Beautiful Potential

by J. Saman

  “Come, Gia,” I demand. “Come all over my face.”

  She does. She comes hard and loud. Her body writhing against me, her voice practically screeching as she tugs on my hair with surprising strength. It’s not enough. Not nearly enough to keep her. To make her mine.

  So I yank down my pants, and shatter every rule I ever created since the moment I met her. I enter her body and she invades my soul. I pump against her and she burrows a hole into my heart. I moan into her lips and she becomes part of my blood.

  A part of me.

  Gia becomes everything and I don’t even think she realizes it happens.

  But she does. Gia is feeling this too, because her eyes are locked on mine. Sweet beautiful tears falling from them.

  “I won’t leave you, Finn.”

  My heart hurts.

  “I love you, Finn.”

  I want to die.

  “The past doesn’t matter, Finn.”

  It’s all that matters.

  But I keep going because I can’t stop. Because all I can think about is Gia. About how I want to cling to her promises. I’m so desperate for them to be true that I can’t think straight.

  But the moment it’s over. The moment after she convulses around me and I come inside her without a condom on and the world is so goddamn perfect, I panic. My stomach twists and body aches to run and leave her here, half naked on my couch. I look down on her and she’s smiling, but I can’t think of anything other than all the ways she can destroy my very existence.

  She’s going to get pregnant.

  She’ll get pregnant and then I’ll lose everything. I can’t do it again.

  I won’t.

  Stupid fucking need. Look where you got me.

  Inside the one woman who possesses the power to annihilate whatever’s left.

  I wake with a jolt. My body slick with sweat as I pant, trying to calm my racing heart. My ravaged heart. What the fuck was that? Dropping back down into my bed, I cover my eyes with my forearm. I have no idea what time it is. My room is dark. I have my thick, room darkening shades completely drawn.

  But my alarm hasn’t gone off yet, so it’s not time to pick Gia up yet.

  Shit.

  After Gia got on that elevator last night, I pulled up the reservation for the car service on my phone. I stared at it for a very long time, debating everything. I should let her go be with this Mason guy and crawl back into the shadows of my life.

  But I didn’t cancel the car service.

  And the irony of this, I can’t even cancel with her because I don’t have her phone number. I never got it. We’ve been perpetually running into each other.

  Shit.

  Getting up, I shower and dress for an evening outside in November in a windy-ass stadium in New Jersey. For an evening out with Gia Bianchi. The girl who I can’t seem to stay away from. The girl who drives my overactive imagination wild.

  Damn, that dream felt so real. She felt so real. So good.

  The driver of the limo–okay, maybe I went a touch overboard–pulls up in front of Gia’s building, and I hop out and buzz up.

  “Oh Finn,” she purrs into the intercom. “Always on time. You coming up or am I coming down?”

  “Come on down, baby.”

  I say that and immediately pause. Baby. My chest clenches like a vice is squeezing it and I find I have to brace myself against the side of her building.

  “Finn?” I feel Gia’s hand on my back. “Finn? Are you okay?”

  I look over at her, those aqua eyes and that raven hair and that…Patriot’s football beanie on top of her head complete with red, white and blue pompom on top. And I laugh. I laugh so goddamn hard. Because she looks nothing like she did in my dream last night and I’ve never been so relieved by anything in my life. Yes, she’s still beautiful, but it’s so very different.

  “Hey,” she squawks, feigning indignation. “It’s a football game in November, jerk face.”

  “Jerk face?” I laugh even harder.

  “Yes. You’re a jerk face for laughing at me.” She unzips her coat and holds it open with a big bright smile. “Check this action out.”

  “Tom Brady?”

  “TB12, baby.”

  I throw my arms around her without even thinking about it and I pull her into me. Hard.

  Because I didn’t laugh for three years. I cannot recall one single smile in those three years either. The first time I smiled was the day I sat next to her on that stoop. It was also the first day I laughed. It’s how I knew she was different. It’s how I knew I would think about her with a pang of regret after she got up and walked away.

  And now?

  Now I’m in love with her. It’s not even a question in my mind.

  She’s absolutely everything which is bright in my bleak existence.

  But I don’t know how to go from that to this.

  Because if there is one thing I’ve learned from the many heartbreaks I’ve endured, is that life doesn’t care how much you’ve suffered.

  There is no karma. No justice. No harmonic balance. No fairness and definitely no right versus wrong.

  Nothing that says what I’ve been through won’t happen again. In fact, I expect it would. Being born under a bag of shit doesn’t disappear just because you’ve met someone who makes you feel alive instead of dead.

  So I pull away from her, ignoring her bewildered expression at my sudden burst of affection and joy and go back to the waiting limo. “Jesus, Finn. You didn’t have to get a limo. I would have been cool with a moped.”

  “Too cold for a moped. Get in, we’re going to hit a shit ton of traffic.”

  Gia gets in, sliding against the smooth black leather seats, removing her jacket as she goes. Her eyes scan around the limo and then she looks up at the sunroof. “Did you ever see the movie Big?” I nod, knowing exactly where she’s going with this. “You know that scene where they’re riding around town, standing up and hanging out the sunroof?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve always wanted to do it. But I don’t think today is the day for that.”

  “I’ll make sure we take another limo ride when it’s not thirty degrees out.”

  She looks over at me with a smile. “I’m holding you to that. But only if after that you take me to your apartment so I can jump on a trampoline and sleep in your bunk bed.”

  “I always wanted bunk beds.”

  “Me too,” she sighs, sagging back. “Being an only child sucks sometimes, you know?”

  Not where I was growing up. A sibling would have just been another person for my father to beat the shit out of.

  “Did you get enough sleep?” I ask, changing the subject completely.

  “No. I freaking hate night shifts. They completely mess with my circadian rhythm. But no matter, I’ll sleep tonight after the game and I don’t have work tomorrow until noon.”

  “How’d you manage that?”

  She gives me an incredulous look. “I took the morning off, Finn. What else is a woman to do?”

  With her rhetorical question lingering in the air, she sinks down, propping her feet up on the bench seat perpendicular to us. Then she shifts until her head is resting against the edge of my arm.

  I inwardly sigh. She audibly sighs.

  “In case hell actually manages to freeze over tonight and the Patriot’s lose and I’m too pissed off to say anything pleasant, thank you for the tickets.” She angles her head so that her eyes catch mine. “This is the best birthday present ever. And for the record, you’re a much nicer guy then you let anyone believe. But I’m on to you, Finnigan Banner. So no more trying to fool me with your asshole ways.”

  I lean down and kiss her forehead. I watch as she closes her eyes while I do it. I let my lips linger and when it gets to the point where I know I need to stop, I rest my head against hers.

  And that’s how we spend the hour and a half that it takes to get to the stadium.
r />   Chapter 28

  Finn

  “Go!” Gia screams. “Run!” She’s jumping up and down and tugging on my arm and her nose is red, as are her cheeks from the cold, and she’s smiling so big and holy shit. Just holy shit. Because I don’t necessarily care about football at all, but her excitement is contagious. “Touchdown!” Gia yells, doing a little dance and hugging me and laughing at herself. That’s contagious too. “Go us,” she sings, wiggling and dancing about. “We rule. We’re the winners.”

  Now, we’re not in Boston. We’re in New York, well technically Jersey, but still. This is not a Patriot’s crowd. But no one is yelling at her or giving her shit. In fact, they’re laughing. Because she’s just so goddamn cute. “You’re a very gracious winner,” I say and she laughs, nudging me with her hip.

  “Never said I was. But maybe I should tone it down some?”

  “Probably.”

  I’m smiling down at her. She’s smiling up at me. She’s staring at my mouth like she likes the way my smile looks. I’m staring at hers like I want to kiss it.

  “Come here, Finn.” She grabs my shoulder and yanks me down so that I’m close to her height.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  She glances at me and rolls her eyes like it should be obvious. “I’m taking a selfie of us. I want a picture to commemorate our first Patriot’s game together. And the win of course. Have to memorialize that.”

  She takes her phone out, extends her arm, presses her head against mine and then clicks away.

  I can honestly say this is the first selfie I’ve ever taken, but then again, I don’t get out all that much. “What’s your number?” she asks, looking up at me expectantly.

  “Why?”

  “Jesus, Finn. What century are you living in? I want to text you the pictures. They came out really good.” she flips her phone around so I can look at it. “See.” I nod, because it is a great picture of us. But I don’t want it on my phone, because if it’s on my phone then I’ll look at it. “And really, the fact that I don’t yet have your number feels a little strange. So digits me, baby.”

  “What if I don’t want you to have my number?”

  She peeks up at me nonplussed. “Why wouldn’t you want me to have your number? It’s not like I’m going to go all geostalker on your ass. What did I tell you in the car on the way down about being an asshole?”

  “Fine,” I sigh, because she’s right. I’m being ridiculous. I tell her my number and then she puts it in her phone and texts me pictures and an emoji of something which looks like chocolate soft-serve ice cream with a smiley face on it. “What’s that?”

  Gia bursts out laughing, “It’s poop, Finn. Because that’s what you’re being. A poop.”

  “A poop?” I can’t stop my smile.

  “Yup. But since you brought me here and the Patriot’s not only won, they kicked ass, I’m willing to be magnanimous and forgive you.”

  “Come with me,” I say, twisting her body so we’re facing the aisle and then I push her forward. “I want to get the hell out of here before we’re stuck in traffic for ten hours.”

  “Party pooper,” she says.

  “I thought you weren’t going to call me poop anymore?”

  She laughs, turning her head over my shoulder. “Oh Finn, you made a joke. How adorable.”

  We reach the waiting limo and get in, both sighing out contentedly at the warmth of it. Gia takes off her coat and I do the same and she tosses her Patriot’s beanie next to her coat and we settle in because we’re not moving anytime soon.

  “That was so much fun,” she smiles sleepily. “Can we do it again next year? It can be our thing.”

  “Sure. I had fun too.”

  Gia grins as she closes her eyes, “I’m beyond thrilled to hear that. It’s hard to tell with you sometimes.”

  I don’t respond to that and Gia leans her head against my shoulder like she did on the way down, but this time, she’s squirming around, unable to comfortably settle. “Here,” I say, sitting back in the seat, propping my legs up on the other and positioning her head so that it’s in my lap.

  She blinks up at me, a little surprised, I think, but she doesn’t pull away. And she doesn’t stop me as I stroke her hair, marveling at just how soft and silky it is. Like flowing ink. “When was the last time you had a girlfriend?”

  My hand freezes in her hair and for the longest time, I just watch at her. Her expression tells me she’s nervous, that she knows she’s skating on thin ice with this, but she doesn’t retract her question. She’s patiently waiting for my answer.

  “I haven’t had a girlfriend in six years.” Technically Kelly was only my girlfriend for about a year before she became my wife. It was six years ago that I married her.

  “Six?” she gasps.

  I nod.

  “You haven’t been in a relationship in six years?” She’s incredulous and I shake my head, correcting her misassumption.

  “No. I haven’t been in a relationship in three years.” Her eyebrows knit together and I press my finger into the groove, flattening it back out. “I was married for three years.” I don’t know why I just told her that. I don’t particularly want her to know about my past. About Kelly.

  Gia’s mouth pops open a little. I believe I’ve stunned her speechless, which feels like a minor victory considering the subject matter. I wait for it with my heart stuck in my throat. The inevitable, what happened, question. But it never comes.

  Instead a lone tear rolls down the right side of her face. She does nothing to brush it away and I do nothing, but watch it glide down her temple, only to be absorbed by her hair. “Are you happy with Mason?”

  She nods. That’s it and for some reason, that response bothers me. I want her to tell me she’s blissfully in love with him. Hopelessly content. I want her to tell me that even though we have this unbelievable chemistry, that’s all it will ever be.

  “But he loves you,” I say and comes out sounding defensive.

  Now I get a shrug.

  “What’s your favorite color?” she asks and I smile at the change in subject matter.

  “Aqua,” I say, staring directly into her eyes. “Yours?”

  “Bright blue.”

  I love that answer as much as I hate it. Especially since I know she’s lying. Everything in Gia’s world is lavender. Her phone case. Her freaking clogs. Her nails sometimes. It’s why I made sure her birthday present wrapping, rose and mug were that color as well.

  “What’s your favorite food,” I try, going for something safe.

  “Clam chowder. The New England kind, not the Manhattan.” Of course, it is. “And my grandmother’s manicotti. Yours?”

  “Sushi.”

  She laughs, shaking her head. “God, that’s so pretentious.”

  I laugh with her because it sort of is. “Can’t help that. Do you speak any other languages besides Italian?”

  “Spanish. Do you speak any other languages?”

  “French.”

  “French?” she snorts out. “Were you raised with a silver spoon in your mouth? Who the hell speaks French and has sushi as a favorite food?”

  “I do believe I am not the only one to come from an affluent background.”

  Gia rolls her eyes at me. “That’s another thing, the way you speak. You’re very formal, Dr. Banner. It makes me want to ruffle your hair or pierce your tongue or something.”

  I smile, running my fingers across her cheek and through her hair. “Definitely no piercings, though if you had a tongue ring, I’d be all for a demonstration.” She laughs and sticks out her tongue. No ring, but there is a scar. “You had one?”

  “Yes. Rebellious stage when I was eighteen. I also got a tattoo.”

  “Where?” She points to the right lower quadrant of her abdomen, between her hip and pelvic bone. I don’t ask what she has. Honestly, I’m a bit preoccupied with its location. But I’m afraid if I keep going, s
he’s going to ask if I have one and then I’m screwed.

  “Very sexy, kitten. Say something in Italian for me.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  I wink at her. “How about, I love, Finn. He’s the greatest man in the world.”

  Gia laughs, shaking her head against my thighs as we slowly creep through game traffic. “No way. I’m not saying that.”

  “Oh, come on, Gia. Have some fun with me.”

  She rolls her eyes again and then says, “Amo Finn. È l'uomo migliore al mondo.”

  And because I’ll never get another chance to say it. “Je t'aime aussi, Gia. Merci de me faire ressentir comme ça.” She sucks in a shuddered breath, holding onto it before letting it out slowly. “Do you know what I said?”

  She sniffles a little, her eyes becoming increasingly glassy. “The first part.” She swallows. Clears her throat. “Not the second.”

  “Sucks for you. I know what you said.”

  She laughs, reaching up to wipe away at a falling tear. “Yeah, well, that’s what Google is for, right?”

  “Only if you know how to spell it.”

  “Asshole.” She smacks at me. “Not fair. You tricked me.”

  “Just remember who said it first.” I chuckle, enjoying the hell out of her angry glower.

  “Doesn’t count. You told me to say it.”

  “You’re right,” I concede, holding my hands up in surrender. “I did. I’m forever an asshole.”

  Gia watches me for a very long moment as something I don’t understand crosses her features. She needs to ask me something, but is afraid to do so. “What?” I challenge. “Just ask me.”

  “Finn,” she says my name so softly. Hesitantly. “What are we doing? Why does the thought of Mason being hurt with me going to the game with you, seem to please you? Why do you touch me and kiss my forehead and spend time with me? Especially after my birthday night.”

  I hate those questions. All of them. Why did she have to ask me that? Why did she have to go there after such a perfect day? Frustration slams in to my chest, as I run a hand through my hair and then down my face. “Because I’m addicted.”