Flawless (14 page)

“It's really what I think,” I tell him with 100 percent conviction.

My hands are sweating when Rock pulls his truck to a stop in front of my house. Jay opens the door and lets me out, then walks me to the door, just like I've always imagined.

But I'm terrified.

I'm
not
ready for a kiss. Not now. Not with Jay. Especially not with Rock and Kristen watching.

“Have fun?” Jay asks, voice low, deeper than I expected.

Fun? The night was uncomfortable and emotional. But, surprisingly, it
was
fun. “I did. Thanks for going along with Kristen's double-date scheme,” I whisper.

He stops suddenly, pulling me around to face him. “I've wanted to ask you out for nearly two years, but I've always chickened out. I owe Kristen.”

“You do?” I ask, flattered, embarrassed.

“I'd like to do it again,” he says, taking my hand as he walks me the few remaining steps that bring us to the door. “Maybe next weekend?”

“Again?” I ask, like a total idiot.

“Except maybe this time it can be just the two of us.”

I nod, smiling, not entirely sure that's something I want to do. I mean, how much did the two of us actually talk tonight? Do we have anything in common? And just because he's the first guy to show some interest in me doesn't mean I
have
to go out with him. Does it?

Instead of answering him, I unlock the dead bolt. When I turn around, he's moving in.

Lower.

Closer.

He doesn't even look at my nose as he comes in for the kiss.

I'm so nervous I could puke. Right here, right now.

But then it happens. His lips graze mine, his nose bumping mine just slightly. I never even close my eyes, watching him maneuver my face with ease. When he pulls away, I stare back at him, blinking, stunned.

“See you later,” he says with a run of his fingers over my hair, then turns and jogs down the sidewalk and back to the truck.

I touch my lips, wondering if it really happened.

Beauty is the promise of happiness.

—STENDHAL

Chapter Fourteen

I walk in the house as Rock's truck pulls away from the curb. The house is quiet, but there's a light on in the living room.

When I find Mom on the couch, I smile. This is how I love her best.

In cotton pajama pants and a tank top, with her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, she looks more like my sister than my mother. She doesn't look like Beth Burke, news anchor. She's just … Mom.

I'm touched she attempted to wait up for me. There's an open book in her lap and a half-empty glass of wine on the table next to her, but she's sound asleep.

I slide the book out of her hand and carefully dog-ear the page to mark her spot before placing it on the coffee table. But I'm not quiet enough, because she wakes with a sleepy smile.

“What kind of mother am I?” she asks. “I can't even stay awake to make sure you get home safely.”

I lie down on the couch and put my head in her lap, looking up at her face. “Don't worry about it. Neither one of us has much practice with this dating business.”

She runs her hands through my hair, softly untangling it as she goes, reminding me of our earlier days together. I can't even remember the last time she touched me this way.

“Tell me all about it,” she prods.

I know most girls wouldn't do it, but I'm in the mood to talk so I tell her every last detail about the night, ending with the kiss.

“What exactly were you expecting?” Mom asks.

“I don't know. Sparks? Fireworks?”

“Hate to be the one to tell you this, honey, but most kisses aren't like that.”

“Don't tell me
that
,” I groan.

“Sometimes, with the right man, it's amazing. I mean toe-curling, lose-your-breath intense. But, for me, those kinds of kisses have been few and far between. Way far.”

“Well, there definitely wasn't any toe curling happening, that's for sure. But it wasn't awful either. Jay's a really cool guy.”

Mom giggles. “Other than the kiss, how'd you like Jay?”

“He might be the funniest person I know. I mean, he can do impersonations like nobody's business.”

“There are worse things than dating someone who makes you laugh.”

I nod. “It's just that … well, I don't know. It was more like going out with a friend.”

“Tell me about Rock and Kristen,” she says, diverting the conversation to the real issue of the night. She's got a killer gut instinct.

“They're impossible to be around, always touching, hugging, kissing. Ugh.” Even as the words leave my lips, I can hear the jealousy in my voice. I sound like a little girl who's been forced to share her toys.

“You've never had a problem with Kristen doing that with her other boyfriends,” Mom says quietly, knowing she's treading on fragile ice.

“Mmm-hmm,” I mumble. Kristen's list of nameless, faceless guys meant nothing … to either one of us.

“Maybe you should just lay it all out there. You know? Just tell her exactly how you're feeling.”

“And lose the only friend I've got? No thanks. I always swore I'd never let a guy break us up. I never have and I'm not going to start now.”

“I think you may be underestimating Kristen, Sarah. The two of you have been best friends practically your entire lives. Don't you think she'd understand? We both know Kristen would want you to be happy.”

I roll my eyes. “I don't think so.” Besides, I can't even imagine how I'd go about telling her.
Awkward.

“What about Rock? Think you can talk to him?”

“About
him
?” Mom seriously needs to get out and date a little. Maybe then she won't come up with such outrageous ideas.

“About the
situation
,” she clarifies.

“The situation is that I'm attracted to my best friend's boyfriend. There's nothing he can do to fix that.” I don't let my mind think about how he was betrayed that same way or what he'd do if he found out what Kristen and I had been up to. “There's nothing I'd really
want
him to do, because in order to make me happy, he'd have to hurt Kristen, which I'm 100 percent against. And we're making a monumental assumption that he'd even consider dating me. Which, of course, he wouldn't.”

Mom stops stroking my head and tweaks my nose, something she used to do when I was little. When I was five, I loved it. But I've long since forbade her—or anyone else for that matter—from touching IT.

I swat at her hand. “You know I hate that.”

“Lighten up, Sarah. There's so much more to you than your nose. For someone who's hell-bent on keeping her God-given nose, you sure do blame it for a lot of your problems.”

I shoot up from my supine position and face her. “I do not.”

“You do it every day,” she says. “And, trust me, I get it. I've been there, too, remember?”

Instead of speaking, I narrow my eyes and shake my head.

“At some point, you've got to accept who you are, honey. And, believe it or not, that nose does
not
define you. That's all I'm saying.”

“That's pretty big talk coming from someone who had a nose job. Not to mention the gazillion times you've tried to talk me into getting one of my own.”

Mom grabs my hands, holds them tight between hers. “Because I see you holding back, purposely making choices based on your nose and not what you really want.”

My eyes burn and I blink hard to clear them. “You don't have a clue what I really want,” I say, then take the stairs to my room two at a time.

I'm still wide awake in bed at two in the morning, completely unable to shut down my racing mind. How could Mom even suggest that I talk to Rock about this? She is seriously deluded if she thinks I'm going to confide a shred of what I'm feeling with him.

I look at the text Kristen sent earlier in the night.

Saw that sizzling kiss. Details!

Sizzling? Is that what it had looked like from Rock's truck? I hadn't bothered replying.

My phone chirps in my hand, startling me.

No way. She can't be serious.

I pull the covers over my head, willing my phone to magically short out. But, of course, it doesn't.

It chirps again.

If I don't answer her, she'll call next and I definitely don't want to talk to her.

I stretch my arm to the nightstand, I feel around for my phone, grab it, and drag it under the covers with me. I push the trackball and see she's left me two texts, just as I thought.

Facebook. Now. BTW, what did you mean in your last message to Rock when you wrote there were bigger things on my face to notice than my eyes? Are you trying to tell me something?

Every square inch of my tired body freezes in place, with the exception of my heart, which is banging around in my chest like the Mexican jumping beans Mom brought back from a business trip last year. My mind races back to the message I'd typed the last time I was on Facebook. I said something about eyes being the first thing I noticed, then …

Oh no.

NO!

I don't have to open the Facebook message to remember that I'd written something about people noticing my nose before my eyes. Damn it! I can't believe I made such a stupid mistake. I've never actually hyperventilated, but I'm pretty sure this is what it feels like. Shaking, I sit up and hang my head between my legs like I've seen done on TV. As stupid as it looks, it actually works.

It takes me a good five minutes to breathe normally and by the time I do, I'm totally pissed. Honestly, I'm as mad at Kristen as I am at myself. How could I let her convince me to do this? Why did I believe we could ever get away with such a string of lies?

Still, it was ultimately my choice to take the bait.

I have to deal with this. Now.

I shoot her back a quick text to let her know I'll check Facebook. Turning on the lamp next to my bed, I grab the laptop from my desk and boot it up. The entire four minutes it takes my computer to come to life, I question my own sanity. I mean, I've always been the levelheaded, forward-thinking one.

I log on to Facebook and click on Kristen's in-box. Rock's profile picture grabs my attention. Maybe it's because I don't want to face his reply or my own part in this twisted lovers' triangle, but instead of clicking on the in-box, I click his picture and pull up his photo albums. The sourness in my stomach tells me I'm wrong to invade his privacy like this. He hasn't friended me on Facebook and doesn't necessarily want me dragging through his personal pictures.

Regardless, I shamelessly open the first of two albums. It's simply titled “Me.”

My heart stills as I scan the photographs. The first shows Rock holding the keys to a car, I'm guessing his truck. He definitely looks a couple of years younger than he is now, but that same anything-goes smile is on his face. I click to see the next picture and it's him on a rock wall ringing the bell at the top. The other pictures are more of the same, but each one tells me something new about him. He loves trying new things, and he's always wearing that same smile, the same spark in his eyes that grabbed my attention the first time I saw him.

I open the second album titled “My Family.” There are only four pictures here, but they are all so remarkable, I look through them twice. Rock and his look-alike father fishing in a boat, all suntan and smiles. Rock and his petite mother cooking in the kitchen, him holding the whisk above her head, just out of reach, and her laughing. And a picture of Rock and two girls who are equally drop-dead gorgeous. They look so much alike I think they might be twins. They all have the same eyes, so I know it has to be his sisters. How did I not know he had sisters? Does Kristen know? The last picture is of Rock and a woman who looks to be his grandmother. He towers over her small, gray head, hugging her close and smiling like he's the luckiest guy on earth.

I sit and stare at the screen, wishing I had never gotten involved with this whole Facebook mess. I mean, not only do I have to “talk” to Rock as Kristen, now I'm learning so much about him that I admire and adore that it's hard to separate what I'm writing from what I'm feeling. What the hell was I thinking when I agreed to this?

My phone chirps again.

Done yet?

I put the phone on the bed beside my laptop, knowing I'm totally screwed. If I don't write Rock back for Kristen, and she attempts to write him back herself, he'll immediately know something's going on. If I do write Rock, then I'm continuing this ridiculous scam.

But I'm in way too deep to back out now. It goes against everything inside me, but I do what I have to. I open the Facebook message from Rock and read reluctantly.

The eyes are my first attention-getter, too. Your blue eyes were the first thing I noticed about you. There's something about a person's eyes, isn't there? Like I can tell you love to have fun and love to laugh; you just have that certain mischievous spark. Take care of those babies; they're phenomenal. I've racked my brain but I can't figure out what you mean when you say there are “bigger things” on your face to notice than your eyes. There isn't one centimeter of you that isn't exactly the way it should be. Trust me, I've studied your face enough to know.

I stop reading and close my eyes. The thought of Rock studying Kristen's gorgeous features sends a shot of ice through my heart. I can't imagine anyone—especially Rock—studying my features and deciding I've reached perfection. Those kinds of moments are exclusively reserved for the likes of Kristen. But there's absolutely no reason to let myself go there. Then I'll just be pissed
and
depressed. I force myself to read on.

What song makes me happy when I hear it? Great question … My parents listen to a lot of R & B and jazz, so I grew up listening to music most people don't particularly love. But one song that always makes me sing along and smile is one I'm sure you'll know. “Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe” by Barry White. Did you notice me humming it tonight? It makes me think of you and that always makes me happy.

My turn.

What would be the title of your biography?

I read the question with a smile. What better way to get down to the heart of a person? My mind circles the question. What
would
be the title of my biography?
Honker
? Umm …
Bigger Than Life
? And then it hits me. The title for my biography is so obvious I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner.
Some Kind of Cyrano
.

Then I remember I'm answering for Kristen. And hers comes to me easily.

True Blue
. I really try to be loyal and I hope that when I'm gone, people remember me as faithful and reliable. So you pair “True” with “Blue” (for my eyes), and there you have it.