Filthy Beautiful Forever

by Kendall Ryan

  But that doesn’t sound any better than what I’m doing here. And at least here my reputation hasn’t been sullied by lies. I have a shot at finding a new job. It wouldn’t hurt to at least give the city a chance.

  Besides, I’m not even sure he wants to be with Tatianna. I see how they are together. I see how cold she is. And he’s not fawning all over her either. The other night he’d texted me while he was in bed with her. With her.

  Why would he text me when his girlfriend is there and about to leave town for several days?

  I still have the last text he sent me that night. His reaction to my mention of our childhood promise.

  Let's not talk about that yet.

  Yet? When I texted him, I was planning to let him off the hook. But he seems to think there’s something still worth talking about. And that sticks with me. In fact, it’s driving me nuts.

  As Kylie pulls into Collins’ long drive, I determine that I will confront him about it. I hate the idea of thrusting myself between Collins and his girlfriend, but I can’t continue living in his house in this state of limbo. I’m not sure what he wants exactly, but I don’t think he wants Tatianna. I’m not sure if he wants me. But I need to know.

  Chapter Nine

  Collins

  With Tatianna out of town, there is no way I can go home. A whole house alone with Mia? Fuck no. That would only lead to trouble, and I'm not ready to put myself in a situation like that. At least I'm smart enough to know better. When I picture her big green eyes that follow me around the room, her soft curves that beg for my hands, and the way she always seems so concerned about how I'm doing, if I've had enough to eat... I don't know how to handle her. For once in my life, I'm at a loss about what to do.

  So after work, I head over to Colton's place where he and Pace are enjoying a drink in the library. Colton recently added a billiard table and a bar, effectively renovating it into his own personal man-cave.

  “There's the old man,” Pace greets me with a smile.

  He and Colton have both been teasing me ever since I turned thirty. Pace had the balls to check my hair for grays the last time we had drinks. The fucker.

  “What's up, boys?” I ask, sinking down into a leather armchair.

  “You tell us,” Colton says, handing me a glass of scotch. “Mia still roomies with you and Tatianna?”

  He makes it sound like some sordid arrangement, but shit, maybe it is. My thoughts about her aren't exactly innocent. No, more like dark fantasies that involve her naked skin slapping up against mine.

  I clear my throat and mumble “It’s fine.” But my answer must be too quick, because it sets off Colton’s bullshit meter.

  Colton laughs. “You are so full of shit. When are you going to wake up and realize that you and Tatianna have nothing in common, other than great sex, and the girl you've been in love with your entire life is right under your nose?”

  I focus on my drink. I won’t tell Colt that the sex isn’t so great – in fact I can’t even get off. “Pace, what's new with you?” I ask.

  Colton curses under his breath, while Pace laughs at my obvious attempt at a topic change.

  “I'm trying to get Kylie pregnant,” he announces, proudly.

  “No shit?” Colton and I ask in unison.

  “You guys aren't even married yet,” I point out.

  He shrugs. “Close enough. We're engaged.”

  I smile because I hated to see the way Pace always used to flounder with women. As a guy I always understood it, but as the oldest brother, I had to worry about him. When he found Kylie, watching him make the change from perpetual womanizer to family man was a relief. “Well, you shouldn’t have too much of a challenge getting her knocked up. Lord knows you’ve had enough practice.”

  “You're not getting off that easily, brother,” Colton says, turning toward me. The douche is going to make me talk about Mia.

  I try to take another sip of my drink and realize I've downed the entire glass. Shit.

  Colton smirks at me and holds up the decanter of scotch. “You want some more of this?”

  I narrow my eyes.

  “Then you're going to have to actually talk to us. Like a grown up. No more of this grunting and evading caveman bullshit. Tell us what's going on,” Colton says.

  “Give me the damn scotch,” I bark.

  He hands it over and I pour myself a healthy measure while deciding exactly what I'm going to tell them.

  Pace leans back in his seat, crossing his feet at his ankles, and Colton settles in, getting comfortable too. Here we go, it's fucking sharing time, apparently.

  “When Mia and I were kids, we sort of promised each other that if neither of us was married by the time we were thirty, we'd marry each other.”

  Colton chokes on his liquor, coughing and sputtering loudly. “You've got to be kidding me.”

  Pace chuckles to himself. “That's fucking brilliant. You should totally do that.”

  Neither of their responses is encouraging.

  I expect them to tease the shit out of me for entertaining Mia’s childhood promise, which they do, but then the conversation shifts and I find them debating the actual merits of this marriage promise while I down glass after glass of scotch. Finally, Colton takes the bottle away and places it across the room.

  “Shit, man,” Colton says. “You don’t have to march down the aisle with her tomorrow or anything, but I know you. You get this possessive-ass ‘mine’ caveman look whenever you talk about Mia. Something you never do when you talk about Tatianna.”

  I feel fuzzy and unsure. And the longer I sit here, the more uncertain I become. A childhood marriage proposal is crazy right? That's just some stupid thing kids say—it doesn't mean anything. Does it? Mia seems to believe it does. She'd shown up here, just months after her birthday. My heart pounds faster when I think about that fact.

  Colton asks about Tatianna again, and that's just not a topic I'm ready to discuss.

  “I honestly don’t see why you’re still with her, bro,” Pace says.

  “Seriously man, if she doesn’t make you happy—break up with her,” Colton adds.

  I lift my glass to my lips, like more liquor will help me figure out what to do. Leaning back in my chair, I close my eyes and let the alcohol warm me. I allow myself to picture what my life would be like with Mia in it. Dangerous to be sure. I see kids running around with her auburn hair and green eyes, Sundays on the yacht, my home filled with laughter and love. I’m warmed by the idea. Or maybe that warm tingly sensation is the alcohol. Either way, I think it’s time to go home.

  Pace gives me a ride and drops me off at my front door. The house is dark and quiet with Tatianna gone and Mia likely in bed by now. I head to my bedroom and get a text on my phone.

  It’s Mia.

  Are you home?

  Yes.

  Where were you?

  Brothers.

  I don’t know what else to say, because it’s strange knowing that I spent the whole evening talking with them about the two women in my life and still don’t know where I stand.

  Sounds like fun.

  I was trying to figure out some shit with my life.

  We don’t have to text, she's not here. Meet you in the kitchen? We can eat the peanut butter directly from the jar like old times and talk about it.

  My heart slams against my ribs. Tatianna’s not home, as Mia pointed out. And the idea of seeing Mia right now fills me with longing. But I’m drunk. And even through the alcohol haze, I know it’s a piss poor idea.

  I don’t trust myself.

  With the peanut butter?

  With you.

  Her reply takes several minutes to come through.

  Oh.

  We need to talk tomorrow when I'm sober.

  Okay.

  ***

  When I wake in the morning, it feels like a dead rat crawled down my throat and set up shop. I blink against the harsh light and curse at myself for drinking so much last night. I vaguely recall Pace
dropping me off at home, and then texting with Mia.

  Mia.

  I told her we would talk about things today.

  With a deep sigh, I force myself out of bed, shower and dress. It’s Saturday, which means I should be going to kickboxing, but with the amount of alcohol I consumed last night, that’s not happening.

  I make my way downstairs, in desperate need of coffee, and find Tatianna in the kitchen. “Oh, you’re back.” With everything on my mind lately, I’d forgotten she texted me about her change in travel plans.

  She lifts up on her toes and kisses my cheek. “I told you I’d be back today.”

  While I start the coffee, she fills me in on her trip. Apparently, the photographer was difficult to work with. No surprise there. Tatianna finds most people difficult to work with.

  Twisting the cap off a bottle of water, Tatianna turns to me. “So what did you and Mia do while I was gone? Anything exciting?”

  “No.” My voice comes out harsh. I feel bad that I haven’t made the time to show her around LA. I know she’d love the farmer’s market, or a visit to the beach.

  Tatianna and I sit down side by side at the breakfast table—me immersed in an earnings report on my tablet and her filing her nails into little ovals.

  I check my calendar for the week ahead and remind Tatianna about our upcoming trip. “We leave for Paris on Monday.”

  She turns to me suddenly. “I can’t go. I have a shoot in New York on Monday and Tuesday.”

  “What are you talking about? We’ve had this trip planned for three months.” I’ve been courting an international investor and would be meeting him face to face in Paris where Tatianna and I were supposed to be entertaining him and his wife all week.

  “Sorry, but there’s no way I’m canceling,” she says. “I’ve wanted to work with this designer ever since I saw his adorable line of fuzzy boots last fall.”

  “You wouldn’t have to cancel it if you hadn’t booked over our trip in the first place.”

  She huffs in frustration.

  “I need to be able to count on you,” I say.

  “And I need you to support my modeling career,” she bites back.

  “When have I not supported you?”

  She glares at me, her eyes searching mine, but doesn’t respond.

  Our conversation is far from over, but I need to get my emotions under control before I do something hasty.

  Chapter Ten

  Mia

  Yesterday’s drinking combined with my inability to sleep last night makes sleeping in all morning sound like a great option. I lie with my eyes closed in the overstuffed bed. It’s like lying in a cloud. I stretch my arms and legs, letting the smooth sheets caress my skin. No matter how far I stretch in any direction, I can’t reach the edge of the bed. Such an expanse of luxury shouldn’t make for a rough night’s sleep.

  The words “rough night” doesn’t even begin to cover the rollercoaster of emotions I experienced last night. My eyes blink open as I remember the cause of the unrest. This morning Collins said we would talk. I can only assume we’re finally going to have a conversation about our twenty-year marriage proposal.

  Part of me wants to think positive. Maybe the reason he wants to talk is because he’s decided he wants me in his life. My pulse races with excitement at the idea¸ and I pull off the sheets, and I head for the shower.

  The water is nice and hot, and I take my time, scrubbing myself from head to toe. If he does want to be with me, will he kiss me again? Will it have all the heat and passion of our stolen kiss in the ocean? I shave my underarms, my legs, and my bikini area. If we shared such a kiss, would it lead to more? Another night alone with him on a boat. Being alone with him—anywhere. My pulse races.

  Of course, it will never be as easy as that. He will have to settle things with Tatianna first. So maybe we won’t be able to be together right away, maybe he’ll ask me to give him time to break things off with Tatianna. They’ve been together long enough, and she deserves to be let down first. And it’s the right thing to do.

  I step out of the shower and dry myself off with an overly fluffy towel.

  As I finish running my flat iron through my hair, putting the finishing touches on my carefully crafted, ready to have a serious talk with the man of my dreams look, the other possibility rears its evil head, filling my stomach with a cold and twisty dread. It’s the more realistic option.

  Damn reality. I hate it.

  But I know it’s the more likely outcome of our talk. He’s said it already: his life is complicated now. “We can’t just pinky swear and then live happily ever after.” I feel my shoulders slump, and I stare at my sad reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  He’ll tell me he’s sorry, but that it can’t work between us. Collins will be nice about it, because he has always been good to me. But he’ll ask that—because it’s awkward and all—I find a job and move out as soon as I can.

  He’ll ask me if I’m okay.

  Somehow, I’ll force a nod. I’ll manage to get away from him before I curl up in a ball and cry. Collins will come and find me, and I’ll convince him that everything is fine. Just like all of our little fights and misunderstandings over the years.

  I take a deep breath and check myself one last time in the mirror and fix a stray hair—not exactly sure why I bother—before heading out to find Collins. As I take the stairs, I wonder if it really has to be that way. Because after all this time—after the insanity of me flying across the country to make good on this silly promise—he could have laughed it off. He could have just pretended the whole thing was some stupid joke. And frankly, I’m so embarrassed by it that I would probably have gone along with it.

  But he didn’t laugh it off. He asked to talk about it. So now, here I am, half trembling, half giddy, and all messed up. I head down the hall to the kitchen, where I know he takes his breakfast. Either he’s about to crush me, or give me hope this isn’t over yet.

  ***

  Option C. None of the above.

  I enter the kitchen to find Tatianna home early from her shoot. She sits next to Collins at the breakfast table filing her nails while he works at his computer. I struggle to hide my disappointment.

  Crap.

  She sits so straight in her chair, it’s as if she’s got an iron rod shoved up her hooha. When did she get back? My jaw tenses, but when my eyes move from her to Collins my anger fades, and is replaced with concern. Collins looks exhausted. His eyes narrow and his shoulders hunch up as if the very act of being awake is painful. He also looks angry, but about what, I have no idea. Neither of them hear me enter, and are both still lost in their tasks.

  “Collins,” I say.

  He looks up and tries to smile, but his brow wrinkles. His gaze roams over my body, and he freezes. I wonder if he’s angry about something, or maybe appreciating the extra time and care I took getting ready. I help myself to a cup of coffee and take a seat across from them.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  He leans his chin heavily on his hand and says, “I had one, maybe two, too many scotches last night.”

  My face heats as I remember our texts last night. Had he been so drunk he didn’t know what he was saying? My heart sinks. He probably doesn’t even remember. It’s all there in your text history, I want to say. We’re supposed to have our talk today.

  Tatianna looks up. “Morning, Mia. Did you sleep well?”

  “Yeah,” I lie and force a smile. “You’re back.”

  She pokes at an empty bowl in front of her. “We got everything done early. For once.” She looks around. “Is there anymore cut fruit?” She must be asking one of the staff, but figures out there isn’t anyone here to serve her, and gets up, heading to the fridge.

  “I didn’t forget,” Collins whispers once she’s out of earshot.

  His words fill me with hope, and I search for any clue on his face of what he’s thinking. But I can’t read him.

  “Meet me out back by the row of palm trees in
one hour,” he adds, looking into my eyes with such intensity I feel it deep in my gut. The tension is so thick between us, I think it would be so obvious, but Tatianna is oblivious.

  He takes a sip of his coffee, then in a relaxed voice says. “Any big plans for today?”

  “More job hunting.” I shrug.

  Tatianna comes back to the table with a peeled banana. “Maybe Collins will have something for you.”

  Collins looks at me and some of his tense mood falls away. “Sure. I’ll check with Suzanna in HR and see what we have open for someone as talented as you.” He’s looking at my lips in a way that makes me feel dirty as he says this.

  I take a deep breath and it shudders out. “That would be great, but I don’t expect a job just handed to me.” I bite my lip.

  Tatianna turns to Collins. “You know, babe, I have some pretty great talents too.” She opens her mouth and shoves the entire banana in. It’s meant to be sexy, but it’s too big for her mouth and she struggles to chew it down without choking on it.

  I take a sip of my coffee in an effort to hide my smile. But Collins watches her thoughtfully, then looks at me and smiles, planting both his hands on the table as if he’s about to stand. “Well, sorry to leave you to eat alone, but Tatianna and I have some things to take care of before I head out.”

  “Oh. Sure,” I say. Things? What things? And what about our talk?

  But Collins’ expression is blank and tells me nothing. Damn his poker face.

  Tatianna’s face is talking enough for both of them, though. Her screw-me eyes are drilling a hole all the way through Collins’ head and into the wall behind him. She slips her arm up his chest, hooking her hand around his neck. I try to turn away, but find my eyes glued to them in some sort of sick envious gape.

  He stands up. “Good luck with the job hunt. I’ll see you later.” Tatianna gets up and follows him out of the room leaving me alone in the kitchen. I glance around the large room blankly and realize I’m no longer hungry.