The Beauty Beneath

by DC Renee

  Two seconds later, Carter was standing in front of me, his hands on my arms. “Are you okay?” he asked as he inspected me, probably wondering if the asshole had laid his hands on me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine, but I want to get out of here.”

  He nodded and led me out. We stayed silent on the drive to my place. I didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t the first time I had been in a situation like that, but it was the first time someone had stood up for me, had protected me. Carter was probably fuming the whole ride home. I could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

  When we got to my place, I sat in his car for a moment, hesitating, and so did he. Then, as if we were of the same mind, we got out of the car together, and he walked me to my door. I wasn’t used to that, and I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to, but clearly, many things I wasn’t used to happened that day. And words failed me. When we reached my door, I turned to him and gently placed my hand on his. He looked down at my hand before looking back up into my face.

  “Thank you, Carter,” I whispered.

  “He shouldn’t have said those things. He’s an asshole.”

  “He is, but he’s right.”

  My hand fell away as Carter lifted both of his to grab my arms in his hands. He spoke so harshly, I thought he would bite my head off. “No, Em, he’s not. He’s not right at all. He’s a fucking piece of shit, and don’t ever listen to people like that.”

  “Okay.” I spoke softly because I didn’t know what else to say.

  “I’m sorry,” he told me as he let me go.

  “What are you sorry for?” I asked, surprise in my voice.

  “Because I took you there tonight where that asshole was.”

  “I had a good time, Carter. I really did. Did what happen suck? Yeah. But I’m used to that. I just didn’t like the stares I was getting. And I … I didn’t know how to handle you sticking up for me,” I told him honestly. “I like your friends, as obnoxious as they are, and I really like your sister. So don’t be sorry. I’m not. And tomorrow is a new day. So forget about it, yeah?”

  “You’re really something else,” he said, but he didn’t say it negatively, and I allowed myself to smile.

  “Oh, I’m something, all right,” I joked, remembering I had said that about him. He must have remembered too because it brought a smile to his lips.

  “Then I guess we’re a good match of somethings, all right,” he said then laughed. “That sounded better in my head.”

  “I’m sure it did,” I said as I started to open my door. “Thanks again, Carter. Really, thanks.”

  “Thank you, Em,” he countered as he leaned in and pressed his lips against my cheek. Maybe it was the entire situation. Maybe it was the quick speed in which it happened. Maybe it was just the shock of it, or maybe, I wanted it, but I didn’t flinch. He turned to leave, and I ran inside and buried my face in my hands, my hand gently cupping the cheek he had kissed. I didn’t bury my head because of the asshole, but because of Carter. Because I meant what I had said. I was used to assholes, but I wasn’t used to Carter. And that scared me. That scared me a lot. Because I liked it. I liked him. And that wasn’t allowed.

  Ten

  Carter

  I had never given a damn about a woman’s feelings before. Well, I guess that’s not entirely true. I cared about my mom and Beth. And really, I just didn’t actually put much thought into a woman’s feelings. They didn’t concern me, so why bother thinking about them, right? But here I was actually worrying about Emerson. I had only known her for a couple of weeks, talked to her a few times, and seen her even less. And it was not like I had a real connection with her—she wasn’t family, and she sure as hell wasn’t a lover. But my sister was right. I did like her as a friend, which was completely out of left field for me since I didn’t do friends who were chicks.

  But Emerson was different. She was tough and didn’t give a damn about anyone or what they thought of her; she had no problem defending herself, could blend into any situation pretty easily, which would be shocking to most since you judge her just by looking at her. And she was obviously someone who stuck to her word and committed to a cause once she had it in her mind. Exhibit A – this bet business I got her mixed into.

  And I was a hypocrite, a hypocrite of epic proportions. Because I had taken one look at her and cringed at what I had seen. I had thought the worst the moment I laid eyes on her, prayed and crossed every finger and toe I could to figure out a way out of the bet.

  I guess that stupid saying, “You can’t judge a book by its cover,” is well known for a reason.

  And Emerson apparently had a kickass story inside. I only got a glimpse of the prologue, and I already wanted to know how the book ended. I just had to figure out how to get her to let me read the rest. Jesus, I sounded like a fucking chick flick.

  Either way, I was both in complete awe of how she handled herself after that prick practically attacked her and completely furious. She might have gotten over it quickly, but I hadn’t. I was an asshole to women, this I knew. But it was in the sense that I never committed, never promised them more than I could offer. I never put a woman down, not in the hurtful sense, at least. I might have in my head, but I wasn’t fucked up enough to say it to their face. Did that make it better? I never treated a woman, any woman, the way that asshole did.

  But the way she stood up for herself … damn. I mean he towered over her, and by the way he was eyeing her, he didn’t have a problem putting his hands on a woman. She’d be no match for him, but she stood toe-to-toe, didn’t back down, and shoved his hateful words right back at him. I had already told myself I wanted to know more about Emerson because she was kind of a mystery. And who doesn’t love a good mystery to solve? But at that moment, before I lost my own temper, I realized I wanted to keep her around because I actually enjoyed her company.

  I apparently added to my friend pool before I even realized I did, and she was clearly getting a friend whether she wanted one or not.

  So when I was surfing the internet and came across a picture a friend had posted online two days after the incident, I knew I had to send it to Emerson.

  It read simply:

  The same boiling water that softens the potato hardens the egg. It’s not about the circumstance, but rather what you are made of.

  And she was made of some extra tough stuff.

  You thinking of switching careers, Carter? was the response I got. I laughed.

  Maybe. You think I’m any good? I played along.

  Let’s just say I’m pretty sure the girls don’t fall at your feet because of your words. I laughed louder.

  I haven’t seen you fall at my feet, I teased her.

  Sorry to disappoint you, C, but it’ll never happen. The fact that she had called me C, just like Beth did, didn’t go unnoticed. On a serious note, what’s this all about? She sent a subsequent message.

  I just saw it, and it reminded me of you.

  Careful there, C. I might go tell your friends you’re turning into a chick. I chuckled at her antics.

  They’d never believe you.

  I have live proof! she responded, and I could almost hear her huff out at the same time.

  Touché. I sent. And then added, Seriously, though. I frowned as I tried to think of the right words, but the right words eluded me. I wanted to tell her that her attitude was inspirational. I wanted to tell her that I liked hanging out with her, so it didn’t matter what people like the asshole from the party said. I wanted to tell her to keep being herself, but guys didn’t say that shit. And even if I did, I couldn’t figure out how to put it into a text message. So, instead, I went with: You’re a pretty cool chick. I think I might have slapped my forehead when I sent that message.

  Uh, thanks. I knew she rolled her eyes at that one. I stared at my screen to figure out how to make it sound better. But she beat me with another response. Well, I’m going to go off and be a pretty cool chick while working. You run along now and be a pretty cool dud
e. And as I threw my head back and laughed, I knew exactly why I liked Emerson.

  *****

  The next day, I was thoroughly surprised when my phone dinged, and I saw a message from Emerson. What didn’t surprise me, though, was what she sent. She had sent me a picture with just words, similar to the one I had sent her the previous day. Except hers read:

  What’s 6 inches long, 2 inches wide, and drives women wild?

  No … it’s a $100 bill.

  I almost fell out of my chair. I sent her inspirational shit; she sent me funny stuff. Maybe I should have been worried about turning into a chick like she had said. Naturally, I forwarded that to my buddies.

  Good one, was pretty much the response from them all.

  Yeah, Emerson sent me this one, I told them.

  Again, they all pretty much said the same thing: she was much cooler than they expected.

  Fuck, Em, where’d you get that? I asked her.

  I have my sources, she responded, and I knew she was smirking. I could tell you, but you might have to get rid of your vagina, she tacked on, and if it was possible, I swear I liked her even more.

  And that was how our almost daily text messages started. I’d send her one, and then she’d send me one. It got to the point where I was literally scouring the internet to find ones to top hers. But I loved every minute of it. I hadn’t had that much fun since I was a kid. And I wondered if all girl friends were like that or if I just lucked out on my first one. Either way, I was happy I could call Emerson my friend. Now, I just had to figure out how to get her to call me one too.

  Eleven

  Emerson

  My mom and Don were the only people who I spoke to on a regular basis, aside from clients. And now, apparently, Carter too. Oh, and tack on Beth, as well.

  The day after Beth’s party, I got a text message from her that pretty much said she was so happy to have met me and couldn’t wait to be friends.

  I told her it was great meeting her too. I didn’t say anything about being friends. But clearly, she and Carter were not only related but also possessed the same inability to hear the word, “No.”

  I guess I could have ignored her, but I really didn’t want to. And I argued that I couldn’t avoid Carter because of our deal, and if I wanted to make sure he fulfilled his end of the bargain, then I’d have to suck it up and at least be “nice” to his sister. Secretly, though, I thoroughly enjoyed every single text message between the two siblings. Beth’s were friendly, asking me how my day went, when we would hang out, just us girls, and a bunch of nosy questions too, but I knew she meant well. Carter, though, our exchanges were nothing more than sending each other fun pictures and commenting on them. Yet I felt like I was having some sort of illicit affair with him. I didn’t really know how to explain it other than to say it was like I was doing something I knew was wrong in person, but it didn’t feel wrong when it was in a text.

  Why was it wrong in person? Because I was dishonoring my father. I was dishonoring my promise to myself—all that I’d worked for and all that I’d said I’d do. In other words, the part about not letting people in. Not even funny, charming, gorgeous, and sweet guys named Carter.

  Carter and I had only talked on the phone a handful of times, but when he called me Friday night, I wasn’t surprised. I figured we had some other event I’d have to attend.

  What I didn’t expect was the panic in his voice when I answered with, “What now, Carter? Which one of your friends do you want me to emasculate this time?”

  “Em, please, I need your help.”

  My blood ran cold. I had never, and I repeat never been someone to call in a bad situation. I didn’t even know what a distress call really sounded like, but I was sure I was experiencing one.

  “Carter?” I asked simply because I didn’t know what else to say. It was not as if I didn’t know it was him.

  “You need to come here now, please,” he urged.

  “What happened? Where’s ‘here’?”

  “I’ll explain when you get to my place.”

  “I don’t even know where you live,” I cried, hoping he wouldn’t hang up on me, and that it wasn’t too serious. Part of me figured it must have been or he wouldn’t have called me. He had a million other people on his list he could reach out to before finding my number.

  “Three-five-five Staple Drive, please hurry,” and then the line went dead.

  To say I drove like a crazed woman would be an understatement. I debated on whether to call the cops even, but I didn’t know what to tell them. And I assumed Carter would have called them instead if they needed to be involved.

  I ran up to his front door and pounded, calling out Carter’s name when the door swung open and there stood Carter, looking normal.

  “I … uh … are you okay? What happened?” I asked before he even had a chance to say anything.

  “Perfect timing.” He smiled wide and led me inside. I was sure my confusion looked almost cartoonish.

  “Carter, what’s the emergency?” I asked, still not understanding what the hell was going on.

  “I didn’t want the food getting cold,” he said as he pointed at some takeout boxes.

  “I don’t understand,” I stated.

  “I ordered us some food from this great Italian restaurant around the corner, and I didn’t want it to get cold by the time you got here.” He spoke slowly as if that was the part I didn’t understand.

  “You have five seconds to explain what’s going on before I punch you and then walk out the door.” I spoke in a tone I knew was about five steps rougher than “harsh.”

  “I thought it would be nice to have some dinner then watch a movie. I have popcorn,” he added as if that made it all right.

  “Let me get this straight,” I said as I finally put the entire situation together. “You wanted to hang out with me. God knows why. But instead of asking me, you nearly scare me to death, have me commit about ten moving violations on my way here, and then act as if this was a normal, everyday occurrence.”

  “Yeah, I guess that sums it up.” He shrugged and smirked.

  “Jesus, Carter!” I screamed. “What the hell is wrong with you? Who does that?” I kept yelling. “And why the hell didn’t you just ask me?”

  “You would have said no,” he stated without hesitation.

  “But we have to get to know each other for my cousin’s wedding,” I tossed back.

  “Yeah, but if I don’t bully you into this stuff, you avoid me.”

  “I’ve talked to you every day this week,” I snapped.

  “Well, I wanted to hang out in person,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Why on earth would you want to do that?” I asked, completely serious.

  “Because, Em”—he smiled—“you’re a pretty cool chick.” He laughed, and it was clear he was making fun of himself. I couldn’t help the tiny smile that overtook the edges of my mouth. “Come on. Instead of looking at it as I tricked you, why don’t you think of it as I went through all this trouble to spend some time with you.”

  “You’re not allowed to manipulate the situation,” I responded, but my resolve had all but disappeared with his little statement.

  “I believe I just did.” He chuckled.

  “I don’t understand why, though,” I said softly.

  “I like you, Em. I know my wording kind of sucked, but you really are pretty cool. You’re witty, don’t take my shit, and you’re fun to talk to. You’re like one of the guys but cleaner.” He laughed. I did too, but that was because I was trying to hide the effect his words were having on me. I wasn’t sure I liked being called “one of the guys,” but his compliments and the fact that he really did want to hang out with me were making me feel all fuzzy inside. And I didn’t get fuzzy. I should leave, I told myself, but my head and my heart were warring with one another. And when I opened my mouth to tell him “thanks but no thanks,” apparently my heart won out.

  “Yeah, well, you’re lucky I’m hungry,” I answer
ed with my best begrudging sounding voice. Not sure he bought it.

  “It’s Friday night,” I said as soon as we dug into the food.

  “Uh-huh,” he responded with a mouthful of pasta.

  “Why aren’t you out with your friends or hitting on some chick?” I asked, realizing he was spending his Friday night with me.

  “It doesn’t have to be a Friday night for me to pick up a girl,” he responded.

  “Of course, that’s the part you focus on.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re clearly losing some of your game if you’d rather be here with me on a Friday night.”

  “I don’t care if it’s a Friday night or a Tuesday night. If I want to hang out with my friends, I will,” he stated, a little annoyed sounding.

  “Oookay,” I responded and immediately wanted to shoot my own mouth. Damn stretched out okay.

  “Em, you’re my friend,” he said as he laid his hand on mine. I left my hand there for a moment before pulling it out from under his.

  “I don’t do friends,” I stated.

  “You do now,” he retorted.

  “We’re two people in a mutually beneficial relationship,” I tossed at him.

  “I’ve heard that one before. To-may-toe, to-mah-toe. We’re friends,” he said.

  “I should go,” I said as I started to get up.

  “Sit your ass back down, Em,” he snapped, and I actually paused. “I mean it,” he said after I didn’t immediately sit back down. “You have fun when you hang out with me, admit it.” That was the problem. I did have fun, and I didn’t want to. I didn’t respond. “I’ll take your silence as a yes,” he said. “So that means we’re having fun together for the rest of the night.”

  I wanted to leave, but a bigger part of me was smiling on the inside. It was a truly terrified smile because I was in uncharted waters, but it was a smile nonetheless. My legs didn’t move; I stayed put. So I spoke to break the tension I had created. “Sounds kinky,” I said and winked then finally sat back down.