Because Beards
Page 8
But then he turned around.
“Ugh” I couldn’t help it or that I faked gagging.
“Ugh? Did I just hear ugh? What on earth are you ugh-ing about?” Mandy threw her hands up.
“He has a beard,” I whined.
And it wasn’t just close shaved scruff, it was full-on, inches long, dark and bushy. It was a beard’s beard.
“Well duh.” She drug the word out and made it sing-songy. “How did you think he got the nickname?” She was probably rolling her eyes now. “Ya know he’s one of the best players in the MLS.”
“I just don’t get it. You know I don’t get it. We’re in a stadium of wanna be lumberjacks, watching perfectly toned lumberjacks, and all I can think is why in the hell do you want to be a lumberjack?” I sighed dramatically and flopped into my seat behind me.
Soccer was fine, tight pants were good—specially on the right man—and I’d never complain about artisanal roasted coffee, but the sheer amount of flowing hipster facial hair in Portland was starting to kill my soul. Well, actually, my snatch, but some days that felt like the same thing.
“Stand back up, stop pouting, and watch a real man play soccer.” Mandy knocked me on the shoulder. “A real gorgeous man.”
I stood, making sure to keep my arms crossed tightly, and grumped, “Call me old fashioned, but I think it’s the dick that makes him a real man.”
“I bet his D is fabulous.” Mandy actually clapped as she went starry-eyed at the thought.
“I bet his D is buried beneath so much fur, we couldn’t tell up from down in bed.”
The game was good. Bearded or no, watching grown, sweaty, sculpted men play the game was a good evening. The beer and cheesy pretzels made it even better. By the end, I roared just as loud as Mandy when the Timbers won.
“Worst night of your life?” she asked smiling and short of breath.
“Absolutely.” I couldn’t keep a straight face while I said it. “You know once you start watching the feet rather than the faces, it ain’t too bad.”
“What is wrong with you?” she screeched.
“My mother dropped me on my head. Repeatedly. I ended up with good taste,” I snarked.
“Hey sis.” Out of nowhere, Mandy’s older brother, JJ, threw his arm around both of us. “Hey Livy.” He pulled us both in to a sandwich hug, like he had done since we were in high school. “You guys enjoy the game?”
“Totes. Thanks for the tickets bro.” Mandy stepped back and punched him lightly on the shoulder the same way she had hit me earlier.
“Livy?” He arched his eyebrows.
“I’m looking into getting the team sponsored by Gillette.”
JJ laughed loudly and affectionately yanked me into his shoulder.
“Beards aren’t all that bad,” he said as he bent down and rubbed his short scruff against my temple.
“Good God, get that sandpaper off me.” I shoved against his chest.
He stumbled backward but laughed even louder.
“You guys wanna go get drinks with me in a bit?” he asked as he caught himself and casually leaned against the railing.
“You owe me at least one shot for the filth of the earth your beard probably just spread across my face.” I made a show of rubbing the skin he’d just scraped against as hard as I possibly could.
Dr. Jason Jones, or as I’d known him for thirteen years, Nurse JJ, sent us to a low key modern bar that I’d never heard of. The lighting was low and the music seductive but it had pool tables. Sleek, black felt ones. A wicked smile spread across my face.
While we waited for the good ole doc to finish up evaluating the team or whatever it was he actually did lounging around big ole virile men, I’d schooled any and every one willing to go head to head at the table.
I was bent over the pool table, about ready to sink the eight ball, when a pair of skinny jeans came into view. The legs those pants wrapped around were muscular, and the man was obviously tall. What was even better was that they barely contained what made a man a real man. I couldn’t help but smirk and shoot the ball right at, well, his balls.
“Nice one.” A smooth, rich voice traveled down my spine and made my skin goose bump. I was incredibly glad I’d worn a V-neck that put my cleavage on display. I tried to shimmy the well-worn fabric down as I stood up.
My face fell. Of course, a beard waited for me. One of the big ones you could easily confuse with a grizzly bear vagina.
On second look, The Beard waited for me. I scrunched my face up and bent back down to fish for pool balls so I could re-rack and move on. I kept my head down and my hands busy despite the full weight of his stare.
“Can I play?” he purred at me, literally purred like a jungle cat or something. I arched my eyebrows and looked up at him from underneath my lashes at the ridiculous sound.
“I’m playing with my friend. You can have winner if she doesn’t care.” My eyes dropped back to the table as I spoke.
“Deal.” There was a hint of laughter in his voice and it had me pursing my lips as I stood.
It only took a quick scan of the room to see Mandy had disappeared from my side. She was halfway across the bar, standing next to her brother and some bearded dude. Her hand rested on his pec as she threw her head back and laughed a little too loud. I’d been abandoned in favor of facial hair. Rough, haggard, stringy, wiry pubic hair. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.
“Looks like you’re up,” I said begrudgingly.
“Don’t sound so disappointed. I’m decent enough.” His voice was laced with humor again.
“I’m sure you are.”
I shook my head and turned to pick up my pool cue. The Beard kept watching me, his eyes had a way of boring into the back of my skull that I felt resonate through me. When I turned around, he was chalking the end of a cue stick with long fingers and self-assured ease, while his eyes stayed fixed on me. He obviously hunted women like prey and, considering his face looked like something straight out of the year 1880, I wasn’t surprised. I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes again.
When he quirked his eyebrow up and stepped confidently toward me, I settled for shaking my head instead.
“My name’s Graham by the way. Graham Foster.”
He held out his hand and I eyed it like he’d extended a rabid weasel.
“I know who you are.” The very idea that he had probably run his hand through his beard kept mine in place. He probably grabbed his balls then stroked his chin and that made my stomach turn.
I bent back down and his crotch was in view again. His big, bulging, about to break free of his denim crotch. Apparently, my snatch was more alive than I’d originally thought. Even the hint of a giant salami made my knees falter. I shook my head and blew out a deep breath before I took a shot. The balls hit against each other with a crisp clack and then shot across the table.
“Are you a Seattle Sounders fan or something?” His laugh was still peeking out through his voice.
“Nah. I prefer Euro Leagues, actually, but the Timbers do just fine for an evening of entertainment.” I pocketed another stripe then shrugged.
“An evening of entertainment? Wow.” He laughed and it was husky, warm, almost like a blanket you could cuddle into during a Pacific Northwest winter. I wanted to lose myself in that laugh. “That’s all you see when you watch me? I’m like an old episode of Friends or something?”
“I was always partial to Sex and the City or Gossip Girl, but yeah, essentially.”
I nailed two balls in before missing. Only then did I stand and meet his gaze.
“You always this hard on a guy trying to buy you a drink?” He watched me plop onto a stool before bending over to work the solids.
I was treated to the perfect ass-shelf again and everything below my belly button clenched. He hit in two balls, each shot making his muscles ripple beneath his perfectly fitting clothes before missing a third. He’d made his way over toward my perch for the botched shot and, when he stood, we were almost presse
d against each other. He turned, putting his chiseled chest smack in front of me. I sucked in a deep breath in spite of myself.
“I have a drink,” I stammered.
He wordlessly pulled it from my hand and slugged it back.
“Whiskey, neat?” He was close enough that his beard grazed my cheek when he asked. My lady boner laid right back down.
“Bourbon,” I corrected him in monotone. “And I’ll buy my own drinks, thanks.”
“You’re sure fighting this hard.” There was still an undeniable warmth to his voice that spoke to something deep inside me, despite the beard. “What is it? Because I’m an athlete?”
I sputtered a weird laugh thing as I bent back to the table. Two balls went in with a single shot, and I smirked at my good fortune. If it were some clean-shaven hunk of man meat watching, I would have died and gone to heaven.
“Ah, sexually inexperienced. A real man terrifies you.” His voice was lower, husky, the definition of sex itself as he poked fun.
“Honey, I got moves you’ve never seen.” I stood and gestured up and down on the pool cue, making sure I took long leisurely strokes as I poked my tongue into the side of my cheek.
“Show me,” he challenged.
“In your dreams.”
When I bent over to line up my next shot, Graham shifted behind me. Even through my jeans, I could feel the warmth of his body radiating against mine. Like this, I could forget about the pube forest running wild on his face and surrender to the sexual tension bubbling up between us. I was lucky to sink an easy shot.
My body vibrated and I fought the urge to back up into him. The tiny space between us was as electrically charged as the stadium had been this evening. My breathing picked up pace, and I’m sure he could see how my body trembled against the thin fabric of my shirt.
He put his hands on my hips just as I let loose a shot. Realistically, I was too jittery to sink it but the shock of him touching me sent my cue shooting upwards and the ball ricocheting all wonky across the table.
“What are you doing?” I shrieked loud enough that half the bar turned.
He held up his hands in surrender and started in on an apology. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed both Mandy and JJ making their way toward us.
“I’m really sorry. I thought we were flirting. I thought it would be okay.” All trace of lightness had left his voice. I hated that I liked his desperate, tormented one even more.
“First, it is never okay to put your hands on a woman without her permission.” I made the number one with my finger to emphasize my point. All too quickly, my number one turned into a sharp pointed finger that I pushed into his chest. “Second, I could never flirt with you.”
“Why?” His face seemed to fall but it was too hard to tell, buried as it was.
“Hey, is everything okay over here?” JJ and Mandy asked at the same time.
“It’s your God damned beard. I’d never flirt with a guy that had a disgusting yeti blanketing their face, and I’d certainly never go home with someone who thought they were God’s gift to women because of overactive testosterone.”
With that, I chucked the pool cue onto the table, scattering the remaining balls then turned on my heel to storm out.
“Well last night was…interesting.” Mandy started in when I answered the phone without any preface.
“Sorry. Probably not the best way to make an impression on your potential soccer studs.” My voice was crackly, fresh from sleeping off the bourbon. “I know you had your heart set on a sleepover where you guys could braid each other’s hair.”
“Eh, you come first. Always do.” She ignored my jab.
“Awe, that’s sweet,” I groaned, as I stretched out in bed.
“Besides, I landed one anyway. Number twenty-two.” She laughed loudly.
“Does he have a name?” I chuckled along with her.
“Not yet. Twenty-two is fine for now.”
“And is Twenty-Two good in bed?”
“His beard is amazing between my thighs.” She moaned the words like she was mid-orgasm.
“Mandy that is gross on so many levels. I can’t even.” I made sure she knew how disgusted I was with the tone of my voice.
“Don’t knock it till you try it.”
“I’m hanging up now.” I waited just a beat but when her full, bright, busting up laughter rang across the line; I did exactly what I said.
I tossed my phone onto the bed and the down of my comforter poofed around it. With another morning groan, I turned over and burrowed back into my pillow. I was on the verge of drifting off when my phone rang again.
Without looking at the screen, I answered, “I’m not putting a beard between my fucking thighs, Mandy.”
A big, brash, and definitely male laugh boomed across the line. I shot up from my mattress and pulled my phone back to look at the caller ID. Unknown flashed across the screen and I yelped, “Oh my God.”
“Livy, I got the point last night. No need to kick a man while he’s down.” The man was still chuckling as he spoke.
I was disoriented to say the least. That voice struck a honeyed chord inside of me just like The Beard had last night. But The Beard didn’t have my number. The Beard didn’t even have my name.
“Who is this?”
“Graham Foster.” He laughed through his name, which mercifully helped him miss the sigh of relief I breathed into the phone. “I got your number from Jason, hope you don’t mind. I wanted to apologize.”
“Oh. Ummm, yeah,” I managed, still slightly off-kilter from his call in the first place.
“Look, I just felt really bad about the whole thing. I misread the situation big time, and I was a real fucking prick to put my hands on you. I didn’t sleep thinking about what a jackass move that was.” Just like last night his voice hit me hard, that powerful rich tone was every bit as manly as the crotch shot I’d first gotten of him.
“Wow.” I breathed in deeply to steady myself. “Thank you for that.” I whistled lowly. “I guess I’m sorry if I lead you on.”
“You didn’t. You’ve been pretty clear about where me and my beard stand with you. Twice now, actually.” His husky chuckle was back.
So was the inexplicable want centered right between my thighs.
“Sorry about that too.”
“No worries.” He was good on the phone, every bit as sexy as he had been in person—when I wasn’t looking at his face that is. My lady boner was back and would be seriously tenting my covers if physically possible. I was going to have to show her a picture of the beard to remind her to tuck herself away. “Can I ask you what’s so terrible about the beard anyway? Out of sheer curiosity?”
“Oh. Sure.” I shrugged even though he couldn’t see. I’d explained myself plenty of times before. “It’s just a turn off. A massive one. Like the way some girls just can’t do short guys or some guys can’t do red heads. I can’t stop thinking about where they’ve been and what’s crawling around inside them. They’re rough and brittle on my face. I mean, they’re a great way to keep Chapstick in business, but me, my lips, both up top and down low, can’t get down like that.”
“Huh,” he answered thoughtfully. “Never heard that one before. I mean, the way you put it, it makes sense, but damn if I’m not disappointed.”
“What do you mean disappointed?” I leaned back in bed, settling into the conversation.
“Well I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t bother me that you find me the opposite of sexy. Particularly because I find you to be the definition of sexy.”
“You don’t even know me.” I laughed loudly.
“I know you like soccer. I know you like bourbon neat. I know you could probably run the table playing pool. All of which are things I like.”
“Oh yeah?” I couldn’t help the big dopey smile spreading across my face.
“Yeah. I also know that the curves of your body are absolute perfection. I thought about kissing every inch last night.”
I bit my
lip. The idea of his lips dancing against my skin had my blood boiling.
But the beard…
“You’d scratch my skin all to hell,” I whined but it was a little breathy.
“Oh Livy.” He said my name in a way that sent shivers down my spine. “Have you ever been kissed by a man with a beard?”
“No,” I admitted.
“God, I’d make it so good for you.” Desire was thick in his voice, and my body responded to it.
“You would?” I couldn’t help myself—the voice, without the visual, spoke to me on a primal level.
“Hell yes I would.” There was a hint of determination, maybe even force behind his statement.
Splooge.
“What would you do to me?”
My question hung in the air between us. Graham’s breathing was still coming across the line but he didn’t answer for what seemed like hours.
“Are we really doing this? I mean, you started this conversation by shouting that I essentially had no shot with you.” He sucked in a breath and I swore he held it.
“I believe I said your beard had no shot with me. Phone sex doesn’t involve beards,” I purred hoping to tempt him.
“So you’re using me for an orgasm?”
“Holy fuck…” I trailed off. I’d been too caught up in the moment and the lust churning wildly inside me to see it for what it was: a real bitch move. “Looks like it’s my turn to apologize. I’m an asshole. And I’m sorry. So sorry. Thanks for the call. Thanks for the apology. Bye.” The last few words all mushed together just before I pulled the phone from my ear and hung up.
“God Livy, you’re a dumbass,” I mumbled to myself as I tossed the phone aside and slid further under the covers.
My ring tone blared again but this time I didn’t make a move to grab it. When I let it ring to voicemail twice, the text messages started popping up. I grabbed it, thinking I would just silence it but then I saw the first few messages.