So Damn Beautiful (A New Adult Romance)

by L. J. Kennedy

  “So, Blondie, what the hell are you doing hanging out with Chase at dive bars in the Bronx when you’re supposedly dating my cousin?” she said abruptly.

  Her words felt like a slap across my face. “I think I explained myself sufficiently already,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Chase and I were just talking business—that’s all.” I honestly didn’t know what I could add about Harrison, so I offered, “As for your cousin, I’ll be meeting his parents in a couple weeks, so I don’t think you need to look out for him, given that he thinks I’m good enough to take home to Mom and Dad.”

  She was genuinely surprised. “Harrison’s introducing you to Sharon and Rick?” She brushed her bangs off her face, which looked as hard as alabaster. “Whatever—I don’t really care about any of that.”

  I sighed and crossed my arms. “Then why the hell are you getting your panties into a knot, Elsie? Can’t we just be civil to each other and discuss our projects like teammates? I’m on your side here—you don’t have to fight with me anymore. Seriously. There’s room for both of us.”

  That seemed to enrage her even more. She leaned in a little too close, gnashing her teeth. For a moment, Elsie’s beautiful face transformed into an ugly, contorted grimace.

  “Don’t give me any of that Pollyanna crap. We both know you have no idea what it takes to cut it in this world, and I’m not going to stop until either you readily step down or I embarrass you so fucking irreversibly that you don’t have a choice. I eat mousy little nobodies like you for breakfast, and I am not about to let you pull the wool over everyone’s eyes. I swear, I will seriously ruin you.”

  I stared at her. She’d always been mean, but I’d never taken her to be menacing—at least, not intentionally. But her words were unmistakably baleful, even bullying.

  She simpered when she saw me turn pale. “And that boy toy of yours? Chase Adams? I’m pretty sure he isn’t the most discriminating type, if you know what I mean, so I wouldn’t flatter yourself too much. . . . Besides, he hasn’t met me yet.” She gave me a suggestive smile.

  I wanted to slug Elsie in the face, and I almost summoned the right balance of rage and recklessness to do so, but that was when Claudia came over. “We all good here?” she asked.

  Elsie nodded. “Yup. Todd already requested the west corner of the sculpture garden, because it’s the first and last thing people see as they enter the space, and it’s definitely the kind of signature piece we want to make a lasting impression on the spectators.”

  “And how about you, Annie? Did you figure out where Chase’s piece is going?”

  Distracted by the ugly conversation I’d just had with Elsie, I said, “Um, not yet. But I’m sure we’ll think of something. It’s not a sculptural piece, and there aren’t any stretches of wall he can use, so I’m guessing we might try to cover the ground instead.”

  Claudia cocked her head in thought. “Not a bad idea, Annie. Making economic use of the space without adding any obtrusive elements is definitely a consideration.” She nodded approvingly before moving on to Hayden and Shawn.

  I turned back to Elsie, who was perched coolly on her chair with that insolent look of self-assurance on her face.

  “Am I supposed to be scared?” I felt like throwing up in my mouth at the idea of Elsie’s threat to steal Chase away from me.

  “Oh, Annie, it’s not a threat—it’s a promise,” she said. “I’ve never had a guy turn me down, and since this is me we’re talking about, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to give you a run for your money. Besides, I can show a guy like Chase the world. What can you show him, aside from a little tits and ass?”

  I felt tears of anger prick my eyelids, but I wasn’t going to give Elsie the satisfaction. “You are disgusting, you know that?” I mumbled.

  “You have no idea,” she purred. “And after he’s had me, I’m not sure he’ll be quite so sweet on helping you out. It’s like going from McDonald’s to Per Se. No need to slum it when you can afford to eat at fancy places.”

  That was when Claudia decided to reconvene us as a group. Elsie ignored me for the rest of the meeting, choosing instead to dominate the conversation about the installation. I was more silent than usual. I knew Chase was crazy about me (at least, that was certainly how he acted) and that worrying about Elsie would just add a whole lot of undeserved stress to my life, but the idea of competing with her, not just with respect to the Quentin Pierce show but in my love and sex life, too, was downright nauseating.

  I looked at Elsie, who was speaking animatedly. She was rich, connected, and painfully gorgeous. I couldn’t see Chase buying into her pretentiousness, but I was pretty sure Elsie wasn’t exaggerating when she mentioned she’d never been turned down by a guy before. I felt silly for not trusting Chase, especially since he was technically free to do whatever (or whomever) he wanted, seeing as I still hadn’t broken up with Harrison. But the idea of Chase and Elsie together made my heart hurt in an almost physical way.

  “Annie? Annie? Are you on board with that?” Claudia and the rest of them looked at me. I had completely spaced on the conversation.

  “Um, I’m sorry—can you say that again?”

  “Quentin wants all the curators to speak at the reception to introduce their artists, and you’ll be going first.”

  If there was one thing I hated more than mean girls like Elsie, it was public speaking. I hesitated a bit. “Well, I . . . I’m not sure. Doesn’t anyone else want to go first?”

  Elsie snorted. “They’re giving it to you, Blondie, because Chase is a hot commodity now and, apparently, the primary draw in this opening.” I smiled a little to myself, noting how miserable Elsie looked when she made that pronouncement.

  I was ready for the challenge. If that was what Elsie wanted to bring, so be it. “How can I say no, then?” I said, staring straight into her eyes to let her know I wasn’t going to be toppled from the throne I’d apparently found myself sitting atop. At least, not without a fight.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was a day or so after my run-in with Elsie, and I found myself missing Chase like crazy. It had been only a few days since we’d last been together, but they’d felt like an eternity. I texted Chase casually to say hello, and his response back to me was, “What are you wearing?”

  I shook my head with a smile but still found my stomach doing little somersaults. I was lying on my bed with a book, wearing cotton flannel pajamas, but I figured a little bit of fantasy wouldn’t hurt. “Nothing at all,” I typed back.

  “I wanna see,” he wrote.

  “Well, you could come always come over.” Kendra was at Yannis’s place tonight, so I had the dorm room all to myself. I knew it was probably a really bad idea to invite Chase over, especially considering that Harrison could drop in unannounced at any time, but its forbidden quality excited me.

  “I don’t do college dorms, Goldilocks. Might wake up your neighbors. You come over instead?”

  I frowned. It was always fun to take a walk on the wild side whenever I found myself in Chase’s world, but taking the subway late at night wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time. Before I could text back, Chase wrote, “Get a cab and meet me at Tuff City Tattoos on Fordham Street. Text when you’re close, and I’ll meet you outside and pay for the cab. You can crash at my place.”

  My heart started to pitter-patter all over again at the idea of spending the night with Chase. If I went for it, it was sure to be another sleepless one. But how could I possibly resist? He was like a drug I couldn’t get enough of. As I threw some clothes into an overnight bag, feeling heady and high, an image of Harrison flashed through my brain. But it wasn’t a night for guilt. I’d worry about Harrison down the line. I wanted tonight to be only about Chase and me.

  About an hour later, my cab rolled up to Tuff City Tattoos, an establishment that shared space with street-corner bodegas where small clumps of people (mainly guys sporting lots of tattoos) were gathered. My heart caught in my throat, but when the door to the ca
b flew open, there was Chase, as beatifically gorgeous as ever. He was clean-shaven this time, wearing a simple white T-shirt and black pants. He smiled at me like I was the only light on this godforsaken street, and I melted into his arms easily as he pulled me out of the car. After shoving a wad of cash into the cabbie’s hand, Chase grabbed my overnight bag and gave me a kiss that reminded me of deep forests and night-blooming flowers. It was eye-popping.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said in a husky voice, pulling away so that I was looking up at him. “Miss me?”

  I didn’t want to sound too eager, so I coolly replied, “Maybe a little,” which made him break out into a grin. I looked at where we were standing. Tuff City Tattoos was a building unlike any I’d ever seen. It was completely covered in graffiti. Swirls of paint morphed into fire-breathing dragons; frolicsome skulls; mermaids with bared breasts; and psychedelic mandalas of birds, beasts, angels, and, above all, the puffy signature script of the graffiti writer.

  “This is incredible,” I breathed, and I actually meant it. “These are like . . . larger-than-life-size tattoos!”

  Chase nodded as he pulled me into the interior, where even more murals—gardens of unearthly delights, tableaux of esoteric indigenous ceremonies, and images of monsters wreaking havoc on city landscapes—covered the walls. “That’s kind of the idea,” he said. “The guy who opened the place was a graff artist. You can do cool stuff with tattoos, but graffiti’s even more awesome in some ways. You can add white highlights to an image to make it pop, and there’s more latitude when it comes to making something bold and sharp. Besides, walls don’t bleed or pass out.” He raised an eyebrow semiominously at me. “Plus, there are some really superb and sick artists who come in here to do lettering . . . old-school types like Comet and Park’ll come around now and then. This was the place where I got my education and apprenticeship, because guys like them actually wanted to pass down their knowledge to the youngsters.” He shook his head, and his eyes darkened. “Nowadays, most artists are just in the game for fame and money. They couldn’t care less about leaving a legacy.”

  I remembered what Elsie had said about Chase’s vendetta against Quentin, and I wondered if he was referring directly to him, but it didn’t feel like the best time to ask. I was much more interested in the vivid pieces on the walls, which ranged from geometric shards of lines and light to heart-rending scenes of wartime and gun violence, appended by stoic inspirational slogans like “Alive & Kicking.”

  “I’m amazed by the variety,” I commented. “Most galleries seem to color-code their art and group together the stuff that fits under the same umbrella. This feels chaotic in comparison.”

  Chase laughed. “That’s ’cause it ain’t a gallery, Goldilocks. What’s the point in following a formula that doesn’t map onto the way the human brain works?” He squeezed my arm and kissed the back of my neck, which sent pleasurable shivers up and down my spine.

  I turned to look at him. “So why are we here? It’s gotta be after-hours, right? I mean, is there anyone else around?”

  “Nah, I wanted to give you a private tour,” he said. “I’ve also been thinking a lot about you . . . and that QP project. I mean, what would happen if I ended up giving you nothing for the show?”

  “That’s not funny, Chase,” I said. “I’ve been working my ass off on this show, and you know what it means to me.”

  He flashed me an innocent smile. “Yeah, but . . . well, you know I think the world of you, Goldilocks, but when it comes down to it, what’s really in it for me? A lump sum and some momentary renown?”

  A wave of distress came over me. Was Chase saying he wasn’t going to do it anymore? I suddenly felt stupid. So maybe the sweetness he’d shown me had been part of a game all along. I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I didn’t know what to say, so I sat down on one of the chairs in the waiting lounge. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you,” I said.

  “Whoa, wait a sec, Goldilocks,” Chase replied, sounding concerned. “I wasn’t bullshitting when I said I’d do it, and I’m not trying to pull rank on you or anything like that. I just wanted to see how much you really care.”

  I glared at him. “That’s not funny, Chase.”

  “Look, I’m just trying to prove a point here. I’m sacrificing quite a bit by agreeing to go mainstream for this show, but what’s the pound of flesh you’ve offered up?”

  “What?”

  “Shamans always say that in order to get something, you have to give something of equal value. That’s usually by way of a rite of passage—often a pretty fucking painful one.”

  His eyes were playful, but his words were menacing.

  “Can you just come out and say what you mean already? Riddles and rhymes hurt my brain,” I said impatiently.

  “If you let me tattoo you, I promise I will deliver a piece that will make sure your name is on the lips of every gallerist in town,” he said.

  I started to laugh, but Chase remained serious. “Oh no . . . you’ve gotta be kidding me!”

  Chase gave me a disarming smile. “The way I see it, you’re getting the best of both worlds—a Chase Adams original in your sculpture garden and on your beautiful lily-white skin. What do you say?”

  I thought he was crazy, first and foremost. Never in a million years had I had even the smallest bit of desire to tattoo my flesh. Most of the time I cringed when I saw attractive people with ink all over them, mainly because I felt the human body was perhaps the most perfect work of art around to begin with. Why tamper with that? Besides, I’d seen a lot of badly done and half-finished tattoos on people who were unduly obsessed with body modification. It almost seemed like an illness to me, and it was one I had never wanted to indulge in myself.

  “I’m sorry, that’s really not an option,” I said. “I think tattoos are pretty dumb.”

  He sighed. “That’s a superficial opinion, Annie. Yeah, they’re dumb because most people get ’em for all the wrong reasons. For most indigenous people, tattoos anchored the soul and drew in benevolent spirits. Not to mention they were proof of a person’s endurance in the face of tremendous hardship. A tattoo was a sacred rite of passage, the sign of an experience that nothing and nobody could take away from you. It was about earning your stripes, not hopping on the bandwagon just because everyone else was doing it.”

  “But why do you want me to do it?”

  His voice was passionate when he spoke. “I want to see how much you’re willing to bleed for this, Annie. Not because I want you to suffer but because I want to know you can hang. I want to know how strong you are, even if you haven’t been willing to show it so far.” He paused. “And I have the perfect design.”

  “What is it?” I asked cautiously.

  He smiled mischievously. “Do you trust me?”

  My breath caught in my throat as my eyes met his. “Yes.”

  “Then you’ll just have to wait and see.”

  I sat up straighter. “Are you crazy? I need to see what it is before I agree to anything.”

  He shook his head slowly.

  A fog of silence hung over us. A big part of me hated Chase for being so confident that I would agree to something so . . . degrading. But a larger part of me was strangely thrilled. And as resistant as I may have felt, the way my body responded to his demand made me fully aware that he wasn’t wrong in presuming I’d go along with nearly anything he proposed.

  I pretended to be angry. “This really isn’t something a feminist would do.”

  “Maybe not, but a real woman—one who feels sorrow, passion, pain, and pleasure fully and completely—wouldn’t turn this into some kind of politically correct argument,” he said. “It’s not about gender, you know.”

  “So why aren’t you getting a tattoo?”

  He held his breath for a moment, and then he stood and pulled up his T-shirt. I gasped when I saw several trails of what looked like cigarette burn marks around his abdomen. Tears came to my eyes. I’d never noticed them before. />
  “I guess you could say I already have my own tattoos,” he said wryly.

  “Oh, Chase,” I moaned, pulling him close to me and kissing those spots. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t sweat it. It happened years ago, and it’s a good reminder,” he said, caressing my hair. His deep-green eyes were serious as he spoke. “I wear my scars proudly.”

  That was when a girl walked into the room from the back area of the tattoo parlor. She was petite yet curvy. Her black hair was streaked with white and purple and piled atop her head. She would’ve been stunning, in my opinion, if her face hadn’t been covered with piercings. She even had what looked to be a serpent tattoo running from her neck to the right side of her face. A leather skirt, black fishnets, combat boots, and a skintight long-sleeved T-shirt littered with tattoo designs rounded out her look. I stared at her legs through her fishnets, confirming my first impression: there wasn’t a single bare piece of flesh. She was entirely covered in tattoos.

  “Hey, Martinique,” Chase called out. “Martinique, Annie. Annie, Martinique.”

  She nodded at me, but she didn’t seem nonplussed by our presence. “This your girl who’s getting the tattoo?”

  Chase looked at me with undisguised heat in his eyes. I could feel Martinique watching us both, which made me feel somewhat giddy and disoriented.

  “I . . . I didn’t exactly plan on getting a tattoo,” I told her.