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

by Devon Hartford

  “Something like that,” I smiled absently as memories from my childhood resurfaced. Brodie didn’t know I’d been a nerd girl all my life. He didn’t know I liked books better than boys or even girls because books never made fun of me or bullied me. He didn’t know that walking down the Shopkins aisle at Target or going into the Disney Store felt slightly like heaven to me. Did that make me autistic?

  “With high-functioning women, they can go completely undiagnosed for years. Well into adulthood. They can go to college, hold down a job, have seemingly functional relationships, everything. We didn’t realize my sister had Asperger’s until she was thirty.”

  “Wait, you have a sister too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Now? Brenna is thirty-three.”

  Brenna.

  Where had I heard that name recently? A memory of a woman screaming echoed through my brain. Is Brenna one of your clients?! Or do you fuck her for free?! Plastic Blonde had screamed those exact words outside Brodie’s door yesterday.

  Was she talking about the same Brenna?

  It would be rude to ask, but I suspected it was. Brenna wasn’t a name you heard every day. Was it possible that whole scene outside yesterday was a misunderstanding? Based on what Brodie had just told me, it seemed entirely possible. Was it also possible that Brodie was a sweetheart underneath his bad boy exterior?

  Maybe I could ask him indirectly. “Is Brenna one of your clients?”

  He smiled, “She acts like it sometimes, but no. Her work is hanging out with women her age who don’t have Asperger’s. They do shit like go to the hair salon together or girl’s night out. But when she goes out without her therapy group, believe me, she asks me a ton of questions afterward. What did it mean when somebody said this, or somebody acted like that?” He laughed. “I can’t believe my older sister asks me for advice about how to understand women. What the fuck do I know? It’s pure comedy. Anyway, I do my best. But, you know,” he shrugged, “I can’t really teach her how to be a girl. You know what I mean?”

  I was suddenly convinced that Brodie’s Brenna was the same one that Plastic Blonde had been shouting about. It had to be some kind of misunderstanding. I had to know for sure.

  “Brodie, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Who was that woman yelling outside your apartment yesterday?”

  In an instant, his face darkened and hardened. “Ashleigh? Fuck that bitch. Wait, did you hear her?”

  “I did,” I said with quiet respect. “Was she yelling about your sister? She kept saying Brenna.”

  Brodie’s face soured and he shook his head. “That bitch went through my phone. Saw a picture of me out with Brenna and her friends at one of her ladies night therapy things. I go sometimes. I think Brenna is trying to set me up with her friends. Anyway, Brenna had a few drinks that night and had her arm around me in the pic. Ashleigh thought Brenna was some chick I was fucking on the side. Said all kinds of nasty shit about her. Ahhh, fuck Ashleigh. Total bitch. Do me a favor and don’t mention her name again. I can’t fucking stand her.”

  “Didn’t you tell her you had a sister?”

  “Hell no. Someone like Ashleigh wouldn’t understand. Hell, I wouldn’t want her to ever meet Brenna. Ashleigh was the same kind of pinhead who tortured Brenna in high school.”

  Quietly, I said, “Then why were you sleeping with her?”

  Brodie looked at me for a long time before shaking his head. “Fuck, I don’t know. Because I’m an idiot with a dick for brains?”

  “Butt for brains,” I grinned.

  He smirked, “Right.”

  I smiled at him, suddenly wondering who this man was beneath his arrogant asshole exterior. He was a mystery to me, but I wanted to find out more. A lot more.

  “What,” he chuckled, glancing away nervously, so different from the cocky Brodie I thought I knew. The real Brodie could be somewhat shy.

  “Nothing,” I muttered.

  By nothing I meant everything.

  My entire body warmed with thoughts of Brodie.

  He sure was something else.

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  “There’s no more chips!” I shook the greasy paper bag two hours later. We’d been sitting at my dinner table talking about anything and everything this entire time. “You ate the last one!”

  “You did. You took it from me an hour ago.”

  “Liar,” I giggled.

  “Whatever you say, tortilla thief.” He smiled at me.

  I sighed. “I hate to say this, but I should probably get to bed.”

  “That an invitation?”

  “No!” I slapped his rock hard shoulder, hurting my hand more than him. “Ow!” I shook my hand. “Are you made of steel?”

  “Vanadium steel,” he emphasized. “It has a higher tensile strength than regular stainless.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Nerd.”

  He laughed and shrugged.

  Despite Brodie’s over-sexed persona, there was more to him than met the eye and he was a decent guy underneath. During our conversation, he’d shared more stories about growing up with an autistic brother and working with his clients.

  “I should probly go anyway,” he said, standing up from the table. “I gotta be up pretty early tomorrow. My buddy Alan needs to learn how to ride the Metro. So I’m taking him tomorrow morning when the crowds are light. Gonna show him how to buy tickets, figure out which side of the platform to stand on, how to get on and off the train, where to sit, when to get off. You know, subway basics.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. Alan asks a thousand questions about every little thing, so I need to be focused. That means sleep.” He grabbed the aluminum trays that held the remnants of our Mexican food, wadded everything up, and put it in the plastic bag they’d come in before wandering into my kitchenette. “Where’s your trash?”

  “Under the sink.”

  “Found it.” He tossed it in and slapped the cupboard door shut. Then he grabbed a sponge from the sink, ran some water on it, and wiped my table down.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Now you don’t either.” He wiped crumbs to the edge of the table and caught them with his cupped hand, then kept wiping with the wet sponge until the entire table glimmered like an ice rink. He smiled when he finished and I smiled back.

  Okay, okay. Brodie wasn’t even close to being the shallow asshead I’d thought. Sometimes first impressions were wildly inaccurate.

  I walked him to my door, which was only five feet from my dinner table, but it felt like the polite thing to do.

  “Let me get the door for you,” I lunged past him and grabbed for the doorknob.

  “I got it,” he lunged at the same time and wrapped his hand around mine. His huge body hovered over me like a protective shield. Heat radiated from him in waves.

  A fountain of warmth blossomed up my arm from where Brodie’s hand touched mine, soaking my entire body. I turned and looked up at him. His eyes smoldered. He swallowed hard. I did too.

  Was he nervous?

  I didn’t know, but I sure was.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, dropping his hand from mine. He took a step back.

  Paralyzed, I still held the doorknob. All I could do was look at him and think, Social worker, life saver, loving brother, what other amazing qualities did this man have? Did there need to be more?

  Having lost complete control of my body, I could only observe myself as I leaned my back against my door, still clutching the doorknob like a safety valve that I desperately wanted to open but couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried to turn it. There was no way for me to open my door and release all the tension in the room. The only other thing I could open at that moment was my heart, but I was afraid to do that.

  Brodie mumbled, “I should…” He stepped toward me. I was blocking his way.

  I wasn’t going to kiss him. I wasn’t.

  So I grabbed the front of his
T-shirt in a fist and twisted it into a knot and pulled.

  He didn’t move an inch but he stared at my fist. Then stared at me. His eyes burned. My entire body burned. My chest heaved with desire. I narrowed my eyes in an angry challenge because anger was what I felt toward him. Repressed anger from before, for the way he’d treated me as plain Jane, for the way he’d treated Ashleigh before I’d heard the whole story. But more than anything, I felt an undeniable desire to make this man mine.

  I growled, “I hate you, Brodie.”

  The blue embers of his eyes flamed and he grunted once before attacking me, slamming me against the door. His lips were harsh, demanding. His tongue fought its way into my mouth. Once inside, I couldn’t resist it no matter how hard I tried. But I fought back anyway, my tongue attacking his.

  A hard hand grabbed my breast, squeezing me to the edge of pain before releasing and massaging. Then he pinched my hardened nipple and did the same, twisting and releasing at the edge of intensity.

  Still we kissed.

  I moaned into his mouth and hooked my ankle around the backs of his legs. Ten fingers dug into my ass and I hopped up, wrapping both legs around his waist, opening myself to him. His hot erection ground against the crotch of my jeans through his. I laced my arms around his neck, our mouths melting together as we swallowed each other alive.

  This felt too damn good to continue.

  I never wanted it to end.

  But I had to stop this. I could never be with a man like Brodie. People didn’t change. He may have been a social worker, but he was also a shallow manwhore. He’d just fucked Ashleigh, what, yesterday? And now he was kissing me?

  No.

  Too soon.

  This was about him being horny for hot supermodel Chelsea, not about him wanting me, plain Jane Johnson.

  My legs went lax.

  I broke our kiss. “Stop, Brodie. Stop—”

  He sighed and leaned his forehead against the door. His hands on my ass softened and he lowered me to the floor and he took a step back.

  I grabbed the doorknob again, but it wouldn’t turn.

  We were stuck right here, face to face, undeniable passion burning between us.

  I was very disappointed in my part of this passion. His I could understand. But mine was… misplaced. Opportunistic.

  “Sorry.” He raked a hand through his hair, hiding his eyes, staring at the floor. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I need to go.” He reached for the doorknob and I released it. He turned it and opened it and grabbed his motorcycle helmet off the floor by the door before walking out without looking back.

  I stood there in my open doorway, feeling the cool night breeze.

  He turned left, striding down the balcony away from his apartment. The balcony thudded beneath his boots.

  I stepped outside and hissed, “Brodie! Where are you going?” Somehow, this felt like a repeat of the first time I’d met him, when he’d barely noticed I existed. I cringed, expecting him to casually flip me off like an afterthought. I hated myself for being so weak and caring about what he thought. I was better off without him.

  Was I?

  “Brodie?” I took a step in his direction, but he never looked back.

  When he reached the stairwell, he jogged right down. A moment later, the front gate slammed shut.

  I was so confused, I just stood there. It was late, so the apartment building was quiet. Only a few scattered lights were on in a handful of windows. Almost all of the light in the courtyard came from the aqua blue pool below.

  Outside, Brodie’s motorcycle engine revved angrily several times before he took off down the street, the engine screaming, tearing a hole in the silence of the night.

  But not my heart. I wouldn’t let that happen.

  The sound faded into the distance within seconds.

  What the hell was he doing?

  I shook my head.

  What the hell was I doing?

  Chapter 20

  I couldn’t sleep.

  I tossed and turned restlessly for hours.

  All I could think about was Brodie.

  I didn’t want to think about him but I couldn’t stop myself.

  He was terrible.

  He was wonderful.

  He was a mistake waiting to happen.

  I wasn’t a supermodel.

  I was a little nerd girl.

  Brodie didn’t want me.

  Brodie wanted someone else.

  Getting involved with him was a horrible idea.

  I needed to forget him.

  But I was worried about him and his motorcycle.

  What if he did something stupid because of me?

  What if he ended up dead?

  What if I looked like a supermodel for the rest of my life and had therefore just sabotaged something special?

  What if I was an idiot and all of this was a dream and I’d wake up tomorrow looking like regular old me?

  I flipped onto my stomach and pulled my pillow over my head. My breath quickly heated up my face and I tossed my pillow aside. I didn’t remember dreams ever being this vivid.

  I was awake.

  All of this was real.

  Impossible, but still real.

  I flopped back onto my back, staring at the dark ceiling.

  I imagined Brodie’s weight on top of me.

  I wanted him grinding between my legs.

  Inside me.

  Fighting. Thrusting. Grinding.

  I wanted…

  wanted…

  A soft knock at my front door.

  Brodie?

  I swing my feet onto the floor and stand up.

  The knock comes again.

  My feet whisper across my carpet. I wear only my Twilight Sparkle night shirt. Not even panties. But I always sleep in panties.

  Another soft knock.

  I open the door without checking to see who it is.

  Brodie.

  Shirtless in jeans jet blackened by night. Brodie is always shirtless.

  “I need you, C.C.” He sweeps into my apartment and whisks me off my feet.

  I float into my bedroom, cradled in his muscled arms.

  He lays me on the bed gently.

  My shirt is off.

  His jeans are off.

  I open to him.

  A cool breeze across my wetness.

  He crawls onto the bed, erect.

  He hovers over me, his arms muscled pillars on either side of my head.

  His hot heavy cock slides against my wetness.

  “I need you, C.C. Need you now.” His voice is desperate and demanding at the same time. “I need to be inside you right fucking now.”

  I nod, and moan, biting my lower lip.

  He sinks into me, hot, hard, deep, full, and thick.

  My body quivers and I moan each time he thrusts.

  He slow fucks me until I start to come.

  The orgasm is so intense my ears ring—

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  RING!

  My phone tore me out of my dream. I clamped my eyes shut, desperately trying to remain asleep. The intense orgasm that had been building started to fade, despite my circling index finger and my dripping wetness. I think I’d been lucid dreaming and had started masturbating. If I focused, I could easily bring myself to a climax. But I needed to get back into my dream. I tried to relax and recall the fabric of my fantasy.

  Brodie had been thrusting into me, his face tight with sexual hunger and predatory desire…

  RING!

  My phone again.

  Damn it.

  RING!

  I needed to change my ringtone to something more pleasant.

  RING!

  “What?!” I shouted to the empty room.

  RING!

  So much for my orgasm.

  I answered my phone and yelled at it, “What?!”

  “Morning, Sunflower.” It was Wes. “Did I wake you?”

  “Yes you woke me,” I growled, my eyes squeezing shut. �
��I was…” having an incredible sex dream which you ruined. Sudden guilt seized me. Talking to an attractive man seconds after masturbating to thoughts of another man was very… unseemly. At least Wes hadn’t seen me going to town with my fingers all up in my ho-ha. That thought only fueled my embarrassment, leaving me speechless.

  “You were what?”

  “Nothing,” I whispered.

  “I don’t mean to rush you, Sunflower, but can you meet me in Beverly Hills in an hour?”

  I opened one eye a crack and looked at the time on my phone. It was 8:30am Sunday morning. I grumbled, “Wes, why the hell are you calling me this early? I’m not even awake yet.”

  “Are you still in bed?”

  “No. I’m on the toilet pooping.”

  “No you’re not. It’s common knowledge that women as beautiful as you don’t poop.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I laughed. “But you’re right, I’m not pooping. But I am still in bed.”

  “So tell me what you’re wearing.”

  “A potato sack.”

  He chuckled. “I bet it looks damn good on you.”

  “What do you want, Wes?”

  “We need to get you a dress.”

  “You never said anything about a dress.”

  “I just did.”

  “Two seconds ago does not count as sufficient warning.”

  “It does in my book.”

  “Are you always this irritating first thing in the morning?”

  He chuckled. “No. Just today. So, we need to get your dress now. Or you can just show up in your potato sack tonight. I won’t mind. But people might stare.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Either way, we need to get a jump on it. So chop chop,” he joked.

  “This is starting to sound a lot like work, Wes.”

  “It is. But that doesn’t mean it won’t be mildly amusing.”

  “Mildly?”

  “We also need time to get your hair and makeup done.”

  “Whoa. Slow down, Turbo. Who said anything about all that? Can’t I just put on some eyeliner?”

  “You need to look nice. Hair, makeup, and the dress.”

  “How nice?” I didn’t have any evening dresses that fit my new body, but I could always swing by Goodwill when they opened.