Page 83 of Filthy Beautiful
I rubbed Freddy behind the ears the way he liked, and he shut his eyes in a look of pure feline bliss, purring softly. At least someone was always happy to see me and enjoyed my company.
Unlike other males, who didn’t even want me around.
I’d seen Xander at the club as soon as I arrived, with his tight, sleeveless shirt and sculpted muscles on display, his loose jeans and his casual pose. Sitting there with that girl, her hand in his lap.
His hair was all perfect, his beard all neatly trimmed. With his little diamond stud earrings and his nose ring… he looked all manly and polished and fuck-ready. He wasn’t wearing a ball cap like he sometimes did in public, which probably meant he wanted to be seen. He was looking to pick up, probably, and all I was doing was crashing his fun, apparently.
Cockblocking him.
He didn’t like me playing adult on his turf.
What would he think of this book, and the fact that I’d written it?
What would he think of the way I’d portrayed him in it?
I’d tried to be objective in my writing, without putting aside my point-of-view as the writer—someone who cared about the people in the book. It was a hard line to tread, I’d learned, and I wasn’t sure I’d gotten it right.
I definitely hadn’t pulled any punches in describing Gabe and his friends and the antics they got up to. They were guys. They were rock stars. They liked to party. I was only fourteen when Gabe died, but still… I’d seen things.
So far, it was just a rough draft, though.
I knew it still needed polishing. And I hoped I could get some of Gabe’s closest friends to read it and give me feedback. I planned to interview some of them, and Gabe’s parents, to flesh things out, finish some of the incomplete chapters.
I’d wanted to interview Xander, in theory, but I really wasn’t sure I could stand to be vulnerable to him that way. I knew the slightest criticism from him about my writing might sting.
But I did care what he thought.
I also cared how he felt.
And no matter how much I wanted to pretend it didn’t matter… it was really, really bothering me that he’d gotten so mad at me tonight.
I heard the rumble of a motor as a car eased up the driveway in the distance. Then silence. I knew it was him, and my heart thudded way too hard in my chest. I took a deep breath and Freddy mewled.
I’d dug my fingers into his fur a little too hard.
“Sorry, snuggle bunny,” I whispered. I lifted him in my arms, hugging him to my chest like a teddy bear. “Shhh,” I purred in his ear. But he chose that moment to push at me with his soft paws and bolt, as the sudden footsteps on the path startled him.
I looked over to see Xander coming up the path around the side of the house. His keys jingled in his hand and he stopped abruptly as Freddy streaked in front of him.
He followed the path of Freddy’s trajectory with his eyes… right back to me.
“Hi,” I said.
The lanterns were on in the backyard, but I couldn’t see his eyes well or read the expression on his face in the shadows.
He drifted toward me. “What are you doing out here?”
I shrugged. “Guess you should’ve barricaded the door.”
“It’s late.” He stopped a few feet away, studying me. I could see his face now. He looked grouchy and tired. “You should sleep.”
“I can’t.”
He just stood there, looking at me. I could feel his black mood charging the air, like that eerie shift in pressure before a storm.
“What are you doing?” he repeated, looking at my laptop.
“Writing.”
