NaNoWriMo – Beauty in the Remnants – Excerpt

Mike

The music is louder than I remember it being before, thumping through the air, making my bones vibrate. I nudge the ice around in my glass with the mini straw, watching it melt, wondering how much longer I need to stay for Leo to be satisfied.

I glance over at him. Although I’m on my third bourbon, he’s only had one martini, but he’s already a little tipsy. He’s such a lightweight. Batting his eyes and flirting with some guy I hope isn’t stupid enough to believe those lashes are real. Leo’s so flaming he sets anything remotely flammable near him on fire. He’s a stereotype in every sense of the word, and he loves it. Tonight, he’s wearing a skin-tight pink T-shirt that says Diva in sequins (that I’m pretty sure he bought at Forever 21 and was designed with a 15-year-old girl in mind), short-shorts and fishnet tights with pink cowboy boots. For my sake, he went light on the makeup, sticking to mascara and a glittery lip gloss.

I sigh, apparently loud enough he hears me even over the music, and he shooes off his would-be-suitor with a wink and a promise before turning back to me.

“Sweetie, you should smile. You sure you won’t let me put some eyeshadow on you? It’d really make those gorgeous eyes of yours pop.” He gestures with his hands when he says “pop,” exploding his fingers outward to emphasize his point.

I tilt my head to one side, roll my eyes. Leo knows how I feel about makeup.

He puts a finger on my chin, nudging my head, studying me. I don’t pull away, but I give him my best glare. “You’re so beautiful. Imagine what I could do with a little product!”

I groan and jerk away. “Don’t say that.” I hate when people call me beautiful.

Leo clucks his tongue and pushes my drink toward me. “You need to loosen the fuck up. And stop thinking about Bryan,” he adds, waving a finger at me.

I open my mouth to protest, but Leo interrupts before I can.

“And I know you were, because your eyes film over and you nibble at your lower lip whenever he’s on your mind.”

I realize my lip’s between my teeth and quickly release it with a sigh. Bryan was my last boyfriend, who I was convinced was the One. A few weeks into our relationship, he told me I’d look hot if I pierced my lip. So I did. When we broke up three months ago, I couldn’t bear to keep it, so I removed the piercing, but my habit of nibbling on it apparently hasn’t faded.

“I loved Bryan.”

“And you lost him, hon, and now it’s time to move on and dance.” Leo raises his eyebrow and gestures for a huge guy on the edge of the dance floor. He looks like an athlete, football player, maybe. And young. For all I know, he’s from Rice. But then I know I look much younger than my twenty-nine, so who knows.

He approaches. He’s solid, built, with a decent package if his tight pants are any indication, and moderately handsome face. Honestly, he’s the kind of guy most men would come in their pants over, but I feel nothing.

“You need to get laid,” Leo sneers in my ear, still smiling at the man mountain. “I’d spread my legs for him any day.”

I stifle a sigh, down half my drink. The whisky burns in the back of my throat, making my eyes water. “Dan and Jack will be here soon. Jack flies in tomorrow.” I housesit for a middle-aged couple, and occasionally, I’ll be their third when they’re in town.

Now it’s Leo’s turn to sigh. “Then at least fucking dance. I’m sick of you mooning over a guy who didn’t waste two seconds replacing you.”

I glare at Leo and push away from the table.

“Shit,” Leo says. He’s definitely a little drunk. “You know what I meant.”

I intend to leave, but the big lug Leo summoned is suddenly in front of me, grinning like a seventeen-year-old on prom night.

He opens his mouth to speak, and all I can think is, Please, God, don’t fucking tell me how beautiful I am.

I’m relieved when he says instead, “I like your tats,” drawing a finger along my neck, onto my shoulder, sending a surprising tingle through my body. I have a black tattoo that drapes across my shoulders, onto my upper arms, across my back and creeping up onto my neck. The design is a geometric abstract of wings, I guess. From five boyfriends ago. Word of advice? Don’t date a tattoo artist, especially a pretentious one. And yeah, that isn’t an oxymoron.

I’m kind of glad now I went with the black sleeveless tee that shows off my ink. During the week, at work, I keep most of my body art and piercings hidden, so in my free time, I figure, why not?

His hands are so big and warm; I’m not short, but I’m not a large guy, either, and I feel so tiny standing before his bulk. He’s still touching me, admiring me. It isn’t even just lust. Like I’m a fucking statue. A statue he hopes to fuck.

He opens his mouth, and I grab his hand, pulling him into the crowd, onto the dance floor. He stands awkwardly, but I turn, press my back against him, and begin to grind. He starts to relax into my touch, his arms wrapping around me, and I try not to think of Bryan as I feel the pressure of his hardon pressing into my ass.