The Beauty Beneath

by DC Renee

  So I did what I’d been good at doing for all my life. I pretended it didn’t matter. I told myself to go on despite what my heart was telling me. I hid. I hid behind my comments, behind my sarcasm, and behind my humor. I hid. Plain and simple. And it worked. Because any potential awkwardness that could have occurred at that moment didn’t. We went back to our normal selves, and the rest of the night was just a regular day for us. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say I almost wished I didn’t hide that. Almost.

  Twenty Six

  Carter

  “Why didn’t you bring Emerson today?” Erick asked as we sat at the bar.

  “She had to work late,” I responded. I had actually told her that she should stop by after, but she said she wasn’t sure when she’d be done. She also said she’d had a long day already and was tired, so she probably wouldn’t make it. I didn’t know why that had ruined my mood, but it had.

  “Aw, is Carter sad he doesn’t get to hang out with his girlfriend today?” Lance teased.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I tossed back, annoyed.

  “She is for another few days,” Dan replied.

  “Technically, she’s just someone I’m dating, no girlfriend status.”

  “Dude,” Lance said. “You hang out more than we do, and you talk to her all the time.”

  “How would you know?” I asked.

  “I just do, and your response just confirmed it.”

  “Whatever.” I shrugged. Everything that had to do with Emerson lately made me either smile like I was on a toothpaste commercial or snappy like a fucking alligator. Especially after we kissed. It had affected me in more ways than I cared to admit, so I pushed that shit down, and as a result, I was a walking time bomb.

  “Anyway,” Lance continued with an exaggerated eye roll. “You fucking know her schedule, and you get all happy like some sappy movie when you talk about her. Except now. Now, you’re being defensive as fuck. What the hell, man?”

  “Nothing. Just a bad day.” I shrugged.

  “Well, get over it and get your head in the game. We have a bet to discuss.”

  “What’s there to discuss?” I asked.

  “Well, for one, you have two more days before I win,” Dan said with a smile.

  “You mean lose,” I replied, this time with a smile of my own.

  “I don’t know, man,” Erick added. “If you’re an ass to Em between now and then, she might not take a breakup so amicably.”

  “Fuck that,” Lance interjected. “No chick is going to take a breakup well no matter what. But Carter might be onto something. If he’s an ass now, she might be glad he broke up with her. And voila, he wins. Smart guy,” he said toward Dan, who was now frowning.

  “I don’t buy it,” he responded. “She’s just going to be even more pissed that he treated her like crap the last couple of days instead of having the decency to break it off sooner. And as much as I want her to get pissed so I win this fucking bet, I like Em. So don’t do any more than you have to, got it?”

  I was ecstatic my friends cared about Emerson—because whether they realized it or not, she was going to be around for a while. But I also wanted to rip their throats out because they had no right to worry about her. That was my job.

  “Look, I’m not being an asshole to her on purpose. It’s just one of those days, all right?” I asked, but it was more of a statement.

  “All right, geez, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Lance said.

  I was about to make some wiseass remark when I felt my phone buzz. It was a picture of a man in a bright yellow suit in what looked like a hotel lobby. Right under, Emerson had texted:

  No, you haven’t had too many beers. He’s real. Just another day at work.

  I chuckled.

  “It’s Emerson, isn’t it?” Erick asked.

  “Yeah,” I responded with a smile.

  “Jesus, you fucking like her,” Lance said, and I snapped my head up. Something in his tone was alarming, but I didn’t think too much about it.

  “Yeah, of course. We all like her.” I shrugged and shot off a quick response to Emerson:

  Clearly, he’s had too many beers.

  When she responded with, Then maybe I should slip him some of the hard stuff. Wonder what he’ll wear then. Or maybe not wear, I choked on a laugh.

  “No, man, you like her, really like her, not the ‘let’s be friends after this bet’ kind of like her.”

  “Of course, I want to be friends with her after this is all said and done. Don’t you all?” I asked.

  “You’re not hearing me,” Lance said. “You don’t want to be her friend. You want to be more.”

  “That’s crazy,” I responded.

  “Is it?” Lance asked, and I turned to Erick, who was staring at me with a knowing smile, then to Dan who didn’t look all that surprised at the path this conversation was taking.

  “I don’t fucking like her like that,” I said, raising my voice. “She’s great, but we’re only doing this dating thing for the bet.” I obviously fought the urge to tell them that we weren’t even really “fake” dating to begin with.

  “You really were upset that your girlfriend isn’t here,” Dan added. “That’s why you're all pissy.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.

  “You fucking lit up like a firecracker the minute Emerson texted you.”

  “She sent a funny text,” I retorted.

  “It’s not just that,” Erick chimed in. “It’s the way you talk about her, the way you act when she’s around like you’re protective of her and would kill anyone who hurt her.”

  “Because I care about her,” I interrupted.

  “Yeah, sure, but you’re extra attentive. Even when you’ve dated, and I use that term loosely, before, you’ve never been like this. You don’t talk to a chick at all when you’re with us unless you’re hitting on her. And one text from Em completely changed your mood.”

  “Because she knows how to cheer me up,” I countered.

  “You like her, Carter,” Lance said. “I mean I get it, but I don’t,” he said with a slight frown.

  “I don’t like her,” I responded. “But what’s there to even get?”

  “Because she’s fucking awesome. If any one of the chicks I’ve dated were like her, I’d probably have a girlfriend by now. But come on, let’s face it, her looks …” He trailed off, not finishing the sentence, but the implication was there, and I didn’t like it.

  “Her looks are what?” I asked, my voice low but full of anger. “Say she’s fucking ugly, Lance, I dare you.”

  “Whoa, man, I never said she was ugly,” he backpedaled and put his hands up in defense. “She’s just not usually your type.” Even though I knew he had backtracked, and that the original words that hung in the air were along the lines of “ugly,” I let it slide … for now. If he brought it up again, I’d beat his ass, friend or not. No one, and I mean no one, put Emerson down.

  “Prince Charming coming to her defense,” Dan said.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means Lance is right, and you fucking like her. Get your damn head out of your ass and see it for yourself.”

  “You guys don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah because we like riling you up just for shits,” Dan responded, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “I don’t know why you guys are saying this shit. Dan, I get maybe you’re trying to throw me off so you win this bet, but what’s in it for you all? What’d he promise you?” I asked Erick and Lance.

  “You’re so damn stubborn. We’re trying to help you here,” Erick said.

  “You’re going to wake up and realize we were right and you blew your chance,” Dan added.

  “I don’t understand you,” I responded.

  “I’ll tell you what. You figure this shit out, and I’ll let you call off the bet.”

  “You’re just scared I’m going to win,” I countered.


  “If you win, I’ll wear a fucking dress proudly,” he retorted. “And I bet I’ll even pick up some chicks doing it too.” He smirked. “But you don’t want to win, Carter. And you don’t want me to win either.”

  “Of course, I want to win,” I responded.

  “Keep telling yourself that, Carter,” Dan said. “For your sake, I hope you figure it out soon, though,” he added, and the conversation died. The guys moved onto something else, but I couldn’t. My mind kept thinking about some of the things they had said. They said I was happy around her, but I was happy around anyone I cared about too. I was protective of her, but I was also protective of Beth. They pointed out I talked to her all the time, but I talked to my friends all the time too. They said when I dated before, I was different. When the hell was the last time I dated anyone? When was the last time I had sex? Hooked up with a chick? Hell, hit on one. Not since I met Emerson.

  I could blame it on the bet. I could tell myself that I couldn’t hit on other women because I was trying to make this dating thing real, for my friends at least. But that wasn’t the truth. I hadn’t hit on anyone because I simply didn’t want to. Because I was more than content spending my time with Emerson, no strings attached. I looked around the room, scanning the women, landing on one who was smoking hot. Her eyes flickered over to mine, and they stayed there for a moment before she looked down and licked her lips. It was a telltale sign that she’d let me pick her up for the night if I wanted that, but I didn’t. I had absolutely no desire to hit on anyone or to pick up some random chick. When I thought about my time, what I’d rather do after I left the bar, the only person I wanted to spend time with was Emerson. And even with all that, I turned back to my friends, back to their conversation, and said in my head, “I don’t like her like that.”

  Twenty Seven

  Emerson

  Carter and I still hadn’t talked about how we were going to “break up.” I figured it was something we should do so that it would be more believable for his friends, but when I tried to talk to him about it over the past couple of days, he brushed me off and completely switched subjects.

  I guess I’d just have to wing it and hope I was a good enough actress to follow his lead.

  I had just finished getting ready, and I actually didn’t use that term loosely. It took a lot of time to perfect my look, and oftentimes, I’d have to touch it up by the end of the day. I was about to grab my purse and head out.

  I had informed Carter that I was going to meet him at the bar. If a guy was breaking up with a girl, why would he want to have the added drama of having to take her home? We both knew no hard feelings would be involved in this “breakup,” but his friends didn’t. And if Carter and I had truly been dating, he wouldn’t know either, so that meant driving separately was the safe bet.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised, though, when I heard the doorbell ring.

  “Of course, you don’t listen to directions.” I sighed and let him in. He walked in like a determined man, not saying a word. He strode into my living room, then turned and looked at me as I closed the door behind me. Something was in his eyes, something I couldn’t put my finger on, and I wasn’t one-hundred percent I liked the look he was giving me.

  “You’re so lucky you have me, or you’d lose this bet,” I told him. “A guy that is legitimately breaking up with his girlfriend would be at least a little worried she’d cause a scene and try to storm off. If they don’t share a car, it doesn’t affect him,” I said as if I was explaining this to a child.

  He still didn’t speak, so I moved closer. “Uh, hello, earth to C,” I said and waved my hand in his face.

  “I am lucky to have you,” he spoke finally, his voice steely.

  “Damn straight,” I said with a smile.

  “But we’re not breaking up,” he added.

  “So how will we play this … Wait, what?” I asked, his words finally registering. “The bet’s off?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he responded, but a hitch in his voice gave away the fact he wasn’t telling me everything.

  “Oookay,” I said, and I saw the faint outline of a smile ghost his lips. Then it was gone.

  “The bet’s off because we’re not breaking up.”

  “Uh, yeah, I don’t understand you.”

  “My friends … the other day … Dan told me if I liked you, the bet would be off.” His words were broken sentences.

  “What does liking me have anything to do with all this?” I asked, completely confused.

  “When I thought about the end of our relationship, I couldn’t … I just couldn’t fathom it.”

  “We’ll still be friends, C, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I assured him, still not fully comprehending what was going on and getting more nervous by the second.

  “No, Em, not friendship, more.”

  “More of what? We don’t have anything more than friendship.”

  “Yes, we do!” He raised his voice, and I realized that he was inches from me. I hadn’t even noticed when he moved closer to me. “What we have, Em, this is real. It’s me, and it’s you, and it’s us. And I don’t want to break up. I want it to continue, no fake boyfriend or girlfriend.”

  “Carter, you’re talking nonsense,” I said as I backed up, but he followed me.

  “Em, don’t fight this. I know you feel it too.”

  “We’re just friends!” I yelled and tried to take another step back.

  “We’re way more than that,” he said slowly so that I’d hear every word.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked.

  “Absolutely nothing,” he said with a smile. “For the first time in a long time, I feel fan-fucking-tastic. There was some shit when I was younger,” he said and waved his hand in the air to brush his words away. “And no matter what you see in me now, it left a cloud over my life, but with you, I’m different. I’m better. I’m thoroughly happy with life, and I smile all the time. Big, goofy fucking smiles my friends make fun of me for, especially when I think about you. No woman—no, fuck that—no other person makes me feel that way. No one else understands me, knows how to get to me, how to keep me on my toes like you do. Hell, Em, I’ve known you two months, but I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

  “I guess I’m just refreshing,” I said with a shrug, trying to find a reason for all the things Carter was saying.

  “You are refreshing, but it’s more than that. The highlight of my day is seeing your name pop up on my screen. I get truly upset when I don’t get to see you for too long. I get jealous when you’re spending time with Beth and not me. I find excuses to call you, to show up, and they’re never good excuses. You’re the main topic of most of my conversations. I think about you all the time, even when I shouldn’t be. I picture your eyes almost every moment of the day.”

  “My eyes?” I interjected.

  “You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.” I gasped. He had said they were beautiful once before, but I didn’t pay much attention to it then. He had seen a little piece of the hidden me. “They’re so clear, so blue, and if you pay attention, you can read them; they betray every emotion you have. I’ve been reading them, Em, which is why I know you care about me too.”

  “Of course, I care about you!” I responded loudly. “You’re the first person I’ve let get close to me in years. You think I don’t care about you?” I asked.

  “You’re fighting this. That’s okay. I did too. My friends saw it before I did. They understood my feelings before I could comprehend them. I even told them they were wrong. I rationalized everything I was feeling, every action I took when it came to you. But when it came time to lose you, I didn’t want to. I don’t want to, Em. No, I can’t lose you.”

  “You’re not going to,” I tried to tell him again. “We’re going to stay friends, I promise.”

  “I don’t want to be your friend!” he yelled and grabbed my arms. “My friends were wrong, Em. I don’t like you. Somewhere along the w
ay, I fell in love with you. I love you, Em.” I would have thought he was pulling my leg, playing me for a fool. Maybe he lied about what exactly the bet was, and he was recording this conversation to play back for his friends so they could get a good laugh. But his words were so earnest, his tone so pleading, and his eyes so serious—I knew this wasn’t a game. He meant what he said, or at least he thought he did. But how? Why?

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” I said as I broke out of his grip. “Are you fucking blind?” I asked as I waved a hand up and down my body, the sentence deserving of the cussing.

  “No, Em,” he said softly as he looked me up and down and then moved closer to me, one painful inch at a time. I tried to move back, but I was already up against the wall. “I was blind before, so very blind before, but you opened my eyes, and what I see is beautiful. What I see is you,” he said as he stood just a hair’s breath away, his eyes boring into mine.

  “All I see is you,” he whispered and then his lips crashed on mine. I was stunned. My hands balled at my sides, my eyes open as I looked at his face, his expression so content and his tongue sought to part my lips. They opened for him of their own accord, those betrayers. And then my tongue joined the enemy, and my eyes closed so they wouldn’t watch me lose. Except I didn’t feel like I was losing. I felt like I had just won a freaking tournament as Carter caressed my tongue with his. I felt giddy inside, my stomach was doing somersaults – the good kind. My heart felt lighter, my head was dizzy, and my thoughts were everywhere. And I could swear I heard fireworks – yeah, those cheesy, see-stars-when-you-kiss kind of fireworks. My first kiss, our first kiss, was an exploration for me, and even then, it was off the charts incredible. But this one … this was the kind of kiss people try desperately to portray in every movie, every book, and every show. It was the “lifetime” kiss – the fade to black because it was too passionate for the screen type of kiss. The “Disney” kiss – where you’re just waiting for little animated butterflies to float on the screen as the princess rises from her slumber or the frog turns into a prince because the kiss was that powerful. It was all of that and more wrapped into one.