Gerard's Beauty (15 page)

Betty sighed. “I didn’t tell you because I knew what you’d do.”

“Do what? What can I do when I don’t know anything?” Trisha threw her manicured hands high, shrugging with exaggerated anger.

“I kept him,” Betty whispered, pulling out the yellow sticky note and doodling on the pad, anything to keep from looking up.

“Him?” Trisha questioned, and then sucked in a breath when understanding dawned. “The hottie from the library?”

“Mmm.” Betty bit her lip.

“No you didn’t!” Trisha slapped her arm. “The dude that was all busted up, the French dreamboat that gave me a serious case of--” she stopped talking when Betty glanced sharply at her. Trisha cleared her throat. “That guy?”

Betty rolled her eyes. “Yes, that guy. Now tell me how stupid I am.” She grabbed her throbbing pendant, the thing hadn’t stopped pulsating since the fishing trip yesterday. It was just this side of warm, almost hot against her breast. And she’d noticed in the mirror this morning that it now shone with more threads of purple than red.

“You’re stupid!” Trisha growled. “He could be dangerous.”

“He’s not,” Betty asserted with a swift shake of her head.

“How do you know?” Trisha lowered her voice into a sharp hiss.

The bell above the door pinged as the second customer of the day-- an elderly man-- walked in and headed straight toward the civil war era section.

Betty waited until he was well out of earshot before answering. “I just do, okay.”

When Trisha got really mad, she’d grab her hair and twist it up into a tight bun. The more tight it got, the madder she was. She wound her hair so tight, her eyebrows pulled back. “Next you’re gonna be telling he’s asked for your hand in marriage.” Narrowing flinty eyes she said, “he hasn’t, has he?”

“No. Jeez, Trish, what do you take me for?” Betty gripped the edge of the desk, while her pulse beat a staccato tattoo in her skull.

“Are you sleeping with him?” Trisha asked the question like an accusation, and Betty’s blood boiled, the one percent threatened to rear its ugly head.

The man appeared for a second, glancing at them with a concerned frown before quickly scooting down another isle.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your damn business,” Betty snapped.

“But it is my business!” Trisha pounded her fist, her words ringing like cannon fire in a still forest.

“Keep your voice down,” Betty pleaded, jerking her head in the direction of the book shelves.

Trisha gulped air until her breathing calmed and then smoothed a hand over her blond head. “You want to know why it’s my business, Betty? I’ll tell you why.” She pointed to her chest. “I can sleep with a man, and it’s not personal. It’s fun. I don’t expect more than that, but you can’t. You sleep with a man and you’re in love. And let’s face it, honey, your track record sucks.”

Betty slapped Trisha’s finger off her. “How dare you? This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d act all stupid, and crazy, and silly. Look, yeah, it wasn’t the smartest thing to take him home with me, but as I recall it you told me to.”

“No.” Trisha’s blood red fingernail drove like a spike through the air. “If you recall, I do believe I said take him to Kelly, or drop him off at the shelter. What part of that did you not understand? The man could be a rapist, a murderer…”

Try none of the above. But Betty couldn’t tell her that, and Trisha wouldn’t believe it anyway. She huffed. “Yes, he could have been. But he’s not. So why do you care? He makes me laugh. He makes Briley laugh. I lo…” She jerked, realizing what she’d almost said.

Trisha’s eyes widened. “Love him? Is that what you were about to say?”

“No,” Betty shook her head, “I like him.”

“That’s not what I heard.” Trisha crossed her arms.

The man came up to the counter with two leather bound books in his hands. His rheumy blue eyes studied the girls. “I could come back later if you’re busy,” he said in the thin, scratchy voice of a man well beyond his prime.

Betty sighed, and plastered on a smile, though inside she wanted to cry. Why couldn’t Trisha just be happy for her? Betty wasn’t going to fall in love with the man, it wasn’t like that. She didn’t have a choice in the matter anyway. Yeah, so she’d almost used the word love. But not love-love, more like the way one loved a favorite pair of shoes, or a puppy.

She took the books, grateful her hands didn’t shake too badly. “No, now is fine. Library card, please?”

He pulled a well-worn card out of his pocket. The picture showed him, maybe ten years younger, with the horseshoe hair, but brownish instead of gray, and without the frizzy tufts poking from his ears. What would Gerard look like when he aged? Would he age? Thoughts scrambled through her head as she checked the man’s books into the computer.

Trisha paced behind Betty’s chair like a restless tiger in a cage, and Betty flashed him an apologetic smile as she handed him back the books. “Due back in a month, Mr. Adams.”

He nodded, grabbed the books, and sprinted as fast as his old legs would carry him out the door. Betty sighed, swiveling in her chair.

Trisha gripped the sides of her chair, pinning Betty in place.

“Listen, sweetie, if you think I’m being mean, I probably am. I miss you. But more than that, I’m worried about you. Can’t you see he’s a rebound guy? And not a good one. Yeah, he’s incredibly delicious, and if I were you I’d probably slather his body in warm chocolate and lick it all off.”

“Oh jeez, you’re so disgusting.” Betty scrunched her face.

“But, I’m telling you now, the man is a pig. A player. He’s another James, except prettier. He’s playing you, girl. He’s having his fun, but I swear to you, he’ll leave. Just like all the rest.”

“You don’t know that,” Betty mumbled.

Trisha smiled softly, stepping back and nodding. “Yes I do, sweetling. Because he’s just like James, just like high school quarterback Carter, and he’s just like me.” Her voice trailed off sadly. She hugged her arms to her chest.

The words were a fist hammering through her heart. She looked at her friend, as if seeing her for the first time. Trisha looked pretty today. Hunter green top and woodland brown pencil skirt-- a luscious figure on a petite frame. Compared to her, Betty might as well have been an ogre. Tall and gangly, awkward and a nerd to boot.

“We’re all fun, but zero substance, honey. Just guard your heart, Betty. Promise me. Because when you get hurt, I get hurt, and I don’t want to see my best friend turn into a puddle of crying goo again. Not over a player.” With that, Trisha turned and walked to the back of the library.

Trisha was right. Gerard would leave. Either she fell in love with him, or he’d die. Neither choice was particularly appealing.

If she fell in love, he’d leave. Only she had to love him to save him, he didn’t have to love her back. Which meant his heart was free to beguile and seduce someone else. Someone more like Trisha-- perfect, sexy, a blond bombshell-- a someone Betty could never hope to be. But if she didn’t love him, they’d kill him. The thought tore Betty’s heart into a million tiny pieces.

Love sucked.

Chapter 15

“You promise not to laugh?” Betty’s voice came out small behind the bathroom door.

Gerard sat on the bed, drinking his morning brew, breathing in the bitter vapors, anything to try and get more alert. “I’ll promise no such thing,
Cherie
. Spandex looks awful on anyone.”

“You’re not helping.”

Today was the day he’d been dreading all week. Comic-con. She’d woken him at an ungodly hour, stars still thick and heavy in the sky, with the fevered excitement of a child at Yule. She’d tried her damndest to get him to dress in character too. No chance in hell. Blue jeans and a shirt were good enough for him.

“Just come out, Elliptical,” he growled.

“It’s Eclipse, and I’m not gonna come out unless you’re nice,” her voice trembled.

Gerard chuckled, tapping the side of the ceramic mug with his thumb. “Fine, fine. Come out please.”

The knob turned.

First thing he noticed was a shiny pair of black thigh high boots with heels so high she seemed to tower in the doorway. A black and navy blue cape fluttered behind her, hanging well past her knees.

He swallowed, tongue thick, as his gaze continued the slow slide up. Silvery black spandex covered her torso and chest, reminding him of a bustier. His fingers flexed hard around the ceramic. The top pushed her breasts up and out, her exquisite mounds, plump and firm, and begging for a man’s touch. His touch.

Betty’s hair hung long and loose around her shoulders, framing her heart shaped face. But it was the silk mask tied around her eyes that made his pulse race and knees tremble for want of her. Glowing blue eyes stared back at him from behind the mask, as electric as a hot bolt of lightning. He’d have laughed at the ridiculous circlet on her head, the two circles-- one golden, the other black-- had it not been for those eyes.

What had she done? What magic had she used? “Your eyes,
Cherie
?” he said, his voice sounded thick to his ears.

She smiled, and for the first time ever, he noticed a slight dimple curve a sickle shape in her right cheek.

“It’s contacts.” She tossed her head, sending her curls flying behind her. “You like?”

Gerard shot to his feet, gripping the cup like his life depended on it. For a moment, one moment to be free of Galeta’s bloody curse, he’d throw Betty down on the bed and make her sing for him. “I like.”

The heart pendant sparkled deeper shades of Indigo. Did she know? Could she sense the change? Gerard’s only thought was of his freedom, saving his life. He ground his molars-- confused if that’s really what he wanted anymore.

He could hardly breathe around the heat of her gaze. The room grew thick and cloying, filled with an impossible tension. Like stepping out in a storm only seconds after a lightning strike-- ozone laced air still shivering with raw volts of power.

Betty walked to him, but he couldn’t move. His heart beat a painful rhythm in his chest, demanding he do something, demanding he take control as he’d so often done before. But he wasn’t in control, she stripped him bare, made him forget who he was, what he was. All he knew in that moment, was that Betty was the most divine creation he’d ever seen.

Her fingers grazed his, and for a moment he thought she’d push him down on the bed. But instead she yanked the cup out of his hands and with a saucy wink, drank.

Her throat worked as she swallowed, and he shifted toward her, moving like shaved iron into her magnetic pull. “You know I like that.”

Ruby red lips curled up into a slow smile. “Like what?”

“Your lips and tongue touching the same spot mine did. It’s like a kiss,
Cherie
.”

The cup visibly shook in her hands, sloshing the drink. “This is coffee,” she said it breathless, voice hitched and strained.

He nodded, stealing the cup back and setting it on the night stand. “I’ve developed a craving.”

“For coffee?” her whisper feathered across his lips like a caress.

Gerard grabbed her face, the softness of her skin like silk against his rough palms. “So soft.
Mon ange
.” His angel, and she was that. Then there was no more talking, only tasting.

He moved his mouth against hers, the smooth friction made him groan. Her lips were the softest satin. “Open for me,
Cherie
.”

Betty’s fingers found his shirt, she bunched the fabric in her fists and moaned, it was enough. Gerard licked, tasted, and suckled. Her tongue tasted of mint and coffee-- both sweet and bitter. She clawed at his head with the frenzy of a woman desperate for more, he slipped his tongue into the warm recess of her mouth, their tongues dueled. A mating pantomime-- each seeking dominance, each expressing with moans and guttural sounds how much they’d longed for this.

Too soon she broke away. Gerard was left panting, his forehead pressed against hers, willing his body to stop trembling.

“Briley,” she said her nephew’s name with a regretful sigh.

Gerard didn’t want to stop touching her, he rubbed his bristly cheek against her smooth one. Betty’s hands crawled under his shirt, her nails scratching lightly at his back, and gods he didn’t want to leave this room. He wanted her all to himself, all day, all night.

But this was important to her.

“This isn’t over,
Cherie
,” he promised, his thumb tracing the plump swell of her bottom lip. “Not by a long shot.”

***

“I’m Spiderman!” Briley made small
shwing
sounds, pumping his fist at groups of people, some of whom were dressed in the most ridiculous costumes Gerard had ever seen.

Briley’s was bad enough, black, silver, and white, with a large spider at its center, but even that was preferable to some of the others. There’d been a lime green thing of fur that snarled and limped along on six cloven legs, a fat lizard like tail dragging along behind its enormous ass. Several silver painted bodies, eyes glowing much like Betty’s. But where Betty’s made Gerard hot and eager to touch and fondle, these made him uneasy and flexing his fist with a need to smash in noses, especially when one (a male by the sound of its deep voice) moved in close to Betty and attempted to pat her rear.