The Left Side of Perfect Read online

  “Well, thank fuck you’re understanding.” We reach her front door, the outside light on, but thankfully, no prying eyes are looking through the windows.

  She turns toward me and adjusts her purse on her shoulder with the hand that’s holding her keys. I move in a step, closing the space between us and tilting her chin up with my index finger, my hand still clasped to hers. I want more. For the first time in a long time, I want to spend time with a woman away from work.

  “See me again?”

  “You want to go out again?”

  I nod, my eyes feeling heavy as I stare at her plump lips, and there is one thing on my mind—other than securing another date with this woman: kissing her.

  Hell, I wanted to kiss her the first night we went out but given how reserved she is, I gave her a hug, but it didn’t fill my craving.

  Sage intrigues me. She makes me want to know more about her, to find out what her lips feel like on mine, or the little sounds she makes when I scoop her into my grasp, our bodies flush and yearning. I want to know other ways I can make her blush.

  I’m interested, more than interested, maybe a little infatuated, and I want to earn the chance to peel back the layers that formed her into the beautiful woman she is today.

  “Yeah, I want to go out again. I like you, Sage, and I want to see where this goes.”

  She smiles, her eyes falling to the side for a moment before she lets out a long sigh and looks back at me. “Does that mean we would be dating exclusively?”

  I nod. “Yeah, it does. Is that okay with you?”

  She drops her keys in her purse and moves her hand to my chest, her palm pressing against my pecs. I have to prevent myself from taking in a sharp breath from the way her hand burns through my shirt. “That is perfect for me.”

  “Good.” I swallow hard, and feeling more nervous than ever, I lift my other hand to her cheek where I cradle her head and bring her closer.

  Her eyes search mine as I lower my mouth but don’t go the full distance. I pause, wait for her to protest, to tell me she’s not ready. But when she licks her lips and moves forward a few inches, I take that as my cue.

  I gently bring her mouth to mine, my thumb stroking her cheek as I press my lips against hers.

  Full, soft, fucking perfect. Tentatively her lips move against mine, never opening wide enough for my tongue, but exploring enough to let me know she’s definitely interested . . . more than interested.

  The light on the porch starts to rapidly flicker on and off, our little twosome about to be interrupted. Reluctantly, I pull away but keep my nose close to hers. “I think our little party is about to be broken up by your brother if I don’t say goodbye soon.”

  She sighs. “He’s so mean to me. I should be able to kiss a guy out on the front stoop without interruption.”

  “I agree, but it seems like Balboa has other plans.”

  “We should have kissed in your driveway.”

  I thumb toward my house behind me. “Want to walk back over there? I’m more than happy to move this somewhere else.”

  She laughs and presses her forehead against mine. “I should get inside.” She pecks me quickly on the lips before stepping away. “Thank you for tonight, Colby. I had a great time.”

  Another step and she’s inching away from me when I’m not quite ready for that to happen. I yank on her hand, pulling her back into my chest where I take her mouth with mine one more time for good measure, to make sure she goes to bed thinking about nothing but this kiss and the way I feel wrapped around her body.

  The door to the house opens and Balboa pops out, shirtless with a scowl. He pulls on Sage’s hand and says, “Say good night. It’s time for bed.”

  Protesting in her sweet voice, she says, “I don’t do this to the women you bring home.”

  Balboa eyes me up and down, a warning in his eyes passing between us. Don’t hurt her. I get it and don’t plan on hurting her.

  “Men are horndogs. Flyer is no exception. If you keep kissing him, he’s going to be fucking you in that bush over there.”

  “Balboa, come—”

  “Don’t test me, Flyer.” He points his finger at me. “You got your goodnight kiss, now move the fuck on.”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” Sage says, trying to free herself from his grasp, but his python of an arm wraps around her waist and pulls her into the house, as she kicks her little legs.

  “See you at the airfield.” With a quick two-fingered salute, Balboa slams the door and locks it.

  What the fuck was that?

  The distance between our houses doesn’t give me enough time to recount the kiss we shared, and all it does is tempt me to go back to her house and steal one more.

  I make my way into my house, shut the door, and press my hand to my forehead where I take a second to gather myself, the gravity of what just happened pulling me back down to earth.

  I kissed Sage, and it was fucking nice. No, it was more than nice, it was . . . addicting. Welcoming lips eager and wanting more, fuck, I wish her brother wasn’t Balboa right about now, because I would be telling him to shove it while I stole more kisses from—

  Knock. Knock.

  Shit, it better not be Balboa warning me again. The dude can be a little overprotective. Then again, if I had a sister and the shoe was on the other foot, I think I would be just as protective.

  Taking a deep breath, I open the door, ready to be blasted with a lecture . . . Before I can say anything, Sage moves into my space, grips my cheeks, and pulls me down for another kiss.

  Stunned for a heartbeat, it takes me a moment to register what’s happening, but once I do, I circle my arms around her waist and hold on to her tight, our lips locked, our bodies molding as one.

  “Sage Bethany!” Balboa’s voice roars across a few yards.

  She quickly pulls away and looks to the side, toward her house. “Crap, he’s coming. Save yourself.” She quickly gives me another little peck then takes off, running through the yards to get to her house. Balboa chases after her, Sage laughing the entire way, looking so goddamn innocent and perfect that I can’t help enjoying this lighthearted moment. Because I can’t remember the last time I laughed and relaxed . . .

  She’s like a breath of fresh air, and even though I had no clue, was content with how my life rolled, perhaps I need that in my life.

  Maybe, just maybe, I need this girl—this breath of fresh air—in my life to reawaken my soul. If she wants that. Only time will tell.

  Chapter Fourteen

  RYAN

  Eleven years old . . .

  “What do you have in your hand?”

  I look at the red piece of fabric and then back at my mom. “It’s . . . it’s a bathing suit.”

  Dad was supposed to take me shopping today but got called into work, which meant I’m stuck with Mom. If the party wasn’t tomorrow, I would have waited for Dad since he’s so much more fun.

  It’s been horrible.

  I so desperately want to flee the store and go cry in the car, waiting until my dad can come join us, but I know that’s not going to happen. When he’s called into work, it’s usually serious. He apologized profusely, told me he would bring home dinner and to have fun with Mom.

  Have fun with Mom. Not sure I’ve ever had fun with her. Why does he still think I would have fun with Mom. Doesn’t he see how much she hates me?

  I finally have some friends. It took me a few weeks, but I ate lunch with some really nice girls last week, and they invited me to an indoor pool party they’re having tomorrow. I’m super excited, and I realize how important this moment is in a young girl’s life. It’s going to be my first girl-boy party. Danielle and Tory both told me Drake Wilson was going to be at the party.

  Let me repeat that. Drake Wilson.

  He’s the heartthrob of sixth grade with his Abercrombie shirts, and spikey hair with bleached tips. He’s a total dreamboat, not to mention, he’s taller than all the other boys in our grade. And he has a signature
Von Dutch trucker hat that he wears on occasion that makes his dark eyes look even darker when he’s wearing it.

  So cute.

  And he’s going to be at the party.

  Tory and Danielle were saying he has pretty big biceps for a boy our age, something you can see well when he has his shirt off. I’m excited to see. I like biceps. I think they’re sexy.

  I giggle at the thought of myself saying sexy.

  “Are you listening to me?” My mom snaps her finger in my face.

  “Sorry, I was thinking about something. What were you saying?”

  She thrusts a black one-piece bathing suit in front of me with checkered racing strips down the side. “Try this on.”

  “Ew, no. That thing is really ugly.”

  Irritated, she holds it up and motions to the piece of fabric as she speaks. “It’s black, which is flattering on every woman. It’s a one-piece to hide everything that shouldn’t be showing.” She narrows her eyes in on my stomach. “And the stripes on the side will elongate your torso, making you look slimmer.”

  “Mom, it’s ugly. If I wore that to the party everyone would make fun of me.”

  “Well, you’re sure as hell not wearing that.” She motions to the red bikini in my hand.

  I clutch it to my chest, absolutely in love with it. “Why not? It’s perfect.”

  “It’s not for your body type.” She hangs the ugly bathing suit back on the rack and pulls another, this one navy blue with flowers. “Try this one.”

  “Mom, no one will be wearing one-pieces. This is a two-piece party.”

  “Really?” She raises her brows at me. “Is that what the invitation said? Two-pieces only?”

  Frustrated, I let out a long breath. “No, but you know what I mean. This is sixth grade. It’s not like elementary school. I’m more adult.”

  Snorting, my mom covers her nose and shakes her head. “More adult? Coming from the girl who still eats FunDip. Believe me, honey, adults don’t eat FunDip like you do.”

  “Well, they’re missing out then,” I say. “Let me just try it on, and I’ll show you how perfect it is for me.”

  Exhaling sharply, my mom relents and motions for me to walk into the dressing room. God, finally. Maybe for once we’ll see eye to eye.

  Excited, I step into a dressing room and start stripping down, keeping my underwear on, because I think it’s weird to try on bathing suit bottoms naked. What does that little strip protector in the bottom piece really do? I shimmy the red fabric up my legs, already excited about the color against my skin, and then I tie the top around my neck and back, shifting my boobs into the cups. I’m one of the heavy-chested girls in my grade. Tory and Danielle have both told me they’re envious of my boobs.

  Taking a deep breath, I look into the mirror and take myself in, spinning, turning, checking out every angle.

  It’s . . . perfect. This is it. I knew the minute I saw the bikini hanging on the rack—this was the bathing suit for me. I just hope no one else has it at the party.

  Confident as ever, I fling open the door to the dressing room and strut toward my mom, hand on hip, shoving it in her face. This bathing suit looks amazing.

  When I reach her, I jut out a hip, flip my hair to the side, and say, “Told you.”

  Beyond happy, I watch as she takes me in, her face changing from expressionless to one of . . . disgust?

  Is she sneering?

  That can’t be right.

  Feeling a little weird, I say, “What’s wrong, Mom?”

  Scanning me up and down, she finally folds her arms and leans against the chair. “You have got to be kidding. Do you really think you look good in that bathing suit?”

  What?

  Of course.

  I gnaw on the side of my cheek and wrap my arms around my stomach. “I mean, yeah. I think it looks really good on.”

  “Ryan.” She shakes her head and pulls on my arm so I’m closer. She reaches out and grips my sides with her fingers, giving me a squeeze. “Feel that? That’s called a love handle, and it’s hanging out. It’s not attractive. You need something to suck it in.”

  “I don’t have love handles.” I smooth my hands over my sides.

  “And look at the dimples in your stomach. People who wear bikinis have flat stomachs.” She taps my belly. “Not a belly like this.”

  Not a belly like this? But I thought it looked good . . . I suck back a tear. I hate that my mom is so critical. Nothing is ever good enough for her when it comes to me, and I don’t understand why. It’s like she had me so she could constantly pick on me.

  Trying to calm down the hurt in my voice, I say, “I think it looks good.”

  “That’s because your father has put rose-colored glasses over your eyes. Sweetie, you know I love you, but you need to realize, you’re not the type of girl who can get away with tight clothes. You’ll never be that girl. You’re heavyset, and unless you drastically change your eating habits, you’re always going to be the girl in a one-piece.”

  Tears well in my eyes as I slowly back away, my mom’s words hitting me hard. I run to the dressing room where I sit in the corner, my head buried in my arms, sobs wracking my chest.

  I wish my dad were here. He would have loved this bathing suit, and he would have said I looked pretty. He would have pointed out all the ways the bathing suit was flattering, but instead my mom pointed out all my flaws, the flaws that keep me up late at night, cutting out pictures from magazines and pasting them in my dream book.

  Flat stomach.

  Big chest.

  Perfectly lined lips.

  Long eye lashes.

  The perfect body.

  It’s all I ever want, and it’s what I’ll be one day. I know it. And when I am that girl, the girl I cut and paste into my dream book, the one from all the magazines, I’m going to rub it in my mom’s face.

  Or that’s what I tell myself . . .

  After another bout of crying and self-loathing, I put my clothes on and walk out to my mom, leaving the red bikini in the dressing room behind me.

  My mother stands from her chair and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Are we done here?”

  I nod, not saying a word.

  “Are you going to say you’re sick and can’t go to the party?” I nod again. She squeezes my shoulder and says, “I think that’s a smart choice . . . especially for a girl like you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  RYAN

  I can’t believe Leah convinced me to wear this thing. I’m all about showing off skin, and I’m not shy when it comes to my pajamas, but a tank top with no bra is completely different from what I’m wearing, or more accurately, what I’m not wearing right now.

  “This way,” Leah says, motioning with her hand. “I got us a little cabana. I know a guy who adores the variety show, and he reserved some seating for us. He’s such a sweetie. He owns the hotel.”

  Owns the hotel? She says that so casually.

  “He said he would be down a little later to say hi, until then we can just lounge poolside, drinks and food are on him.” Leah guides us into a spacious cabana with white flowy curtains drawn in the front. The sides and the back are wood slatted partitions that provide enough privacy but also give us the opportunity to see what’s happening around us.

  Flanking one side is a long comfortable-looking couch, and the other side has a variety of drinks and snacks. In front of the cabana are a few lounge chairs designated for our space only. A massive pool party is in front of us, to the right a DJ pumping today’s hits, and servers float around everywhere carrying drink orders.

  Hmm . . . I might be able to get used to this.

  “This is ours for the day?” I look around some more, amazed.

  “Yup.” Leah fluffs her hair and removes her cover-up, revealing her gorgeous body in a gold bikini, the color accentuating her tan. She’s so beautiful it’s hard not to be envious of her.

  I set my bag next to hers and clutch my cover-up, not quite ready to let go of it. E
ven though Leah was right, there are a lot of girls wearing the same kind of style as me, I still feel self-conscious.

  “Let’s put in our drink orders. Tyler said we only have to enter them into the iPad over here and they’ll be brought to us.”

  “What about the other girls?” I ask, a little nervous to meet Leah’s friends.

  She dismissively waves her hand. “They’re always late to everything. I’m not waiting for them.” She starts flipping through the iPad. “Oh, look at this drink, rum and strawberries. Yes please. Want one too?”

  Not even giving it a look, I nod. “I like rum and strawberries.”

  “Drinks are on their way.” She claps her hands and then looks me up and down. “Why are you still wearing your cover-up? Strip.”

  I clutch the white fabric. “I don’t know, Leah. Isn’t it a little too revealing?”

  “Are you kidding me? No. It’s super sexy.”

  Shifting in place, I keep the cover-up on. “I feel weird. I’m wearing heels with a full face of makeup and my hair curled, but only a scrap of fabric covering me. That isn’t strange?”

  Leah extends her hands out. “Take a look, sweetie. You fit right in.” She reaches into her bag and pops a pair of sunglasses on my face then motions to my cover-up. “Strip. Come on.” Her fingers wiggle at me, asking for the fabric.

  Sighing, I slowly remove the top and hold my breath as I adjust the tiny bathing suit. We went shopping the other day and when I went for the bikini, Leah went for the one-piece, if that’s what you want to call it. When she handed me the navy-blue bathing suit, I didn’t even know how to wear it. But after about a minute, I figured it out. With cutouts along the sides and the front, the bathing suit barely covers my lower half, revealing pretty much everything and only covering the most important parts with an inch and a half of fabric. And the back side? Yeah, a thong.

  I’m naked.

  My mom would have a heart attack.

  “Damn, girl, you look good.” She steps in closer, runs her fingers through my hair, adjusts my sunglasses, and then steps back. “I hope you’re wearing sunscreen or else you’re going to get some crazy tan lines.”