Perfectly Unmatched (A Youngblood Book)

by Reinhardt, Liz

  “Your dad is ridiculously old-fashioned,” Lala gripes, sipping a Diet Coke and taking easy, gentle breaths through her mouth. She’s so hungover, breathing is giving her a massive headache.

  “Why are doing this to yourself?” I flip with cautious attention through another ream of satin dress samples. “Is this about Winch?”

  Lala slams the book of dress patterns she was looking at shut and hops down off the stool, stomping her way to the door.

  “Lala! Lala!” I leave the shop owners looking at me with wide eyes and open mouths as I chase my best friend down the street. “Lala!” I finally manage to grab one slim, tanned shoulder. “What’s the problem?”

  “Don’t,” she hisses, poking a finger into my chest. “Don’t you dare throw your ridiculous wedding in my face for weeks, then ask about Winch like…” Her fury melts away and her lip quivers. When she speaks again, her voice is cracked. “Like my heart isn’t breaking every time I see him with her. I can’t do this, Beni. I can’t sit by and watch every single other person find their happiness while I get drunk and fuck people I don’t care about and get so fucking bitter.”

  I pull her into my arms and feel her body jerk and shudder under the force of her mounting sobs and hiccups.

  “Shhh,” I whisper, rubbing a hand along her back. “It’s okay, La. It’s okay. I’m so sorry. I’ve been a bitch, I’ve been so self-centered. Shhh. Let’s go to the spa, okay?”

  I pull my cell out and call our usual place in town, even though I have a million things to do to get ready for everything that’s been rolling out at lightning speed. Sometimes I want those quiet days back, when Cormac and I could just stroll the streets and hike in the woods, lie in each other’s arms, and I could wear flip flops and hoodies and be…

  Young. Too young. Immature me.

  It’s time to grow up.

  We’re already at the spa and Lala is calmed down and lying on the table, about to get a massage, when a phone call from Cormac rings through. It’s fairly rare for him to call me, so I step outside, excited to hear his voice. The time I see him is severely limited every day, and I cherish every stolen moment I get.

  “Benelli.” There’s a clipped, sharp quality to the way he says my name.

  “Cormac?” I walk into the street and try to find any tiny spot with better service, because the reception is choppy and nearly constantly interrupted.

  “Your father got me out of my internship.” The words are flat.

  “Um. It was giving you a lot of stress, wasn’t it?” I’m trying. I’m trying hard to juggle everyone and everything, but Lala is inside, possibly still sobbing, Cormac is clearly unhappy, I know I need to try to tighten the reigns on my father…

  “It was giving me a lot of stress because I’ve had no time to work on it,” he snaps.

  I hold the phone a few inches from my ear, shocked to hear Cormac’s voice so wired and angry when it’s directed at me. “I’m sorry. You could have told me, and I would have mentioned something to my father about—”

  “Benelli,” he cuts me off, and this time his voice just sounds exhausted. “Listen to yourself, love. What would you have done? I’m a grown man, he’s a grown man. I never came to you because this was a situation I was well-equipped to handle. I’ve been doing my own work on my own for years now. I’m coming to you now, because I need to talk to you. It’s important. Can you meet me this afternoon?”

  “Sure.” My hand is shaking, my stomach is crawling and icy and shredded all at the same time. “Where? When?”

  “My apartment at four?”

  “I thought you’d given up the apartment.” My voice is hollow in my own ears. An hour and a half until…what? Is this the prelude to Cormac dumping me? Is this the end, like it was with Damian? Things have been tense, no doubt, but there’s been so much to plan for, so much to do—

  “Just because your mother had a room set up at the family’s house doesn’t mean I gave up my apartment,” he says, his voice strong but tired. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Cormac!” I cry before he hangs up. I can hear his breathing on the other end of the line. “I…I love you,” I stutter, feeling embarrassed at the desperation in those words.

  Those words that should never be desperate.

  His voice softens and flows over the lines. “I love you, too, Benelli. So much.”

  I clutch the phone in my hand and repeat those words and the way he said them over and over in my head as I go back into the salon. Lala looks at me from the table, her eyes lazy until she sees my face. She sits up fast, not bothering to clutch the sheet to her. The masseuse hurriedly attempts to put the cotton sheet over her breasts, but Lala pushes her hand away.

  “Beni, look at me. What the hell’s the matter?” she asks, her own problems pushed to the back burner so fast I know her brain and heart must be rollicking.

  “It’s…I’m…Cormac…”

  I don’t cry much. It’s a point of pride with me. But something in me uncorks, unhinges, loosens, and Lala opens her arms wide, and we’re holding each other, my best friend half-naked, both of us taking turns sobbing and comforting, explaining our woes in garbled, incomprehensible terms, and then nodding and crying that we understand each other.

  “What the fuck?” Lala finally says, wiping her eyes on the sheet the frustrated masseuse finally managed to slip over her shoulders. “Are you on the rag?”

  I shake my head and let out a laugh, wet with tears. “This summer was supposed to be fun,” I lament.

  “Let me put my damn clothes on, and you can tell me exactly what that bastard said when he called.” She slides off the table and slips her feet into her impossibly high heels.

  “He didn’t say anything.” I shrug. “Pop got him out of the internship, and he was pretty angry.”

  Lala just raises her light eyebrows and puckers her lips.

  “What? What’s that look for?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” she singsongs as she walks to the counter with me chasing right at her clicking, stilettoed heels, and pays for our abbreviated massages.

  “It’s not ‘nothing.’ It’s definitely something or you’d just say it like you always say everything.” I grab at her wrist, but she shakes my hand off so she can nibble at her nail.

  “I’m not going to say what you know I want to say because, one, you know what I want to say already, and, two, if I let you force me to say it, instead of dealing with it like the problem it is…no it really is a problem, Beni, okay? It is. Instead of dealing with it, you’ll get all righteous and angry and fly into some psychotic rage at me. Fuck that, sweetheart.” She digs through her purse, takes out a pack of gum, finds it’s empty, and chucks it back into her purse with a stream of curses that would make a swaggering juvenile delinquent blush.

  “Say it,” I demand, watching her dig deeper in the purse, her eyes tearing up. “Lala, look at me. Look at me! What the hell are you looking for?”

  “Cigs!” she screams, swinging her purse over her head and letting it smash into the ground. “Fucking cigs, Beni! And you know what, I’ll say it, okay? I’ll say it! You can’t tell someone else how to live his life. You can’t tell Winch to lie for Remy, you can’t tell Remy to be done with rehab when he has his whole future and Alayah to worry about. You couldn’t tell Damian to work under your dad’s rules, and you can’t let your dad do this to Cormac!”

  She breathes hard, in and out, her chest rising and falling, and pushes a few pieces of blond hair out of her face.

  I open my mouth and close it, but I just feel hot. Like a kettle steaming on the burner, I want to scream over how hot I am.

  “Don’t…don’t you dare talk about my family like that, my father like that,” I sputter, my rage unloosening quickly.

  “I’m sorry,” Lala begins and tries to put a hand on my shoulder. I slap it away and her eyes narrow to evil hazel slits. “You know what? I’m not sorry! I’m not. You’ve always been such a little princess, everyone always took care of you and prote
cted you. Well, you know what? You’re as fucked up as your fucked up family, and it’s about time you guys joined reality! Before you push away anyone who ever wants to get close to any of you.”

  She points a gnarled fingernail at me, and vicious, nasty words bubble up along my throat, popping out of my mouth before I can get a handle on them.

  “Reality, huh? What’s that like? Knowing your father is raising a whole other family he loves more in Hungary while you’re home with your miserable mother? Watching your boyfriend run into the arms of another girl because you’re too crazy and out of control for him to even deal with?”

  I hate the words, but not as much as I hate myself the moment I say them.

  Lala blinks hard like I just smacked her across the face, and I see her neck move when she swallows two or three times.

  She shrugs, and her shoulders seem so frail and thin suddenly. “Okay. Fine. I can handle the truth, even if it does blow. But you listen to me. You drove Damian away, and that was probably more good luck for you, because he was an asshole. But Cormac? You’ve got something real, something better than you might even deserve. And you’re letting it go. If you can’t admit that, that’s your own problem. But, trust me, you’ll regret this if you fuck it up, Benelli. You need to stand up for yourself and the guy you love, even if that means standing up to your all-powerful father.”

  She whirls on her heel and stomps away. I should call her back. I should demand she turn around and hear me out, but what is there left to say? We’ve peeled back everything, exposed the hurtful truths and shoved them in each other’s faces. I slide onto the sidewalk outside this fancy spa in my gorgeous, tight dress, messing my straightened hair, crying off my perfectly applied makeup.

  I feel like I’m trying to navigate an endless tightrope walk across a deep chasm, and my feet are bruised and my arms are tired and I might just fall down, down, down because staying upright is taking so much out of me, I’m only just surviving.

  When I finally push up off the ground and head to Cormac’s, I’m scared and tired and my head feels clogged and stupid.

  He’s waiting for me at the door outside his place. He stands when he sees me, and my heart jumps. He’s so damn handsome. My mother’s cooking has filled him out a little, so he doesn’t have that gaunt, half-starved student look. He’s wearing crisp, tailored clothes, bought for him by my father, who never consulted Cormac about them because there’s an expectation in my family that we all look our best at all times. It’s not exactly wrong.

  But it’s not completely kosher.

  So much of what my family does rides that line.

  He doesn’t say anything, just leads me up to his room, his quiet strength something I want to sink into.

  Except that I’m planning on fighting it, beating it back and forcing Cormac to become someone loud and whiny and not who he is at all.

  And there’s no way around this reality. People have to change. They have to evolve. That’s life. And, if Cormac wants a life with me, he’ll have to do what we’ve all done; trade a little bit of himself to fit in with the bigger whole.

  That’s what life is. That’s what love is. Giving up something to be part of something bigger.

  Right?

  “Don’t cry, love.” He sits me on his bed and puts his arms around me. I bury my face in his shirt and sniff, but I think the smell of paper and ink is the stale smell of it that hangs around his room. I don’t think it clings to him anymore.

  And, though I didn’t realize I even was crying when he told me not to, I start to sob. Why do the things Cormac has to give up have to be the best pieces of him?

  My mouth and face are wet with tears, and I’m tugging him down, pulling him to me by his new, pressed collar and kissing him hungrily. I want to be with him this instant, in this moment when there are still remnants of the Cormac and Benelli who fell in love, before he agrees to change or…

  Or before he decides to stay exactly, perfectly who he is. And I lose him.

  Which would hurt more?

  Instead of focusing on my future loss and pain, I run my hands over his body, hot and ready against mine. My fingers work fast slipping buttons open, pressing zippers down, tangling in waistbands and shoving south, away, off. He’s completely naked and I sit up, tearing at the dress that’s so tight, it’s encasing my skin.

  “I…want this…off!” I gasp, hearing the pop and tear of the seams at the sleeves. “I need this off now!”

  Cormac’s hands slide over mine, move them away gently, and pull me up so I’m standing in front of him. He undoes the dress with sure hands, his breathing slow and focused, his green eyes almost black because the pupils are fully dilated and seem to be sucking me in, pulling me close, refusing to look away or let me go.

  My dress slips to the floor, and I’m standing in front of him in my underwear and heels. I fold my arms over myself, holding my elbows tight and lean against him. He slides an arm under my legs and hauls me to the bed, pulling the covers back with an awkward hand and laying me down under them because I’m shivering in the fresh air, chilled with the promise of an autumn that’s coming soon. So soon.

  He lies down next to me and kisses my mouth, soft and incessant, until it’s like I’m breathing him in and out, my body twisted tight to his, my heart beating and my lungs bellowing in a pattern he sets. His arms are locked around me, anchoring my body close to his body. He lets my hands run crazy, touching and pulling at his skin like I can’t possibly grab enough, like I’m making up for what I won’t be able to do in the future and didn’t do enough of in the past.

  “I love you,” I breathe into his mouth, down his throat, low and deep where he can keep the words inside him.

  He finally pulls back, just enough so our lips rasp against each other’s, our noses barely graze, our eyes can’t quite focus. “I love you, Benelli. Always. Through everything. Do you understand?”

  I nod because I can’t force a verbal agreement past the lump in my throat, and he’s back to his never ending cycle of kisses. It’s strange how they can evolve, how we can evolve, how our love can evolve in just a few seconds.

  What satisfied our bodies before we re-declared our feelings isn’t doing it anymore. The kisses that satiated every physical and emotional need are now cruel teases. The lock of his arms was a focused comfort a few heartbeats ago; now it’s a muscled bond that crushes me too tight, keeps me from accessing what I need.

  There’s a tremor, an explosion, a switch flipped and we’ve gone from gentle to wild, nipping lips, dragging fingernails, digging fingers deeper into every curve of skin, crushing bodies so close and so frantically, it’s bruising and pleasing and not enough…never enough.

  “More,” I beg, and he slides down, the crisp hair of his arm rasping against the creamy skin of my stomach, the bumps of his wrist rubbing at my inner thighs, and slips inside me, finally, his fingers quick and determined, his mouth coasting down to follow the buck of my hips. It’s a distance of only a few short inches, and it’s miles too far. I tug on the muscled column of his thigh, reposition his hips, and we’re intimately positioned, the length of him in my mouth and sliding, long and hard, against my tongue.

  The covers bunch and pull tight against the curve of my ass as he grabs them in his fists and yanks, the muscles in his arms taut and shaking as I lift my head and draw him in, the salty, firm pressure mixing perfectly with the velvet suction of my mouth, my lips, my greedy, licking tongue.

  He bites gently along the insides of my thighs, the silky brush of his hair butting against my skin as he nuzzles my skin, sinking his mouth and tongue into me, along my folds. Just when the rhythm goes from frantic to chaotic, he rips his head away, pulls his hips up and leaves my mouth empty and ready for whatever different, more, something, him.

  The lean, muscled length of him glides over me, and we lock eyes, lock hands, twist our legs tight, set our mouths against each other’s, and then he thrusts deep into me, jarring our bodies into twining, knocking, wrang
ling, desperate knots of limbs pushing and pulling like there’s a finish line we’re racing towards and away from at the same time.

  I feel like I can count the strokes until I tremor and constrict around him, but I’m always one away, like I can’t stand to pry open my fists and brain and heart and let go with him.

  His mouth tugs at mine, his face nuzzles my neck. “Open your eyes.”

  I shake my head. He thrusts harder, deeper, and my body quakes, but doesn’t give in.

  “Open your damn eyes,” he orders, his voice gritty and husky as it skids on his words.

  “Can’t,” I gasp, my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. I can feel the muscles of his perfect ass strain to pull back from my hold so he can press against me, torture me to the perfect place he wants me at.

  I want me at.

  I just can’t…I can’t…

  “Open your eyes, Benellli,” he growls. “Open them. I love you, look at me, I love you.”

  I have no intention of opening my eyes, but his words tug at something uncontrollable in me, and, when my eyes fly open, all I see is his face, his eyes staring into mine, his mouth moving from a straight, frustrated line to a sudden, quick smile.

  My fingers dig into his shoulders, I burrow my face into his chest and let everything in me shake and shudder around him. I am unraveled, ignited. I feel exactly the way I used to feel as a kid at the lake, running like mad to the end of the dock for that single, sweet arc over the water, that moment of flight between the solid ground and the splash of the water, and right now Cormac is the slatted wood of the dock, the weightless flight, and the cradle of the waves lapping in the sun.

  I pull against him, hold tight for a single still second, then another, and one more before everything rocks, and I’m shaken from my core out, my body released and reconstructed.