Mr. Beautiful Page 5

  "You'll get to keep all of the pictures you make."

  "And give some to you."

  Eventually I was comforted enough to drift off into sleep, her soothing chant calming me, as it always did—I'm okay, you're okay, we're okay.

  We were having breakfast at a diner the next morning (a rare treat, and one courtesy of my fight money) when she became very serious, making me look across the table and directly into her soulful eyes.

  "No more," she said, resolve inundating each word until it felt like she was raising her voice, though she spoke softly. "We'll try foster care again, but I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore. Not any of it."

  I started shaking my head.

  She kept nodding. "It won't be for long. As soon as you turn eighteen, we'll have more options."

  "No. It's too risky. He'll find you again. I can do this."

  "There are no good choices for us right now, but we need to do our best to take the safest ones."

  I nodded in agreement. I knew she was right, but I wasn't sure how to follow through on it.

  She knew me too well. She gave me a look.

  "This isn't safe," she continued. "Don't you see? We weren't meant to be anything but statistics. We have no safety net. No one cares what happens to us except for us. If we don't make the right decisions, one bad night will be our last. I just know it. We have to get out of this and away from these people."

  I knew she was right. We were statistics. Worse than runaways.

  Throwaways.

  We weren't even the faces you saw on a milk cartons. Those kids had people looking for them. All we had on this earth was each other.

  If we wanted to survive this, we had to make it happen ourselves, because no one else would.

  CHAPTER TEN

  WOULDN'T EVEN BE ME

  PRESENT

  STEPHAN

  A warm, firm hand clutched mine. I swung my eyes to meet watery black ones.

  Javier cried my name, looking equal parts terrified and relieved.

  I let out a sob, making agony course through my chest. I tried to hold it back, to stop the pain, but it took a long time before I was coherent enough to say again, "Bianca?"

  I had to know. She had to be okay.

  The alternative was unthinkable.

  It was a fact that I would not be okay without her. I wouldn't even be me without her. I'd be someone else, someone with important pieces missing, pieces I couldn't get back.

  He seemed to snap out it, leaning closer to me. "She's okay. She's recovering, but okay. She's in better shape than you, actually."

  I studied him, wondering if I'd heard him right, wondering if I was dreaming. "She—she survived that?"

  What I'd seen had looked like a headshot wound. How had she survived that, and in better shape than me?

  He nodded emphatically.

  I was so worn out that I was already going back under, but at least I knew she was alive.

  She was alive.

  I woke up again still remembering that. This time when Javier and I looked at each other, we smiled, though there were plenty more tears, as well.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SHE SAVED MY SOUL

  STEPHAN

  Growing up, I'd had a cloud of guilt that followed me around. Even before my uncle had started molesting me, I'd been plagued by nightmares. An overzealous Sunday school teacher told my class one week that those of us not paying tithing would burn when the world caught fire, during the imminent second coming, and my young mind had taken it very literally.

  I was eight at the time, and over the summer I'd earned a whopping ten dollars of chore money, and blown it all on candy during a trip to the grocery store. I hadn't even thought of paying tithing for it. No one had told me.

  I'd felt horrible guilt and fear about it, even when I'd earned more money, just to pay it back.

  I was a wicked boy for so many reasons, the largest of which were my thoughts. I doubted, I feared, I resented, and in my resentment summoned up some pretty horrible opinions about my strict, mean father especially.

  Mostly, I kept those opinions to myself, but occasionally, I'd snap back at him, and he always, always made me regret it.

  Even after I ran away, that guilt followed me relentlessly. It chased me down, no matter how far I went to get away from it.

  And then I met her.

  Bianca put it all in perspective. She needed me. I protected her, she accepted me, and we became inseparable.

  I saved her life. She saved my soul.

  By the time I was in my early twenties, I thought I'd mostly left that heavy guilt behind me, but it still lingered in deceptive but destructive ways.

  I couldn't be myself, or at least, I felt it was necessary, even proper, to hide parts of myself from the world. This self-destructive instinct was so strong, and so knit into the fiber of who I was, that it nearly cost me the love of my life.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WAS IT ME?

  PAST

  STEPHAN

  He was much older than me. I was seventeen, and he had to be pushing thirty. I knew that was bad, but he had so many other things going for him.

  He was handsome. He had a great smile. He was even-tempered, and just as vehement as I was about staying in the closet.

  I met him at the bookstore. We were both looking for the same book. It was so romantic. The kind of story you could tell later and share intimate smiles about.

  We hooked up the third time we went out.

  We were getting cleaned up when his phone chimed.

  His expression didn't change as he moved to check it, but his brow furrowed as he continued to study the screen of his phone.

  "Everything okay?" I asked him, shrugging into my shirt.

  He looked up, his eyes gone somewhere else. He had to blink a few times to come back to the here and now. "What? Oh that? Yeah, it's fine. My wife is just being a nosy bitch. Nothing new there."

  My whole body froze, even my lungs, to the point that I could barely breathe, let alone talk.

  Was it me? Was I cursed, or doomed, to only pick out guys that would hurt me at the first opportunity?

  "Your wife?" I finally managed to get out.

  He didn't roll his eyes, but he may as well have, with the look he gave me. "Now don't get all touchy about this."

  "You told me you were gay. Not bi. Not married to a woman. Gay."

  I was careful to keep my voice down, though it was a struggle, because Bianca was asleep in the next room.

  It dawned on me suddenly why he'd insisted on coming to my place.

  This time he did roll his eyes. "I am. I'm only attracted to men, but that doesn't mean I want to live that lifestyle. That's why I'm in the closet. Like you."

  "You're married. You're nothing like me. You're a liar."

  "Everybody's a liar. Being in the closet is a lie. It's something you'll figure out around the time you grow up, kid."

  "Get out."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Leave," I said through my teeth, hoping he would listen, because I was about a second away from hitting him.

  Luckily, he went. I never heard from him again.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DO ME A FAVOR

  PRESENT

  STEPHAN

  It wasn't until the next day that I got Javier's other reaction. The delayed one, that came after the relieved one.

  "What were you doing?" he burst out with suddenly. "What were you even thinking, going back there, getting yourself shot?"

  I'd known this was coming.

  "I had to," I said calmly, though it hurt to speak. "She was in danger. I had to do something."

  "You had to take a bullet for her?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you know how fucked up that is? Who does something like that?"

  "It's not fucked up. It's who I am."

  "How? Why?"

  "This is how I love, Javier."

  "It's how you love her."

  "Yes
. And it's how I love you. I'd do the same for you."

  "You'd take a bullet for me?"

  "In a heartbeat."

  He laughed mid-sob. "Do me a favor. Please don't ever take a bullet again. Not for anyone. Not even me."

  "Deal. And you do me a favor."

  "Anything."

  "Marry me."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BUT THEN I MET HIM

  PAST

  STEPHAN

  I heard every story there was to hear about Javier before I ever laid eyes on him. He was slutty. He was a snob. He loved drama, and it followed him everywhere. He couldn't keep a secret.

  There was more dirt flying around about him than I could keep up with, and though I tended to shy away from gossip, I had every reason to believe most of it, based on the fact that there was just so much of it.

  But then I met him. No one had told me he was drop dead gorgeous. Just beautiful in a way that spoke to me. Every part of him was defined and perfect, from his lips to his hands. Elegant and devastating.

  No one told me that he had the thickest eyelashes on the planet, or that his calm dark eyes sparkled when he smiled.

  I was wildly attracted to him the instant I set eyes on him, but even so, I didn't like him. He had a shitty reputation, and he was not my type. Not at all.

  My unruly body and my stupid heart couldn't seem to keep that straight.

  We met at the crew headquarters. He was our fifth flight attendant, not a part of the regular crew, which meant he was on-call and had likely had to rush to work with only an hour's notice. He didn't look it. He looked very well put together, his tie straight, his hair perfect. He looked calm and relaxed, and good enough to eat.

  Everyone was there, including the pilots, so we did the crew briefing as we waited for the bus that would take us to the plane.

  It was a short briefing, because almost all of us had been working together for a full month, and Bianca and I always worked together in first class. I sent her a brief smile, and that was all, before addressing Javier, whose eyes I'd felt on me since the moment we'd been introduced.

  He was brazen, that one.

  "Jessa has the galley," I told him, "and Julie is our usual third this month, so that makes you fifth. You'll be doing the count and helping the girls between their carts."

  He just nodded, giving me his full attention in a way that unnerved me. He didn't know I was gay. Very few of the people we worked with did. I never dated anyone from work, and only our closest friends had any inkling of the truth. Most thought Bianca was my girlfriend, and that suited us both fine. But the way he looked at me felt like a come-on, and I felt myself both infuriated and fascinated by that. There was no way he could know. I didn't believe in that gaydar crap.

  I held Bianca's hand as we sat together on the crew bus. This was in no way unusual for us. We were close to the point of inseparable and had never felt the need to hide it, not from anyone. Still, somehow, with Javier's stare boring into me across the aisle, I felt defensive about the handholding, and I wasn't sure if that was because I wanted to explain it to him, or use it to warn him off. It rankled that I even had to think about it. I didn't owe explanations about any part of my life to anyone, I told myself firmly, let alone some little troublemaker I'd just met.

  The plane was boarding through the second door at this jet bridge, so the passengers were entering the plane between the front of coach and the back of first class. This had Javier at the door with me, side by side, as we waited for the passengers to board.

  "You and Bianca make a beautiful couple," Javier said quietly beside me.

  This had me raising my brows and looking directly at him. He was smiling, a brow arched playfully.

  Was he messing with me? Did he really think she and I were a couple, or was he mocking me?

  I honestly couldn't tell.

  "Thank you," I replied, my tone very neutral.

  "Like Barbie and Ken."

  That almost had me laughing. "Don't tell her that. She hates it when people call her Barbie. We've gotten that comparison a lot."

  "I don't know why she'd hate that. Most girls would kill to look like a Barbie doll."

  "Well, not Bianca. My advice would be to stay on her good side, and rule one to doing that is not to call her Barbie."

  "Got it. Have any rules for staying on your good side?"

  "To always be on Bianca's good side."

  "So it's like that . . . interesting."

  I studied him, almost positive that he was mocking me. "We're a package deal."

  "Noted. I always wanted a best friend like that. You two are lucky."

  "We're more than just best friends," I told him firmly, wanting to set up clear boundaries.

  He smirked at me, and I knew, just knew, that he had guessed my secret. "Sure. Okay. More. I get the hint. You two have any plans for the layover?"

  I shrugged. We were headed to Miami with a twenty-four hour layover. "Probably just hanging out at the beach or the pool. Nothing big."

  "Would you mind if I tag along, or do you two need to be alone?"

  I glared at him, wondering why he felt the need to be so sarcastic. "Tag away. This is a friendly crew. They'll probably all be out there."

  "Thanks. I hate it when I get the crews that stay in their rooms all day."

  "No problem. It's Miami, and the weather is supposed to be beautiful. It would be a pity to stay inside."

  "You going to hit the gym?"

  I chewed on my lip, considering my answer.

  I wanted to avoid working out with him, if that was what he was getting at. I couldn't explain it, but I felt like I needed to avoid him altogether. "I'm not sure."

  The first wave of passengers began to board, which was a relief, because even chatting with him unnerved me.

  Boarding, takeoff, and our redeye service went smoothly and quickly. I didn't even see Javier again until the flight was half done.

  I was drinking coffee in the front galley alone. Bianca was in the back, chatting with Jessa, so I was manning the front of the plane, wondering if I should call them up to the front.

  I didn't like to be alone. Not ever.

  I jumped a little as a smiling Javier burst through the curtain, nearly making me spill my coffee.

  "Hey," he said, moving to stand way too close to me. "I thought you might be lonely up here, with all the girls chatting in back and all of the passengers sleeping."

  I made a noncommittal noise, staring at him. One black curl had fallen onto his forehead, bringing out his thick lashes and his dark eyes. He really was just a striking man.

  "So about the workout tomorrow. I like to hit the gym. I'm not ripped like you, but I try to keep fit. I hate going alone though."

  "I'm not sure," I said, trying hard to take exception to the way he was staring at me. He was just so brazen.

  I should call him out on that, I thought, but I didn't.

  I watched his hand move to my arm, gripping as though to test my muscle. "What are you doing?" I asked him, my voice hard with tension.

  "You don't get arms like this by skipping the gym. I think you're going to go, but you just don't want to go with me. What have you heard about me?" As he spoke, his hand moved to my abs, skimming over the taut ridges under my shirt.

  I didn't react right away, genuinely shocked at his nerve.

  Finally, my free hand shot to his, gripping it hard enough to make his eyes water with pain.

  "What have you heard about me that makes you think I want you touching me?" Each word came through my clenched teeth.

  "Nothing," he said, pulling on his hand.

  I let it go, and he shook it, as though to shake away the pain. "I've only heard how hot you are and that you're with that girl."

  "Bianca."

  "Yeah. Her."

  "Why did you touch my stomach?"

  "I was just making conversation. I . . . wanted to feel your six pack, since I could tell that you had one. You can't tell me you aren't wor
king out tomorrow. I won't believe you. I was just trying to prove my point."

  "You shouldn't grab people like that without their permission. What the hell is wrong with you?"

  Javier didn't answer, his gaze arrested, pointed at my crotch. I'd grown hard at his first touch, and I couldn't hide it, even in my work slacks.

  He swallowed hard, staring. And staring.

  Great, I thought, this one is sure to tell the world my secret. And on the tail of that thought: Well, now that he knows, the harm is already done . . .

  That was a dangerous line of thought.

  As though he hadn't heard my last sentence, as though my anger scared him not at all, he reached for me, stroking me through my pants.

  My free hand gripped the counter behind me for support.

  "Stop that," I told him gruffly, but there was no heat in it.

  All of my heat had pooled below my waist.

  "Let me take care of this. You don't have to do anything for me. I just want to suck you off." His lovely black eyes looked up at me so sweetly that I felt captured by them.

  I shook my head, but could not find the will to make it convincing.

  He moved until his chest touched mine, still working me with his hand. I hadn't had anyone touch me like this in so long. It was hard not to let it cloud my senses.

  He kissed me, his mouth coaxing mine open.

  I set my coffee down very carefully, before grabbing his hair, pulling his face away from mine.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Kissing you. I've wanted to kiss you since the moment I laid eyes on you. Please, let me kiss you."

  "I don't do this. I don't do this casual thing. I'm not like you."

  "What am I like?"

  "Easy. Promiscuous. I don't do sex unless I have feelings for a person."

  He smiled huge. "You are a different one, aren't you? So have feelings for me, and kiss me."

  "Don't make fun of me. I don't find this funny at all."

  "I wasn't. I meant it. I'm putting myself out here for your enjoyment. What do I need to do to be with you? Because that's what I want."