Underside of Courage (Beautifully Disturbed Series Book 2)

by Sarah Zolton Arthur

  “Listen, I’m flattered but I can’t do this.”

  “You’re flattered? Fuck you, Collin.”

  “You broke into my home, did you really think that was an option?”

  Bradley pulls his shirt over his beautifully fashioned chest. A chest at one time it felt good to have my hands on. But he was November. The rules are the rules. And honestly, nothing has felt right since Kip left the writing center without even saying goodbye. The kicker is, I don’t know why that’s jacking with my head. He’s just a guy. With an angelic face. Just another hookup waiting to happen. Who talked to me like I was more than an ass and a big cock.

  Shit. He talked to me like a friend—who I want to kiss. I tell Ben not to be such a coward yet I pushed Kip away. I don’t even see Bradley walk out the door. It’s Christmas. He tried to jump my bones on a holy day. If Ben weren’t sick, he and I would be having words. But he probably wasn’t thinking because he doesn’t feel well.

  I peek into his bedroom real quick to make sure he’s okay. He’s already asleep. We exchanged gifts early this morning. All of us who didn’t go home, me, Ben, Elly, Sabrina and Errol, and Kelly. It was nice. We’d enjoyed ourselves. And I only thought about Kip five times today. Because I knew he couldn’t go home for Christmas. What is wrong with me?

  Back in my room, I grab my jacket off the desk chair and fling it around my shoulders pushing my arms through in one smooth motion. It’s the jacket I’ve kept there since the last time Kip and I worked together because he’d hung his jacket next to mine and his smell rubbed off making my jacket smell like him, consequently making my room smell like him for the past couple weeks. Stupid me never even wore the coat home. I was afraid of my cologne overpowering his scent. So I chose to freeze rather than lose the smell of him.

  Jesus, there is something wrong with me.

  Thoughts of Kip make the room feel even more stifling now than the thirty seconds ago when I only had thoughts of Bradly to contend with. Maybe some alone time in my car cruising the quiet streets will be enough help to clear my head.

  I shove my hand in my pocket because there’s something pressing against my thigh and I don’t want it bothering me while I drive. It feels like a box. Probably a box of condoms from that dipshit Bradley. I pull it out ready to toss the thing inside my desk drawer.

  No, not condoms.

  It’s wrapped. A small, wrapped Christmas gift.

  The tag says: Merry Christmas, Collin

  From: Kip

  The bastard asked me out on a date, then disappears, but has the nerve to slip a gift in my pocket before taking off without so much as a chin lift or finger wave?

  What am I supposed to do?

  God, Kip. Why couldn’t he be like every other guy at this school and just want a romp between the sheets? I don’t know how to deal with him. Everyone else knows the score. Fuck and done.

  Would I want to spend time with any one of them hanging out?

  Only Kip.

  Shit, I really don’t know what to do.

  Except to rip open the package. I picture his smiling face as he hooks our pinky fingers together, while I stare down at the open box.

  A gold plated keychain.

  He gave me a keychain of an unrolled scroll with a quill pen. Beautiful on its own, Kip had it engraved. For truth is always strange, stranger than fiction. My favorite quote. Lord Byron. We’d talked about it one day in the writing lab between two ice teas and a plate of chili cheese fries for lunch. He remembered. I want to punch myself for the few tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. But even with my best friend one room over, I’ve been so lonely. I have been.

  Kip is probably a bad idea.

  I mean, talk about stumbling headfirst into disaster. No, strike that. Kip is so much worse than stumbling. We’re talking inviting him over, leading him to the couch and kissing the angelic smile off his face, then tracing one hand up his neck to grasp a handful of his thick hair while giving his package a gentle rubdown to get him warmed up with the other, into disaster. And I can’t afford to have him in that way, not with the feelings which creep up every time I’m around him, or think about being around him, or even just think about him period.

  I like him. I like him, like him.

  Feelings of like can be dangerous because they lead to other much stronger feelings. I’ve been down that road before. The end of that road came with a dead boyfriend.

  Still, with my brain and dial finger at a disconnect, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I catch the time on my alarm clock, one minute after twelve in the a.m. The holiday is over. December twenty-sixth.

  Instead of going out I fall back onto my bed, my phone in my hand and I’ve dialed Kip’s number. He’s going to think I’m crazy. He has to be in bed sleeping like any normal person should be this time of night. Just before my finger swipes to end the call, he answers.

  What now?

  “Hello?” God, his voice, even gravely from sleep still comes out as smooth and as rich as dark roast coffee.

  “Thank you,” I whisper into the receiver.

  He shouldn’t know who’s calling. He shouldn’t know but he does.

  “Collin?”

  And hanging up just shifted from probably to impossible. “I found your gift. Thank you.”

  “I miss talking with you. You really were my only real friend since transferring here.”

  “I’m still your friend. And would you—would you like to meet me for breakfast?”

  “But you only hookup.”

  I grab my forehead, running my hand through my hair. “Know what, I shouldn’t have—”

  “Yes, you should have. You definitely should have. Where do you want to meet?”

  “Here? I’ll cook.”

  “When?”

  “Now?”

  He sighs, and I can see those lips parting in my head to let the air escape. “Give me your address,” he says. “I’m on my way.”

  True to his word, maybe twenty minutes later there is a light knocking on the front door. That’s Kip for you, trying to be considerate so to not wake up Ben. When I swing open the door, he’s shivering, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them to warm them up.

  Even though I woke him from a dead sleep, his hair looks perfectly coifed and he’s dressed for the day. I’d have shown up in sweats. I’m wearing them now. Not Kip, he’s in a nice pair of dark denim jeans and his pea coat. At one o’clock in the morning, he dressed for me.

  I continue to stand, staring at him until he clears his throat.

  “Can I come in?” he asks on a laugh.

  And I blink twice, then step aside motioning for him to come inside.

  “Sorry. You’re just actually here.”

  “You invited me.”

  “Do you like eggs? I was thinking omelets.” My subject change is abrupt, but he gives it to me.

  His smile reaches his ears, although he doesn’t answer, instead turning to shut the door behind him. Then he shrugs out of his coat to reveal a navy blue crewneck sweater. He looks so fine standing here in my living room, my first instinct is to say fuck breakfast and lead him back to my bedroom for some post-holiday frivolity. But I can’t do that with Kip. He deserves more. We haven’t seen each other in two weeks. He deserves breakfast and conversation, and… and I’m so screwed.

  Kip shoves his plate away from him to rest his elbows on the table, arms folded so each hand grasps the opposite biceps. He’d jumped right in to help with breakfast, starting the coffee while I plucked the ingredients for omelets from the refrigerator. Kip moved around my kitchen like he lived here, never having to ask where utensils or the cutting boards are stored. His first instincts simply took him to whatever he needed.

  He sliced the mushrooms while I grated the sharp cheddar. Then he moved on to dicing the onion while I turned my attention to washing the baby spinach. Finally, as I stood at the stove sautéing the mushrooms and onions, he cracked the eggs into the bowl.

  “Use ice cold wa
ter,” I told him. “My grandmother is French. The French whisk in ice cold water to make their omelets fluffy.”

  With a head nod, he did exactly as I directed, filling a measuring cup with ice and water.

  We work well together. Too well. Is it supposed to be this easy with someone I’ve only known since the last week of the semester?

  “You sure you don’t want to be a chef?” he asked, praising the way I folded the eggs to complete the omelets.

  “No, I just enjoy cooking when I have the time.” I turned to slide the omelets onto two plates setting on the counter beside the stove, handing one off to him.

  We both moved to the dining area table (area not room because the kitchen, living and dining areas are one large space) where we sat with our coffees, me at the end and Kip at the corner next to me. He created an intimate setting without feeling cramped.

  But I think his best compliment came when he took his first bite. He didn’t tell me how it tasted. As he chewed, he closed his eyes, smiling. When he opened them again, he looked straight into mine. His look communicating something I hadn’t seen in a man’s eyes since Andrew. It scared me as much as it exhilarated, and I could feel the heat blooming over my cheeks. The bite of food I’d just swallowed stuck in my throat for a second before I was able to force it down the rest of the way.

  Now that we’re done eating, he asks, “So Collin, what are your plans for the day?”

  I shrug. “Would you like to watch a movie?” Movies are innocent enough.

  He shakes his head, but answers me. “Sure.”

  By his response, I don’t think watching a movie with me was what he had in mind. Yet he senses this is what I need and gives it to me selflessly. I can’t give him any more than watching a movie. Too many confusing thoughts and precious memories swirling around inside my mind to contend with.

  While I queue up the movie, Kip washes the breakfast dishes, per his insistence. When he finishes, he joins me on the sofa dropping down close enough for our thighs to brush together. He shifts himself so that his back rests in the crook made where the back of the sofa and the arm connect. Then he shifts me until my back rests against his side, where he casually drapes his arm around my shoulders.

  It’s the only move he makes on me.

  ***

  We talk on the phone every night. Keeping the cell lights blazing until the wee hours of the morning. Nothing of consequence. Nothing big or heavy or life changing. But in those moments, sometimes not saying much of anything, just lying in bed knowing he’s on the other end of the line doing the exact same thing can be the biggest, heaviest, most life changing conversations of them all.

  “Kip,” I mummer sleepily into the phone. “You still awake?”

  “Yeah.” His voice comes out raspy thick and just as sleepy.

  “My friend Zena’s having a New Year’s party tomorrow night.”

  “Yeah?” He repeats himself.

  “Come with me. That is, if you don’t already have plans. I think I’d like to ring in the New Year with you.”

  “I think I’d like that too, Col.”

  “Good. That’s good. Kip?”

  “Yeah?” he answers for a third time.

  “Stay on the line with me?”

  Hearing so much weakness in my voice, I’m embarrassed but begging the universe at the same time for him not to refuse me. I could never say no to him, even if I wanted to, which, if I’m being real with myself, I never want to.

  “Sleep Col. I’m not going anywhere.” Listening to his breathing sets my mind at ease until I’ve relaxed enough to follow him in sleep.

  Chapter 5

  Kip

  New Year’s.

  Collin invited me out to party. I love that he invited me, I could use a party. A reason to celebrate after merely surviving the last twenty-four months. Collin’s friends seem pretty nice, not that he’s introduced me with more than a passing “This is Kip,” to a few of them which surprises me. I’d thought when he invited me here tonight that this would be a significant step in our relationship, or the kind of relationship I want with him.

  They’ve thrown a good one. Energetic music and strobe lights. Plenty of food and more alcohol than some bars I’ve been to. It’s a huge apartment to begin with, and all the furniture has been pushed to the walls or moved out completely, to make room for a club-worthy dancefloor. The people throwing the party could have charged admission for how professional it has turned out.

  But Col and I, we haven’t even kissed yet, so although disappointing, I kind of get it, his lackluster introductions.

  We talk. That’s the nature of our relationship so far. I love that we talk.

  Only, we’ve been talking every night since our phone call after Christmas. Usually until so late into the night that it turns into morning. So I’ve changed my mind, I guess I don’t kind of get it. Sometimes it feels like he wants to be more than just friends, wants the kind of relationship I crave from him, but then others, who knows? Talk about confusing. He’s the king of mixed signals.

  And I’m not jealous by nature, part of the reason I didn’t pick up on things with Jake soon enough. But dammit if I didn’t want to be the one Collin kissed at midnight.

  The lights went out, total blackness.

  I mingled. Someone grabbed my shirt.

  At the stroke of twelve, I kissed a stranger.

  Stupid party game. I kissed some drunk girl I’ve never met before. Now she won’t leave me alone, chatting me up with a flirt technique which has probably yielded her great results in the past. She doesn’t even seem to realize that not only am I not responding to her in any sexual way, but my attention, as that of the rest of the room, has been redirected to Col who’d kissed the boyfriend of the girl throwing the party. Collin seems a bit too pleased with himself for having kissed the guy, while the guy he kissed looks ready to die from embarrassment. I’m not sure why. Collin is hot. Though, maybe that is why.

  How fair is it that I’m the one he talks to every night, he invited me here, I thought, as his date, yet some pretty, straight boy gets to kiss those lips before I have my chance?

  I need a drink. And it needs to be something stronger than a beer. The girl is still talking when I leave her to walk into the kitchen.

  “Hey?” She shouts after me. “Hey? Where you going?”

  Away from her. To drown my sorrows in eighty proof whiskey. To keep from hurting myself more by continuing to watch Collin with his smug smile after he kissed that other guy. She can take her pick.

  Pouring the Jack into a solo cup destined to end up a Jack and Coke, that’s when I feel him. He circles his arms around my shoulders, pressing his front to my back. King of mixed signals.

  “You don’t need that.”

  “Fuck you, Collin. Yeah I do.”

  He laughs then clears his throat. “Come home with me?”

  “Will you kiss me?”

  Collin’s answer is an action which speaks so much louder than any words could.

  Spinning me to face him, Collin searches my eyes for only a moment before he leans in to take my lips. Cradling the back of my head with one hand, he holds me close by pressing us together, me sandwiched between him and the counter. What he gives me is slow, although my heartbeat pounds so rapidly in my chest, it hurts. He tastes of Guinness and chocolate. Our tongues meet for the first time feeling out a rhythm to work for the both of us.

  The kiss is long and wet, and full of emotion. He’s telling me so much, though I’m not exactly sure what it is he’s telling me. Only that I can feel it by the way he increases the pressure against my lips, grips the back of my head a little tighter, and I feel his heartrate pick up. My lungs begin to burn from not being able to pull in a proper breath. So I know his have to be burning too. Yet, he doesn’t pull away. Not until the kiss has reached its natural conclusion.

  Strong, unfolding his story before me, Col gives a real man’s kiss. I finally understand the emotions he’d been trying to convey. Pleasu
re. Pain. Desire. And maybe even something a little deeper. He seems to be as confused by what’s building between us as I am.

  If only he could figure out what he wants from us, because I’ve never experienced such a first kiss in my life. Never. Not even with Jake. Of course we were boys.

  As he pulls back Collin looks in my eyes once more. A before and after look like he’s searching for something. My story? He doesn’t have to look too far. Even if I hadn’t been sure about what I wanted from us (which I was), I’m sure as hell sure about us now.

  “Come on.” Taking my hand, he laces our fingers together to lead us out of the kitchen.

  What I don’t know is what’s happening between us tonight. What I do know, is it has to mean more than friendship.

  We met here at the party, we take my car back to his place. My roommates were having people over for a get-together so my place is out and truthfully, I don’t want to give Collin any excuse to change his mind about us. It’s too late. I’ve tasted him now.

  Adjusting to life in a new city and new school has been more challenging than I’d anticipated. My classes, although harder, didn’t necessarily suck. What sucked was having to prove myself all over again to new professors and team members. Having to play catch up with the courses that either didn’t transfer over from my old school, or courses GHU requires in my program that my old school doesn’t.

  Top rated programs are going to be hard work. I guess I never considered how much catch up would be required to get me up to par with the rest of my classmates. Between homework, projects and study time, something had to give. What gave was my social life. My roommates, they’re all pretty cool. But they’re also all female. A man can only take so much estrogen before he goes nuts.

  So forget about getting laid.

  With so much work on my plate, I never found the opportunity to meet a guy. Not until fate brought me into The Brew and I met Collin.

  For whatever reason, he’s different tonight than I thought he’d be. When we get out of the car, Collin rounds the hood to take my hand again, though he’s tentative, nervous almost. The closer we get to his front door, the more nervous he seems to become. Collin Pratt is not a man who gets nervous around other men. He has a well-earned reputation, a reputation I’m fine with.