Perfectly Imperfect

by Kara Leigh Miller

  19

  ISABELLE

  BACKPACK SLUNG OVER MY SHOULDER, I trudge out to the student parking lot. My feet feel like they’re coated in cement, and my temples throb with an impending headache. Grayson’s motorcycle is parked directly behind my car, blocking my only route of escape. He’s leaning against his bike, arms crossed, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever felt.

  “I was beginning to think you were spending the night here,” he says, straightening.

  “I had a few things to take care of,” I say, although I’m not sure why. I don’t owe him any explanations. And after the way I’ve been treating him this week, I’m not sure why he’d even want any explanations from me.

  “Do you have anywhere to be right now?”

  I glance around. The lot is nearly empty—other than going home and cleaning up after my mother, I don’t have anywhere to be. It’s not like I have a boyfriend or any friends to hang out with anymore. That’s a depressing realization.

  “No,” I say. “Why?”

  “Because I want to take you somewhere.”

  I sigh with exhaustion. My patience is ready to snap, and the thought of verbally sparring with Grayson right now makes me want to scream. At the same time, he actually wants to spend time with me. Considering the list of people who want to do that is non-existent, how can I possibly say no? “Where?”

  “It’s a surprise.” He grins.

  “Yeah, well, I hate surprises.”

  “Okay, then I’m taking you someplace where we can get ahead on our Spanish project.”

  “Someplace we can get ahead on our Spanish project…” Nothing about his demeanor makes me think he’s lying. “You waited out here for an hour and a half just so we can work on our project?”

  “What can I say? I’m determined.”

  “Stubborn is more like it.”

  He laughs. “C’mon. I promise it’ll be fun.”

  I shift on my feet and adjust my too-heavy backpack. “I don’t know.” Honestly, I’m not sure I even know how to have fun, and given how things have been going lately, I’ll probably ruin whatever Grayson has planned.

  “Please?”

  The look in his eyes is so hopeful, and everything inside of me wants to say yes. But he still hasn’t told me where he wants to go.

  “Do you have important Bible thumping to do? Is that why you won’t go?” His expression is dead serious, not a trace of humor anywhere on his much too handsome face.

  I scowl. “Keep saying that, and I’m going to take my Bible and literally thump you over the head with it.”

  He throws his head back in a laugh so unrestrained it makes me want to laugh, too. “I don’t believe for one second you’d actually do that. You like me too much.”

  “You’re a jerk,” I say, but his laughter has infected me. And it feels so good to just let go. To laugh over something so silly. To make jokes and not worry about upsetting anyone. It’s so easy being with Grayson. After the week I’ve had, don’t I deserve a break?

  “So, is that a yes?” His eyes are alight with excitement and mischief. He’s like a kid on Christmas morning, and who can say no to that?

  “Yes,” I say with an exaggerated eye roll. “I’ll follow you in my car.” I open the passenger door and toss my backpack on the front seat.

  “Uh-uh,” he says with a shake of his head. Then he pats his motorcycle.

  “No way.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.” I cross my arms. “Why don’t we take my car? There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

  “There’s plenty of room on my bike.” He holds out a helmet, encouraging me to take it.

  I hesitate. “You expect me to get on that… death rocket? With you? Who drives like the roads are your personal racetrack?”

  “Yes.” He sets the helmet on the trunk of my car, claps his hands, and steps closer to me. “That’s the Belle I want to hang out with today.”

  I tilt my head. “What?”

  “The snarky, fun Belle who isn’t afraid to crack a joke and let loose. Not the grumpy, closed off Belle who’s been storming the hallways all week.” He holds out his hand. “Trust me.”

  Throwing all caution and reason away, I take his hand. “You better not kill me on that thing.”

  “Never.” He winks.

  I climb onto the bike, and he hands me the helmet. I tug it on over my head and secure the buckle under my chin. It’s a little too tight, and my ears are squished. This certainly doesn’t help my headache. It’s hard to breathe with it on, and claustrophobia sets in. “How far away is this place?”

  “Not far.” He pulls his helmet on, then sits in front of me. “You’re going to want to hold on.”

  “To what?” I look to each side and behind me. There are no handles anywhere.

  “To me,” he says over his shoulder.

  This is such a colossally bad idea. It’s not too late to change my mind. I can tell him I forgot I have an appointment or something. He revs the engine, and I close my eyes. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before. Truth be told, they terrify me.

  Then I remember his words from yesterday: What’s the point of being alive if you’re not going to enjoy life? And he’s right. I’ve played it safe for seventeen years, always doing the right things, saying the right things. Perfection takes a toll, and it’s a price I no longer want to pay.

  I scoot forward and wrap my arms around his stomach. He sucks in a breath, and I bury my face between his shoulder blades. His body is warm and strong, and I instantly feel safe.

  “Ready?” he shouts.

  “No.” I squeeze my eyes shut.

  I can feel his laughter rumbling through his body, but the sound is drowned out by the loud engine. “Follow my lead, okay? If I lean, you lean. Got it?”

  I nod.

  He takes off, and I tighten my hold on him. I don’t dare lift my head or look around. I don’t want to see how fast we’re going. The ends of my hair whip around violently, telling me all I need to know about our speed. Dear God, please don’t let us crash.

  Years later—or maybe it’s only minutes, I’m not really sure—he comes to a stop and kills the engine. The bike rocks as he engages the kickstand, and I cling to him so I don’t topple over. Slowly, I lift my head from his back and look around. We’re at the beach. I take off my helmet and suck in a lungful of air before trying to tame my hair.

  “It’s kind of cold to go swimming, isn’t it?” I ask.

  He takes my helmet and hangs it on the handlebar. “I told you. We’re working on our project.”

  “At the beach?”

  “Yup.” When I’m off the bike, he takes my hand and leads me toward the shore.

  At this time of day, the beach is deserted. We’re alone. A light breeze carries off the lake and ruffles my hair. Thankfully, I wore jeans and a sweater today. “Are you going to explain how being here is going to help us with our project?”

  “Patience.” He flashes a quick smile. “Take your shoes off.”

  I stare at him as if he’s lost his mind. “My shoes?”

  He nods as he unlaces his boots. I do the same until I’m standing barefoot in the sand. It’s cool beneath my feet, and I curl my toes into the soft ground. There’s nothing like the feel of sand slipping between your toes.

  He removes his leather jacket and tosses it on the ground. Then, he rolls up his shirt sleeves, revealing tanned, muscular arms. He pulls his phone from his back pocket and scrolls through it. Seconds later, the music we’ve been forced to listen to and dance to for the past week begins to play. He sets the phone on his jacket.

  “Uh, now what?” I ask, forcing myself not to stare at him.

  “Now, we dance.” He takes my hands and places them on his waist, keeping his hands over mine. I swallow the lump in my throat, trying—and failing—not to focus on the fact that I’m touching his slim, svelte body. “We need to work on your hips, Belle. You’re way too stiff.”

  “My hips are as loose a
s they’re going to get.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  I give him a disbelieving stare, but it doesn’t seem to faze him.

  “The sand is uneven, and that makes it easy to manipulate. See?” He digs the balls of his feet into the sand and moves his hips in rhythm to the music.

  I flex my fingers against his waist and memorize the way his body feels as he moves. The ease and precision of each sway of his hips is mesmerizing, and I can’t look away. He makes it look so easy. Effortless.

  “You try.” He moves his hands to my waist, and I freeze. “Just squish your feet into the sand. Like this.” He demonstrates, and his body moves with such grace and precision.

  I do as he says, and my hips sway as if I know what I’m doing as opposed to just winging it like I’ve been doing since we started practicing two weeks ago.

  “That’s it. Now, count out the steps.”

  The second I have to remember the steps, though, and actually do them, I stiffen. It all feels so unnatural.

  He releases me with a sigh. “You’re overthinking it again. Turn around. Come here.” He pulls me to him so my back is pressed tightly to his chest, and then his hands are on my hips again.

  My heart is pounding so hard it’s the only thing I can concentrate on. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I tentatively place them over his.

  “Close your eyes,” he says.

  I do as he instructs. God, give me the strength. For what, I’m not really sure, but my mind is screaming at me that I need Him right now, more than ever.

  “Don’t think, okay? Just… feel.”

  Yeah, like feeling is my problem.

  “Follow my movements.” And then he moves behind me, his hips swaying as he guides my body to move.

  In the year that Cam and I dated, not once did we ever get this close, and I never really wanted to. But with Grayson, I want so much more. The thought scares me, and I momentarily freeze.

  “Relax, Belle.” His voice is low. “Trust me.”

  I force all thoughts from my mind and focus my energy on this moment—our grade depends on me learning how to do this dance well.

  “Good.” He moves his hands so they’re on top of mine, and then he laces our fingers, never once losing the beat.

  “How are you so good at this?” I ask.

  “My mom loved Argentina. We lived there for a few years, probably the happiest years of her life. I don’t like to talk about it a lot, but I remember the dancing. Even after we moved back to the States, she and my dad used to dance like this, and I’d watch, just mesmerized. That, and internet videos.” He releases my hands and skillfully spins me so I’m facing him.

  I laugh. “Guess I’m going to have to start watching some of those.”

  We spend the next hour practicing our dance, and by the time we finish, I’m much more confident about the steps. The music ends, but Grayson doesn’t release me, nor I him.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  He steps closer, and my heart races. “You’re welcome.”

  I’m stunned he doesn’t have a witty comeback.

  “I figure a few more beach practices and we might actually get a passing grade on this dance.” And there it is—his signature snark.

  Smiling, I shake my head. “Now, if you only knew how to cook…”

  A fat raindrop splashes on my arm. Then another. And another. The sky opens, and a deluge of rain falls. I scream and cover my head with my arms, as if that will help.

  Grayson scoops his jacket from the ground, drapes it over our heads, and together we run toward the rickety, abandoned pier. We climb underneath it, but it’s so old and worn that it doesn’t provide much protection. Rain seeps through the warped slats. Grayson keeps his jacket over our heads, and we huddle together. I reach up and hold one side of the jacket and scoot closer to him.

  “You promised this would be fun,” I say.

  “You don’t think this is fun?”

  “No.” We turn to look at one another at the same time, and our faces are a breath’s width apart. I inhale deeply, but instead of fresh, calming air, I’m bombarded with his scent mixed with the rain.

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree on this, then, because this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” His eyes search mine.

  “On this?” I raise a brow. “We pretty much disagree on everything.”

  “Only because you argue with everything I say.”

  “Because you’re always wrong,” I whisper. My heart is in my throat.

  His gaze dips to my mouth, and I instinctively lean closer. So does he. The rain pounds everything around us, drowning out all sounds, save my thundering heart.

  “Belle. My snarky, beautiful little Bible thumper.” A hint of a smile lifts his mouth as he slides his hand along the side of my neck. “Please tell me I’m not wrong about this.”

  He places a featherlight kiss on my forehead, my cheek, my jaw. I tilt my head, giving him permission to kiss me, even though I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t even be here with him, but I am, and I don’t want to be anywhere else.

  “You’re not wrong,” I say, struggling to get the words out before he moves to my mouth and slants his lips over mine.

  My eyes flutter closed, and I lean into his kiss. I drop my hold on the jacket and thread my fingers through his hair. Exactly as I suspected—it’s soft as silk. And then he’s kissing me. It’s unlike any kiss I’ve ever shared with anyone. Intense. Mind-blowing. Terrifying. Everything about Grayson unravels me, and if I’m not careful, I’m going to tell him all my deepest, darkest secrets. He makes me want to.

  I gasp and push Grayson away. Hurt flashes behind his eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I…” I scramble out from beneath the pier. It’s still pouring, but I don’t care. I need to get home. Away from here. Away from Grayson. Away from what I’ll do if I spend another second with him.

  “Belle!” he shouts, but I barely hear him over the rain. “Belle.” He clutches my elbow, stops me, and then spins me to face him. “Why are you running? I thought… you said…”

  Tears stream down my face, and I’ve never been happier to be standing in the rain. At least Grayson can’t see my tears. I cross my arms and hug myself, but a shiver shakes my body. “I need to go home.”

  How can I trust myself with him when he’s effectively shattered every wall I’ve built?

  20

  GRAYSON

  “TALK TO ME,” I SHOUT over the thunderous rain. She wanted that kiss as much as I did. I know she did. She said so. “What’s wrong? What did I do wrong?”

  She shakes her head, and her bottom lip trembles. I can’t tell if it’s because she’s cold or because she’s crying. God, please don’t let her be crying. I drag my hand down her arm and lace our fingers. She doesn’t pull away.

  “Please, Belle.” If she doesn’t tell me what’s wrong, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  “Take me back to my car.”

  “I can’t drive the bike until the rain slows down. It’s not safe.” I’ve obviously already upset her; I’m not about to do anything else to harm her. “Let’s go back under the pier and wait for the rain to stop.”

  “I just want to go home.” Her voice is strained, and that’s when I know for certain: she’s crying. My heart sinks. All I want to do is make things better. She averts her gaze, refusing to look at me.

  “This is about Cam, isn’t it? You still love him, don’t you?” I drop her hand, and a lead weight lands in my chest. “What do you see in that guy?”

  “You don’t know anything about him,” she snaps.

  “I know he doesn’t treat you the way he should. He bosses you around. Yells at you like you’re a child. He cheated on you!” I run my hands over my face and head, trying to wipe away the water that won’t stop falling. Then I take a deep breath. Yelling at her isn’t going to help. It makes me no better than Cam. I step closer. “You’re different when he’s around. You’re not the same carefree girl I always g
et to see.”

  “No, I’m different around you.” She pokes my chest. “I’m not this person I pretend to be when I’m with you. Cam knows the real me.”

  “Does he?” I ask. As suddenly as the rain started, it slows to nothing more than a steady drizzle. “Because I think it’s the other way around. I think you pretend to be this perfect, good, Christian girl for him because that’s what he wants.” I take both of her hands, praying she’ll admit what I already know. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  “And you do?”

  I flinch at her harsh words. “No… I don’t deserve you, either. But I can admit that. Can he?”

  She yanks her hands from mine and paces away.

  “Can you honestly tell me that he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make you happy? Because I will.” I point at myself. “I won’t try to change you into this perfect image of what I think you should be.”

  She whips around and glares at me. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I like the person Cam wants me to be?” She marches up to me, fire in her eyes. “Maybe I go along with it because it’s what I want.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I don’t believe that for one second.” I’ve seen the way she acts around Cam—it’s like she’s afraid to say or do the wrong thing. But with me, she cuts loose and has fun. She can joke and laugh. It’s like my mere presence lifts this unseen weight she carries around constantly. And I don’t care what she says, I know straight to my soul that she likes being herself without worrying what others will say or do.

  “Well, believe it. It’s the truth. Being with Cam was easy, okay? I knew who I was with him. He represented a time in my life when things were simpler, when my brother was still alive. When my life wasn’t such a mess.” She takes a deep breath. “Back when things were perfect.”

  Why is she standing here lying to me? What is she so afraid of?

  “You don’t have to be perfect, y’know?” I say.

  “What?” She gives me a dirty look. “Believe me, I’m far from perfect.”