  He laughed. “How should I know? I’ve never been. But I definitely would’ve taken you speed skating. That would make a great first date.”

  I thought it would make a terrible first date, but I suddenly found myself wondering if he was hinting we should go on a first date. No, that was just wishful thinking. We saw each other all the time. He wasn’t interested and I was old enough to realize that. But he was still my best friend.

  “Hey,” I sighed. “What are you doing today? Do you wanna hang out?”

  “I’m already hanging out up in Fresno.”

  “Are you at another Brony convention?” George wasn’t a full-fledged Brony, but I always gave him crap about it because he did watch My Little Pony religiously, and had taken me to two Brony conventi
ons.

  “No, I’m at my grandma’s house. I won’t be home until late tonight.”

  “Oh,” I said, disappointment obvious in my voice.

  “If you’re bored, maybe you should go speed skating.”

  “Would you go with me?” I felt a rush of hopeful excitement.

  “Are you crazy? I don’t know how to speed skate. Those skates are like knives. Somebody would end up with their fingers cut off. You shouldn’t go either.”

  Sigh. “Good point. How about roller skating?”

  “Fingers crushed under the wheels. So don’t ever go roller skating. You’ve been warned.” Now he was joking.

  I laughed, “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  “Well, I should probably go. I’m taking Mams to brunch.”

  “Okay, talk to you later.”

  I sighed as I drove home alone.

  Now I officially had nothing to do today and no one to do it with. I hated spending my days off by myself. There was the slight chance that I’d get a call from Zack or Mike from last night, but I wasn’t holding my breath.

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  Back at my apartment, I sat on my couch reading a tattered paperback copy of The Girl on the Train. I’d already read it once. Why not read it twice? I had nothing else to do.

  Heavy thuds outside caught my attention.

  I twisted around and looked out my front window. Because I was on the second story, the balcony walkway outside had a tendency to bounce when people walked along it. I always looked to make sure the rumbling was a person and not an earthquake.

  It was a person, but it wasn’t someone I recognized. Some big guy holding a huge black chair in his arms. He dropped it outside my front door and my entire apartment shook.

  I jumped with fright.

  The guy vaulted over his chair and disappeared from view.

  What the heck?

  Keys jingled in the lock next door. The door creaked open and boots thudded inside.

  I yanked my door open to investigate. The big black chair was completely blocking my front door. The back of it was square against my doorframe. If there was a fire or earthquake, I’d be trapped inside.

  Was the inconsiderate lout my new neighbor? The apartment next to mine had been vacant for almost a month. Whoever this jerk was, I needed to give him a piece of my mind.

  “Excuse me!” I tried to lean my head over the chair so I could see next door, but I was too short to get a good view or climb over it. I tried pushing the chair out of the way, but it banged up against the balcony railing. The only way to move it was to slide it left or right. I tried to budge it, but it was too heavy and I couldn’t get any leverage. Maybe yelling would work. “Hey! Your chair is blocking my door!”

  Yes, I was irritated.

  I waited patiently for a reply but didn’t get one.

  “Hello?!”

  No answer.

  Getting more irritated.

  “Hey! Are you going to move your chair?! I’m stuck in my apartment!”

  I waited, now angry.

  Apparently he hadn’t heard me. Or didn’t care.

  What an ass.

  I plopped down on my couch and picked up my book.

  Ten minutes later, the chair was still blocking my door. Some people. Did they not know the world didn’t revolve around them?

  Geesh.

  I had to pee, so I closed my door and went to the bathroom. While I was peeing, WHAM! The entire apartment shook. Had the caveman just broken my door down? It sure sounded like it. If he’d broken anything, Petrak the apartment manager would make me pay for it unless I could prove I wasn’t the one who damaged things.

  Ass Face had the worst timing.

  When I finished in the bathroom and finally opened my front door, the chair was gone.

  But Ass Face had left me a present: a huge black skid mark where the chair had obviously slammed against my door. There were also long gouges in the wood. You couldn’t miss it if you were blind. Petrak wouldn’t miss it either, and he was an angry drunk who had no patience for anyone else’s problems.

  My blood boiled and my face turned red.

  Obviously, Ass Face had no idea who he was dealing with, otherwise he would’ve taken more care while moving his chair. I stuck my head through the caveman’s open front door, ready to yell his face off. But the only thing in the empty front room and kitchen area was that stupid black chair. Where was he? Not here. I had half a mind to get a butcher knife from my kitchen and slash the crap out of it.

  “Hello?! Any jerk home?!” I was furious.

  No sign of the caveman.

  “Hello?!” I wasn’t the kind of person to barge into someone else’s apartment without permission, but I wasn’t above yelling. “Hey! Neighbor! Your chair wrecked my door and left a huge skid mark on it! You need to fix it!” I cringed at the sound of my voice. I probably sounded like a complete bitch, which I wasn’t. Ask the people who worked for me at the 95 Cent Store. But come on. Did this guy have no respect for other people’s property? “Hey! Are you in here? Anybody home?!” Okay, I was pissed. He was just ignoring me. Like every other guy on the planet. I wasn’t worth his time. I wasn’t—

  “Something wrong?” A bassy voice boomed behind me. It reverberated through my entire body in a pleasurable way that I immediately hated. Hated because it wasn’t meant for me. It was meant for women like Chelsea or other qualified supermodels who men didn’t ignore this blatantly.

  I turned around slowly into a wall of abs.

  Shirtless abs. The abs wore a thick leather belt with a huge stainless steel eagle buckle, dark blue jeans, and scuffed up work boots. I was afraid to look up and see what was attached to the abs. I could smell clean man sweat. Make that sex. Man sex. I tried to ignore it. The abs V-ed down to a very bulgy bulge below his eagle belt buckle. Wow oh wow. Did I dare look up? I dared. Because, although these abs alone were worth their weight in gold, the ass face attached to them needed to fix my door.

  My eyes crawled up his abs.

  A droplet of sweat trickled down between beefy pectoral muscles. To either side, nipple rings dangled from pierced nipples. Razor sharp tattoos sliced across shoulders and down muscled arms. A strong jaw was sand-papered with dark stubble. Full lips. Finely sculpted nose. Blazing blue eyes. Unruly devil-may-care dark hair.

  Oh, no.

  His ass face was gorgeous. Nothing assy about it.

  Mike and Zack from last night had nothing on this guy.

  This guy was a certified stud.

  I could only stare at him and swoon. Not good.

  I couldn’t even breathe. My chest was locked tight with fright because I knew this perfect specimen of rugged manhood was now looking directly at my shrunken mole eyes through my window sized glasses. Not the best look for making a good first impression on the sexiest neighbor of all time.

  Blaze, I’m calling him Blaze because of his blazing blue eyes, stared down at me, his face an inscrutable stone mask.

  God, he was painfully gorgeous.

  And very much godlike.

  Swoon, swoon, swoon.

  This was the moment in the movie when the handsome manwhore took one look at the heartstruck heroine, fell hopelessly in love with her, and changed his whoring ways so they could marry and make beautiful babies and live happily ever after. But the look on Blaze’s face did not resemble love at first sight or love at all. It looked more like disgust. No, disinterest. Obviously, he wasn’t into female garden gnomes or garden trolls or whatever he thought I was. Heck, for all the interest he was showing me, he might not even know I was standing here.

  Was I hurt he clearly wasn’t interested?

  Or course not.

  I was pissed he’d broken my front door. But I did my best to be polite. My glasses had slid down my nose, so I pushed them up. “Um, you ruined my door with your chair.”

  He frowned, “Who are you?” Why are you bothering me, you miniature mole creature?

  “I’m your nei
ghbor,” I chuckled nervously. “I live next door. You, um, banged your chair against my front door?” I sounded pathetic. I should be lecturing him about gouging it and demanding he pay for it.

  He shrugged, his eyes now blazing cold. “And?”

  Was that all he could say? Now I was getting mad. “And,” I mocked sarcastically, “you need to go explain to the manager that you did it.”

  “Did what?”

  “Broke my door!”

  Apparently, brains and beauty did not always go together. I folded my arms across my chest defiantly.

  He put his hands on his narrow hips casually. After a moment, he glanced over at my front door. “Looks fine to me,” he drawled.

  “Fine?! That big black gouge wasn’t there before you threw your chair against it!”

  He arched an eyebrow and stared at me. Translation: Would you go away, you squat little troll? You’re not on my radar. Get it?

  I arched both my eyebrows and wiggled my head. Translation: Asshole, you need to fix my door!

  He took a longer look at my door and sighed, “I’ll take care of it.”

  I barked, “When?”

  His eyes narrowed and he glared at me, “When I get around to it.”

  “Would you mind telling me when that is?” I was trying to be polite and not run him off. Why? Honestly, I’d never stood this close to a man this hot for this long, and I didn’t want him to go away just yet. I had hormones. I wasn’t impervious to hot men. Even the ones who are inconsiderate dickholes.

  “I said I’ll get around to it.”

  “When is that?” I tried to sound polite, but it came out bitchy.

  Blaze broke eye contact. “I’ve got shit to move. You’re in my way.”

  “What about my door?”

  “I’ll fix it later.”

  Was he being nice or was I just wishing?

  I know I was wishing he would ask my name. I suspected he was a nice guy under his Ass Face exterior. If he would be the slightest bit polite, I would gladly help him move in his furniture or whatever else he needed to put in his apartment. I would also offer to make lemonade for him or buy him a cold six pack of whichever beer he preferred. And pizza. You always bought pizza when you helped someone move. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I wanted to dote all over Blaze in the hopes that he’d sweep me up in his arms, throw me on the nearest bed (which would be mine) and dote all over every inch of my body.