Beautifully Flawed (Shine Design Series Book 2)

by Laura Pavlov

  For the first time in a long time, she felt undeniably vulnerable. Did he sense it? His gaze softened, as if somehow this beautiful, strong man had ever felt insecure or vulnerable a day in his life.

  “Who was disappointed in you? Didn’t you win a shit ton of pageants?” His stare locked with hers.

  “Mama. My boyfriend. My coaches. Neighbors. Pretty much everyone in town, with the exception of both my dads, my grandmother, and a few close friends. My mother and my grandmother were both Miss Georgia back in the day. It was sort of my legacy. I’d won everything up until the one that mattered most.”

  “Are you fucking serious? You have no control over the judges or the competition. It’s completely subjective. How could they be upset with you? Did you even like being in pageants? Was it your passion?”

  “Isn’t that the million-dollar question. I honestly don’t know. It’s just something I was expected to do from the moment I could walk. I think my passion was trying to please my mama. And even though you can’t control all the outside factors, you can control your own performance. Mama believes I purposely messed up the talent portion of the competition. She thinks it cost me the title. And trust me, when Caroline Humphries isn’t happy, she can be meaner than a wet panther.” Elle fiddled with the napkin in her lap, twisted the corners into tight little points. The memory still stung. A time in her life she’d been worn slap out. Unsure what to do with her life.

  “I’m glad you had your dads and your friends to support you through it. Shit happens sometimes. You can’t always be perfect.” A wicked grin spread across his face. “You’ve got to tell me what your talent was, Peaches. I’m dying here. So many to choose from.”

  “Well, it had forever been baton twirling. Me and batons—we’ve always been one. With the help of good ol’ James Ratcliffe the second—I was the first person ever to use flaming-batons for my talent.” She couldn’t help but laugh. Her mama nearly collapsed when she’d shared her new skill, but the judges were taken with the daring talent.

  “Flaming. Fucking. Batons. It’s so you to take your skill and light it on fire.”

  The way he looked at her nearly melted her right there in her seat. He had a way of making her feel good, even when remembering the lowest point of her life. She took a sip of water, needed a distraction from their conversation.

  “Did you drop the baton? Set the stage on fire?” he said with a laugh.

  “I’d only had one serious accident in the two years of training with the damn things. I’d set the poor Ratcliffe barn on fire. But thankfully, we were able to free all the animals before the whole thing went up in flames. James’ mama never did forgive me for it, though. But what happened at the competition was not my doing. It was out of my control. I dropped the baton because I was setup by my nemesis.” Anger spewed, as an old fury took hold of her.

  Thoroughly entertained, Maverick’s gaze danced with excitement. “Who’s your nemesis? Please tell me you both got naked before you whooped her ass?”

  “I did no such thing. I could never prove it. I know Suri Sandemeyer put some sort of Crisco on one of my batons. The thing was slicker than a greased hog when I tossed it in the air.”

  Maverick laughed so hard his eyes watered, and his face flushed with an adorable pink hue across his cheeks. Everyone always found the whole thing ridiculously funny when they heard what happened. But at the time, the drama had consumed her life. In every way.

  “Please tell me,” he paused to pull himself together, “Sarah Sunflower did not win the Miss Georgia competition.”

  “Suri Sandemeyer certainly did not win Miss Georgia. She went on to trip and fall during her dance routine. The poor girl squirmed like a worm in hot ashes. And you know why, don’t you?” She leaned in close to him from across the table.

  “No, tell me.”

  “The guilt slapped her in the face like a redheaded stepchild. And Suri Sandemeyer was karma’s bitch.”

  Neither of them could contain their hysterics.

  “Amen to that. May little Miss Sandemeyer spend the rest of her days wallowing in shame,” he said through his laughter.

  For the first time in what seemed like forever, Elle found humor in her painful past.

  “You know what, Peaches?”

  “What?” She dabbed her eyes with her napkin.

  “You just might be my favorite person,” he said with a wink.

  Her stomach did all sorts of crazy flips and twirls. Because, truth was, right now—Maverick Wallace might be her favorite person too.

  She tilted her head and smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself, Wallace.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Am I really the first single female friend you haven’t slept with?”

  He thought about it for a minute. “Yes. I believe you are. But we could rectify that if you’d reconsider the value of meaningless sex. Friends with benefits. All that good stuff.”

  “Nope. I’m sticking to my guns and holding out for Mr. Right. What if he showed up here and found me in your bed being frivolous and carefree? He and his white horse might gallop on by,” she said.

  “Damn you and your morals, Peaches. I have a hunch you’d enjoy playing with my flaming baton.”

  Dear God. She could feel her cheeks heat.

  “You can keep your flaming baton in your pants, and far away from me. Why don’t you light yourself a fire with one of your ladies while I’m gone this weekend?” she said it in good fun, but her stomach wrenched.

  Because the thought of anyone touching Maverick Wallace’s flaming baton—it made her madder than a shamed beauty queen with a slick baton.

  Chapter Eight

  Maverick’s Playbook

  Don’t be afraid to call a different play!

  He walked along the property line where Jackson and Peyton were building their vacation home. His arms stretched above his head, intertwining his fingers behind his neck. He’d finished his workout when Jackson arrived at his house. They grabbed a quick breakfast and drove over to meet the contractor Jackson hired to start the remodel. He’d shared Peyton’s drawings for their home.

  Impressive as shit.

  Peyton was a master at her craft like Peaches. The designers at Shine were a step ahead of the rest, which is why he’d hired their firm.

  Well, mostly the reason.

  He’d made amends with the woman who shunned him for the past year. Unfortunately, now he was in uncharted territory. Somewhere between want and can’t. But goddamn if he didn’t want this girl more than he’d ever wanted anyone. Anything.

  Maybe even as much as he wanted football.

  Maybe.

  Never thought he’d say those words. He was going out of his fucking mind over this girl. Maybe it was because he hadn’t gotten laid since the day the hot little firecracker showed up in his driveway.

  They had a connection. No doubt. More than a physical pull living between them. A constant battle of self-restraint and desire. When she told him about her college boyfriend mistreating her, he knew if he ever saw the guy, he’d rip his throat out. And her mother—the person who was supposed to shelter her from the things that caused her pain. He guessed Elle’s mom was at the crux of most of her hurt. Shaming her for not winning a pageant? Who the fuck does that? If his path ever crossed with Caroline Humphries, he’d take the opportunity to tell her how fucking amazing her daughter was.

  Strong and vulnerable. Stubborn and sweet. Maddening and endearing.

  What the fuck was going on? The girl had seeped beneath his skin. Like water flowing slowly through sand. Quietly consuming every granule. Taking hard grizzly edges and making them soft and smooth. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. She wanted the fairy-tale. The prince on the horse. All the bullshit he didn’t buy into. Hell, he couldn’t if he wanted to. But damn, if Elle Fiore didn’t deserve it all.

  He needed to shake himself of this girl. She’d been gone for two hours and he was, antsy.

  Anxious.

&
nbsp; Irritable.

  “What do you think?” Jackson asked as they walked down to the water.

  An overcast sky hovered above as they stood on the beach. Grays and blues overpowered the golden hues fighting to bleed through. The weather matched Maverick’s mood this morning.

  Gloomy. As if the sunshine had gone away. Maybe it had.

  “I think it’s a phenomenal piece of land. Peyton’s sketches for the place are amazing. I’m glad you aren’t going to tear down the old structure. Too many memories, man. Tying the restaurant into the home is brilliant. Keep the history intact, right?”

  “Absolutely. We want to build the main house closer to the water and away from the road. But making a little guest cottage out of the old building allows us to keep it for sentimental reasons. Shit ton of memories there.”

  “Yeah. I think we all grew up in there. You and I got into our fair share of trouble a couple times when we were young. Now you’ll have a place for your kids to get into all kinds of shit when they get older,” he said, before picking up a rock and skipping it across the water.

  “Speaking of the guesthouse. How’s it going with your guest? You two getting along?”

  A slew of fucking butterflies hit his stomach hard. Fucking butterflies. He wasn’t on his way to a goddamn middle school dance. But just the mention of this girl did crazy shit to him. What next? He’d get his period? Start reading blogs for fashion tips?

  “It’s going all right.” He kept his voice steady. Unaffected.

  Jackson reached for a rock, skipped it through the water. They took turns throwing stone after stone. They’d spent hours doing this as kids.

  Out of his peripheral Jackson studied him. “Yeah? She doesn’t hate you anymore?”

  Jackson had always been able to see through his bullshit.

  “I don’t think so. We got past it. We’re friends.”

  Jackson narrowed his gaze. “Good. I think. You aren’t messing around with her, are you? You can’t fuck around with Elle, dude. No kidding. She’s family. She’s not that girl. Not like Brittney, or some of the other girls you fuck around with.”

  He let out a long, irritated breath. “Jesus, dude. I’m not a total dick. Trust me, I know she’s not that girl. We kissed at your wedding, and she didn’t speak to me for a year. Nothing’s going on. We’re friends. I like her. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.”

  “That’s a relief,” he said with a chuckle.

  But he didn’t miss the undertone of what his friend said. Hurting Elle was not an option. Hell, he felt as protective over her as Jackson. Most likely in a different way. But still, the same common goal.

  “I get it, man. I spend every waking minute with her. I’d beat someone’s ass if they hurt her.” And he meant it.

  “Good to know. I guess Elle’s ex-boyfriend, the Count, is trying to win her back. Dude took her to meet his family in France, and let his daughter shit all over her. I’m proud as hell she stood up for herself. The guy’s too old for her anyway. I met him once. He’s a tool. Who gives a shit if he’s royalty, right?” He reached down and snatched another rock, sending it sailing across the water before continuing. “He knows he had a good thing, and he was stupid to let it go. He sent flowers to the Shine office every day this past week. Peyton brought them all home to save for Elle, and our house looks like a goddamn florist. Apparently, she hasn’t responded to his texts, and he doesn’t know she’s still in Tahoe.”

  Maverick’s hands fisted at his side. Was she going to see him this weekend? The fucker needed to stay the hell away from her.

  “She’s too caught up in this bullshit fairy-tale, and she keeps dating the wrong guys. Fucking pisses me off.” He chucked the stone from his hand so aggressively, it bounced in a jagged pattern across the water.

  Jackson turned toward him, his friend’s stare burning a hole in the side of Maverick’s face. Jackson didn’t speak, just watched him.

  Maverick kept his expression relaxed. “What?”

  Jackson’s head fell back, and the asshole’s laughter bellowed and bounced around the tall pine trees surrounding them. His words came slow. “You. Like. Her.”

  The jackass kept his voice low making sure no one heard them. As if this were some sinister secret. They’d had their share of those. Jackson Vance was as trustworthy as they came. Loyal as hell. The guy always had his back.

  “There’s no one else here, asshole. Stop acting like you work for the goddamn FBI. I already told you I like her. We’re friends.” He raised a brow in challenge.

  “I know what you told me, dickhead. But this is different. You like her. Holy shit. I always knew one day you’d get knocked on your ass. Should have guessed it would be a sassy Southern belle who didn’t put up with your shit.”

  “You’re insane. You’re dreaming this up. Yes, she’s hot as fuck. Funny as hell. Smart. Talented. Shit, Elle’s the whole package. But I’m no prince, and I sure as shit don’t have a white horse. I’m not looking to sweep anyone off their feet. Aren’t you the one who’s been warning me to stay away from her for the last half hour?”

  Jackson shook his head. “No, man. Obviously, I don’t want you to fuck around with her. She’s not as tough as she portrays. She’d never get past it. But, Mav, you know I think of you like a brother. You’re one of the best people I know. If you actually like her, want to give it a shot, that’s a different story.”

  He ran a hand over his face. “Relationships aren’t for me. Too complicated. Too much room for failure. And you and I both know I’d fail.” There were things he couldn’t even tell his best friend. Reasons he couldn’t be in a relationship.

  “If I had to put my money on anyone not failing, it’d be you, Mav. But I understand your apprehension. You don’t want to mess this up. Don’t act on it unless you’re all in. At some point you’re going to want more than meaningless romps. And you did date Madison for a few months.”

  “Yeah. There’s a perfect example of why I don’t do relationships. I had to get a goddamn restraining order when it ended.”

  He gave it a shot. Went without sleep for months, which affected his game. They fought constantly over things he couldn’t explain to her. He didn’t want to. And when he tried to end it, she went batshit crazy.

  “Didn’t she sneak in through your window, dressed in lingerie?”

  “Yeah. Caught her in the bathroom poking holes in my condoms. I sure can pick ’em, huh?” He and Jackson both laughed, shaking their head at the memory.

  “Yep. It was insane. Look, dude, I get it. Peyton and I went through a lot of shit. You know our story. And I promise you won’t have a choice if it’s the real deal.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s nothing more consuming than loving someone. Not even football. Trust me. You can’t run from it.”

  “Jesus, dude. No one said anything about love. Not happening. Now you’re acting batshit crazy. You aren’t going to walk in my room dressed in sexy lady panties tonight, are you?” He wanted to change the subject. The conversation made him uncomfortable for reasons his friend couldn’t understand. Getting Elle Fiore out of his head was the only viable option.

  Jackson’s head fell back, and a grin spread across the bastard’s face. “You can be such a dickhead sometimes. Give yourself a break, Mav. You’re a good guy.”

  “Okay. Do you want to run to the store and grab some tampons now, or are you done menstruating?”

  He was done talking about it. Didn’t need the distraction. Time to get his head on straight and get ready for the season.

  Jackson rolled his eyes. “Dude, don’t go there. If I’ve learned anything from being married—you never joke about a woman’s cycle.”

  “You’re such a chick. Now you’re talking about cycles? I think we need to get you back in the ring.”

  He liked to give Jackson shit about the fact he hadn’t had a fight since little Jojo came into the world. The dude was a badass MMA fighter before he got married. Hell, he understo
od why it was time to step away, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t razz him about it.

  “Don’t make me kick your ass, douchebag. Becoming a dad made me realize I needed a break from fighting. There’s more to life than getting punched and choked. Plus, Peyton worries too much about this pretty face of mine.”

  “Like I said, the drugstore is right up the street. I’ll even get you an ice cream cone, unless you’re feeling bloated?”

  “Fuck off, dickhead. What time are we meeting Nick, Ryland and the other assholes to take the boat out?” Jackson asked as they walked toward the car.

  “We’ve got an hour before we need to head back to my place.”

  “Good. Let’s swing by and see my girl. I miss me some Mabel Wallace. She always liked me better than you anyway,” Jackson said with a smirk.

  “She did not. I’ve always been her favorite.”

  He pulled out onto the road and headed down toward Mimi’s house as they bantered back and forth. Just like old times.

  Maverick’s phone vibrated in the center console and he reached for it, but Jackson slapped his hand away. “You do know that texting and driving is six times more dangerous than drinking and driving, right? Don’t be a douchebag.”

  “Are you always this bitchy when you have your period?”

  Jackson laughed and took it upon himself to read Maverick’s text. Shit. Here we go.

  “Awww, it’s a text from Peaches. But I can see here she’s responding to the needy, desperate text you sent earlier this morning demanding she text the minute she arrives in San Francisco. Who’s the bitch now, asshole?”

  Maverick rolled his eyes. “Dude, she’s my designer. We’re in the middle of a project on my house. Obviously, I want her to be safe.”

  He wasn’t even buying his own bullshit.

  “Right. Like I said, brother. All-consuming.”