Page 29 of Beautiful Deceit
He looks properly repulsed, "Nasty."
I bob my head, “It was just weird. I don't think I'll ever forgive Jess. She's been hounding me to go out with that guy for months."
Beau stops eating and ask me, "What made you say yes now?"
I purse my lips, "Honestly?"
"Always," he confirms.
"No one has ever been here before," I twirl my finger indicating my home. "I liked having someone here because it wasn't so lonely. It was nice having a friend." I hope that wasn't too much, but I asked if he wanted the truth.
"Couldn't I be your friend?" He sounds sincere.
"I'm not sure you're a very good friend." I say regrettably. I look down and see my plate is mostly full and now cold. I push it to the ottoman having lost my appetite.
Beau doesn't deny my claim. The sad part is, I know he could be a good friend. He was a great listener, before he left, and he seems truly empathetic, until he gets scared off. He isn’t perfect, but I know he would be a good friend. I wish he could be more, but I'd settle for friend.
"I liked being with you too. I had to stop myself from seeing you everyday. Yesterday, I just lost the fight." His hand is clinched on his thigh. "There's a lot of shit going on in my life right now, and I'm not sure I want it contaminating you. There's a lot you don't know about me." He stands and takes a few steps toward the kitchen, before turning to face me again.
I want to ask what it is I don't know, but I don't. I want to ask why his life is so hard right now, but I don't. I settle for telling him, "I'm not weak you know. I know it may seem like I'm fragile, but I'm not."
Beau grabs the back of his neck in frustration, "That's not what I meant at all. I'm just not sure I want you exposed to this shit." I can tell he's struggling with what he wants to tell me.
"I like hanging out with you and watching you at your bookstore with your friends. I like the way you make me feel. You don't have an ulterior motive to get to know me. Hell, the first time I tried to talk to you, you wouldn't give me the time of day. I watched you with that boy and that guy from the market. You were truly kind, not because you wanted something or someone was watching, but just because that's who you are. This may surprise you, but kindness has become extremely rare in my world.”
He drops his arm slapping his outer thigh. His body goes rigid, "Then you tell me about that fucker, and I want to break his hands and maybe even his neck. I want to know his name, where he lives, so I can make sure you don't have to keep looking over your shoulder.” He looks up at me struggling to keep composure, “I don't know how to deal with this shit, and that's not even including the major fuck up my life is right now." He almost pants in agitation as he finishes.
"Okay," I say.
"Okay?" He questions back incredulously.
"Okay, I can understand most of that, but I can't be a better friend to you, unless you let me." I reply simply.
"You are unreal. I just tell you I'm struggling with not killing your stepfather and that my life is shit right now, and you want to be a better friend to me? It’s unbelievable." Beau's hands are on his narrow hips, and his head is hung low as he stares at the floor. I'm not sure what else to say. I don't care if he has stuff he's not ready to talk about. I have things I don’t want to share either. And while I am not a fan of violence, it most certainly doesn't bother me that he would like to kill Darryl. I've thought about it for years. I know neither of us would really do it.
"How about when you're ready to talk to someone about why things are in the tank for you right now, you tell me?" I shrug, letting him know it's not a big deal, "Unless you're wanted for murder, I'm fine with not knowing everything just yet." I trust him, as a friend and as someone I let into my home. I don't know why yet, but I do.
He's looking at me skeptically. “I do have one condition,” I hold my finger up and point at him, "If you decide you don't want my friendship or something changes and you’re not going to be around anymore, tell me, let me know. No drama. I won't make a big deal about it, won't ask why, or where you're going. Just give me a heads up. I don’t like it when people disappear."
He looks thoughtful, "I can do that." He sounds confident.
I smile getting comfy in the corner of the sofa. I tuck my legs under my butt and pull my knees together. Beau moves around the table and sits down, much closer than he was before.
"What if I want more---than friendship?" He asks the timber of his voice changes. It's deeper.
"More what?" my reply comes out breathlessly. His palm moves to my knee and slides a little up my thigh. I can feel the warmth from his hand through my leggings. My eyes track the movement until it finally stops more than half way up my thigh. His thumb makes lazy circles on the outside of my leg, and his fingers squeeze slightly as they circle my inner thigh. He's touching me, really touching me, and I don't want to pull away.
"More from you, of you," He says lowly. I swallow and open my mouth, but nothing comes out, so I shut it. My mind zooms through the possibilities and most lead to one designation, a broken heart. I'm not sure I could do casual with him. If he's just looking for a friends with benefits arrangement, I'll have to walk away.
I've been quiet for a while when he prompts, "Sammy?"
I open my mouth; this time I know what to say. I don't want to say it, but if I don't I know I'd regret it sooner rather than later.
I look right in his eyes answering, "That really depends on what you’re asking for Beau. I don't do booty calls or friends with benefits, so I need to know what you're asking for first.” I shake my head, “I'm not asking for any kind of commitment, but I'm not good with casual." His big hand squeezes before he pulls away. My heart drops but a part of me knew he would pull away. If I'm honest, that same part of me is grateful, because the hurt I feel now is nothing to the devastation I know would come later. I nod my head in acknowledgment of his answer.
He doesn't say anything when I stand up. I grab our plates and move to the kitchen. I hide behind the cabinets, one of the few places in my home that offers some form of seclusion.
It only takes me a few seconds to force lightness in my tone, "Do you need anything while I'm up?"
