Scarred Beautiful: City Love 2

By Beth Michele

From the start, Fran Heller rubbed Matt Dixon the wrong way.

With her snarky attitude and witty sarcasm, she came on too strong for his tastes. But there was no denying the hidden spark that ignited from the first moment they met, or how she began to invade his every thought. It was hard to ignore her curvy body and the way she oozed sexuality. But the more time Matt spent with Fran, the more he discovered that behind that feisty spirit, was a girl with a story.

And he intended to find out what it was.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beth Michele
• Release date: Mar 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9780615960920

Beth Michele

Beth Michele is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of M/F and M/M Contemporary Romance who writes sweet, funny, and sexy stories with heart and snark. She is a lover of the written word, and pens love stories about flawed characters who fight toward a much-earned HEA. She can often be spotted hiding out with her laptop or ereader somewhere quiet, preferably on a bench overlooking the ocean. Beth is a mom to two incredible teenagers, who, when they were born, stole a chunk of her heart and refused to give it back. Come Find Me! Website: http://www.bethmichele.com Instagram http://www.instagram/bethmicheleauthor Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/bethmicheleauthor/ Subscribe to my newsletter: http://bethmichele.com/1/subscribe/

Book preview

Also By Beth Michele

Dedication

Prologue – Fran - 7 years old

Chapter One – Fran - Expressive Dramatic

Chapter Two – Matt – Roses, anyone?

Chapter Three – Fran – Leaving on a jet plane

Chapter Four – Matt – One condition

Chapter Five – Fran – Goodbye girl

Chapter Six – Matt – A crazy coincidence

Chapter Seven – Fran – The stick

Chapter Eight – Matt – Dirty thoughts

Chapter Nine – Fran - Scars

Chapter Ten – Matt – Gotta love aggravation

Chapter Eleven – Fran – Verbal sparring

Chapter Twelve – Matt – Little Spark

Chapter Thirteen – Fran – I dare you

Chapter Fourteen – Matt – Castles in the sand

Chapter Fifteen – Fran – Smile, Smile, Smile

Chapter Sixteen – Matt – Scary clowns

Chapter Seventeen – Fran – Let loose

Chapter Eighteen – Matt - Sunshine

Chapter Nineteen – Fran – Decent company

Chapter Twenty – Matt – Alphabetizing

Chapter Twenty-One – Fran – Note slinger

Chapter Twenty-Two – Matt - Consumed

Chapter Twenty-Three – Fran - Theories

Chapter Twenty-Four – Matt – Daydreams

Chapter Twenty-Five – Fran – Knock, knock

Chapter Twenty-Six – Matt – All good things…

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Fran – Half a heart

Chapter Twenty-Eight – Matt – Giving chase

Chapter Twenty-Nine – Fran – Who needs reality?

Chapter Thirty – Matt – Tumbleweeds

Chapter Thirty-One – Fran – Say something

Chapter Thirty-Two – Matt – That’s just crazy

Chapter Thirty-Three – Fran – The list

Chapter Thirty-Four – Matt - Thunderstorms

Chapter Thirty-Five – Fran – A temporary fix

Chapter Thirty-Six – Matt – Tick, tock

Epilogue – One Year Later – Fran

Also By Beth Michele

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Beth Michele

M/F Contemporary Romance

Lovely

Scarred Beautiful

Finding Autumn

REX

For the Love of Raindrops

Life in Reverse

Lily and the Billionaire

M/M Contemporary Romance

Chasing the High

Behind His Lens

Going Down

To Mom and Dad, you were the first ones to show me that I could be whatever I wanted to be in this life. I am forever grateful for your love and support. I love you.

Everyone has scars. Remember that you are stronger than your broken parts. Don’t let them define who you are.

My nose felt like a million tiny icicles were sitting on it, and my hands were shaking since Daddy didn’t give me any gloves, but I was still smiling because I was with Kera.

The swing set creaked and the poles popped out of the ground as Kera and I rocked up toward the sky, seeing who could pump faster. She always won because my thighs and tummy were sore, and sometimes when I kicked my legs up, my belly squished and it started to hurt.

Faster, faster, Kera said.

I’m trying, I told her. I was trying as hard as I could.

She giggled as she got higher and higher. I’m going to touch the clouds first! she screamed.

No, me! I shouted back, swinging as far as my little legs would take me.

We were smiling and laughing so hard, I thought I might have an accident in my pants, but I knew I better not because Daddy would be mad.

Look, that cloud looks like a teddy bear, I sang, my cheeks turning pink from the chilly winter air.

I see a giraffe. Look at his funny, long neck! she exclaimed, sticking her own neck out and making a silly sound with her throat.

We were giggling so hard my stomach started to hurt even more than it already did, but I stopped once I heard Daddy’s voice.

"Franny, come inside, now!"

I have to go, I told her, jumping off the swing and running toward the house as fast as I could.

When I looked over my shoulder to say goodbye, Kera smiled happily and waved as she skipped off to her mom who was waiting on their front step.

Take me with you, I whispered, before he pulled me inside. I wanted to scream those words out but it suddenly felt like there was a big ball of Play-doh stuck in my throat.

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone with Daddy.

And even if I could scream no one would hear me.

So no one could save me.

Peyton! You know how difficult it is for me. It was hard enough overcoming my fear of elevators, but this…I just don’t know.

I’ve had a fear of planes since I was sixteen. It’s not validated by personal experience so I realize it’s irrational. Logically, I know there’s a better chance of something happening in a car than on a plane, but the part I can’t wrap my head around is the escape route. At least in a car I’m closer to the ground and not floating in the vacant sky with nowhere to go but down, the long, agonizing drop to the earth my only thing to look forward to.

Peyton sifts through rows of clothing in my closet looking for a dress to wear to the club tonight. I say rows because I have a walk-in closet that’s bigger than our oversized bathroom and I’m a bit of a clotheshorse…oh, and shoes too. Fran, what’s so hard? You’ll get on…take a nice, plush, cushy seat, lean your head back, and go to sleep. Or, better yet, stick a couple of mini Jack Daniels in your purse, and you’ll do just fine.

My voice rises to a high-pitched shriek that reverberates off the walls. "It’s five freaking hours and forty-five minutes, Peyton! That’s with plenty of chances for it to encounter turbulence, storms, and who knows what else? Just like in Castaway!"

Peyton rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and I realize that I may be laying it on pretty thick. "Really, Fran…Castaway? You’ve been watching way too many movies. What choice do you have anyway? Do you actually want to be on a train to California for three days, or would you rather sit in luxury for six hours?"

I let out a huge groan and a giant puff of air releases right along with it. Yes, because if you’re going to go out, you might as well do it in style.

She waves her hands above her head, drawing pictures in the air. Oh my God, Fran…you’re SO dramatic! Come on, you can do this. It’ll be a piece of cake. I have faith in you.

I prefer to call it expressive, I grumble. At least that’s what my fourth grade teacher Mrs. Hemler called it when she made me sit up front in class because I talked too much.

Okay, then. Peyton gives me a crisp nod. You’re an expressive dramatic.

My parents said I should’ve been an actress. I was always making mountains out of molehills, like going into a thirty minute monologue about the reason I shouldn’t eat peas, which by the way was because I’d turn green. It was my way of trying to get their attention which is laughable considering I was an only child.

The only attention I ever got was the kind I never wanted.

I remember everything about my early childhood, although there’s so much I’d like to forget. My fondest memories are those rare moments I spent with Mom when she wasn’t working, and time with my friends, laughing and singing on the school bus.

What I like to remember least—the way my pint-sized heart pounded in my chest as I hopped off that same bus, giving a small wave to my friends with their crooked smiles and toothy grins. They were kids in every sense of the word, happy and carefree, not weighted down by the frightful sound of a door creaking open or loud footsteps echoing down the hall. Even now the memory is so vivid: walking through overgrown weeds, nearly tripping on the cracked sidewalk leading to the beat-up yellow door of my house, reaching out a shaky hand to turn the knob, never knowing if Dad would be there. His inability to hold down a job left him at home all too often, filling the air with the stench of cigarettes and beer, and his cold, hard demeanor.

Then there was Mom, God bless her, working two jobs, waitressing at night and doing hair during the day, only to come home to complaining and screaming. I remember watching her cower in the corner, her face pale, eyes glazed over, unsure of her destiny from one minute to the next. The way my tummy squeezed tight, wanting so much to help her, but knowing as a seven year old child there was little I could do except be resigned to our fate.

I drag myself back to the present and continue to get ready for this design conference, the first of many from what I’ve been told. I was recently promoted to Design Manager after working my ass off for five years due to a proven track record of developing strong client relationships and strategic vision. The money’s great, and since my best friend Gabby is now living with her fiancée Brad, my colleague Peyton and I moved in together a couple of months ago. Peyton’s great and all, she’s tough and doesn’t take any shit. We’re actually a lot alike. She’s no nonsense and I know she’ll always give me a hard dose of reality, but she doesn’t climb into bed with me and stroke my hair when I’m having a nightmare, or know just the right words to say when I’m having a bad day. She doesn’t know all of my secrets.

I look over at Peyton, lower my head, and beg her with persuasive green eyes—the ones she usually can’t resist. Come with me, Peyton…pretty please? I’m willing to go to all lengths of bribery. Hmph…that even includes trying to set you up with that hot design director you’ve been crushing on when I get back.

I have no idea who the current object of her misguided attention might be, but she’s always lusting after one of my coworkers. My boss is known for hiring attractive men, it is advertising after all, and they’re impossible to ignore. At desperate times like these, I’m not above using this little fact to my advantage.

Peyton turns around with daggers in her eyes. That’s a low blow, Fran, and as much as you know how bad I’m crushing on him, I can’t go to the conference. You know I have too much work to do on that new sneaker campaign that just rolled in.

I sigh and fall backwards on my bed, right next to the large pile of clothes I’m bringing with me if—and it’s a very big if—I decide I’m taking the death plane.

Why am I doing this again? I throw out to Caleb while I scramble to get my shit together so I can prepare for the conference.

He sinks in the chair, grinning. Because the CEO can’t go, that’s why, and as one of the vice presidents of the firm, you need to represent.

I grab my dick through my jeans. "Well, they can represent this."

Caleb clutches his belly and laughs. Yeah, I’d like to see you say that in a staff meeting. You’d certainly have all of those sexy female project managers turning their heads.

That’s the last thing I need. This job at the architectural firm keeps me busy around the clock and I don’t have time for complicated relationships. I’ve dated here and there over the years and had my share of women, but nobody has kept my attention. Besides, I don’t need them trying to reorganize my life. It’s perfect just the way it is. My brother Brad razzes me about it all the time. Now that he’s found Gabby and is deliriously happy, he wants the same for me.

You, my friend, need to get laid. You work way too much and don’t stop to smell the roses…and let me tell you from experience, Caleb taunts, inhaling through his nose, those roses smell pretty damn amazing.

Yeah, I joke, tossing a couple of polo shirts into my suitcase, "and we all know how many roses you’ve smelled, so many I’m surprised you don’t have thorns digging in your ass."

Hey, he says with a satisfied smirk, "it’s better than having Allison’s heel in my ass when she kicked me out the door after a few years. I can’t believe I actually considered having handsome little Calebs with her. Speaking of which, my mom called me the other night and gave me the spiel about finally settling down and finding a ‘nice girl.’ I told her I found a nice girl, but she turned out to be a bitch. He chuckles. She didn’t really appreciate that."

Go easy on your mom, Caleb, she just wants the best for you. Besides, you know how much I love her, so you’re not getting any sympathy from me on that front. I grab a few more t-shirts and several pairs of Calvin Klein boxers and stuff them in my bag. Okay, I’m all set. Do you want to get some breakfast and hang out with me at the hotel for a while?

Caleb sags back in the chair, hands knotted behind his head. Yeah, that sounds good. But can I ask you a stupid question? Why are you staying at the hotel when your apartment is only twenty minutes away?

I zip up my suitcase and haul it off the bed. "You do realize the conference is at The Ritz-Carlton, right?"

Caleb shrugs his shoulders, looking dumbfounded. And?

And it’s one of the most upscale hotels in LA, on the company’s dime. That’s why. I intend to chill out all week, order some room service, watch a couple of movies, and then I’m coming home.

Caleb shakes his head. That sounds boring as shit, man.

Exactly.

The ride to JFK airport is filled with silence, void of conversation that is, with the exception of Beyonce’s Single Ladies blaring through the car speakers. Peyton is obviously mistaking her Acura Integra for the club. The music is booming and my head is pounding as I press it to the glass, trying to keep my heart palpitations to a minimum.

I turn to her, raising my voice to a screech so she can actually hear me. Peyton, please turn down the music!

She tunes me out and continues doing her erotic dance, which only infuriates me. My teeth grab at the inside of my lip, fingers scrape through my hair. By the time I get on the plane I’m going to be a hot mess.

We stop at a toll booth and wait in the very long line of cars. Peyton finally turns down the music and angles her body to face me. Fran, this is supposed to loosen you up. Shake your bon bon a little before you have to sit in a confined seat for six hours.

And there it is.

Thank you so much for reminding me how long I’ll be on the plane in which I’ll plunge to my death, no doubt into the ocean where I’ll get eaten up by sharks.

She bursts into laughter, the sound drowning out Beyonce’s voice. When you get back, Fran, I’m signing you up for an acting class. She shakes her head at me and pulls the toll pass from the center console. "Sharks, really?"

We make it to JFK in record time, two hours before my scheduled flight thanks to Peyton’s Mario Andretti tendencies. Even though I know she has better things to do, I make her come in with me so I can give her a proper goodbye since this very well could be my last day on earth.

All right, all right. I slap her hands away. I’m going! Stop pushing.

Peyton’s hand remains on my back. I’ll stop pushing as soon as you start walking.

The path to the terminal is the longest of my life. I can hear my heart beating loudly in my ears, my breathing uneven. We push past the crowd of travelers striding briskly, coffees in hand, cell phones plastered to their ears, seemingly relaxed. I wish I could be that way, too.

I stop short in front of the double doors of the terminal. I hear a grunt from behind and turn to see a gentleman with peppered hair sidestep me, cursing under his breath and wiping the brown liquid that just spilled on his fingers from our near collision.

I should’ve told them I had travel-phobia, I say, my eyes focused to a spot on the ground.

She sets her hands on her hips, an exasperated sigh leaving her glossy red pout. Travel-phobia?

Yes, I reply, wishing I had thought of it sooner. You know, that the farthest I can travel is to the nearest Starbucks and to the All Male Review on West 27th Street.

Peyton laughs and grabs my hand forcefully to drag me through the entrance. Once inside, she doesn’t let go, but continues to pull me toward the Delta ticket counter.

Digging my fingernails into the palm of my hand that’s clinging tightly to my suitcase and sucking on my lip isn’t helping. Neither is Peyton. She feels when my feet come to a halt beside her and turns her head to glare at me, her pecan-colored eyes narrowed into tiny slits.

Okay. Deep breath and count to ten, she instructs, splaying her hands out in front of her.

How about, deep breath and we go home? I reply, my lips twisted into something resembling a grin.

She cracks a smile, then blows a chestnut strand of hair away from her face. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Hold out your hands.

I drop my bag to the ground and release my firm grip on the suitcase handle. I hold out both hands in anticipation…of what, I have no idea.

Peyton shakes something that sounds like a maraca and it lands in my palm. Ambien, she says with a smile. Just in case you have a freak-out.

I roll my eyes.

Now, for the good part. She reaches into her Gucci purse, pulling out three mini bottles of Jack Daniels, and shoves them into my hand. A mischievous grin spreads across her face. In case you get thirsty. She winks and her brown eyes light up like the Fourth of July.

I look at her lovely gifts. "Great. So you’re trying to get me drunk and high."

Yeah. Pretty much, she states blandly.

My ears pick up a child screaming in the distance, seemingly over a lollipop that has fallen to an untimely demise. It jolts me and I nearly drop my newfound addictions to the ground, the child’s cries morphing into the voice of Dad yelling at Mom because she got him the wrong cereal.

I watched Mommy hover in the corner, Daddy’s arms against the wall on both sides of her head. He looked so scary, and I was afraid for Mommy.

I told you to get the Goddamn Captain Crunch, he shouted, and I saw Mommy’s eyes fill with tears, just like mine did when Daddy would come to my room.

Now get the fuck out of here and go get my cereal, Daddy yelled again, and Mommy ran out like a scared little mouse. I wished I could have helped her, but I couldn’t even help myself.

I shake off the shiver that crawls down my spine and quickly stuff the pills and liquor in my bag before meeting Peyton’s gaze. Well, this is it. You’re entitled to my clothes and shoes, even the Louboutins, after I’m gone.

She nudges my shoulder with her own. Will you stop! You’re going to be fine. Besides, she begins, winking and rolling her hips, and I look around to make sure no one noticed her obscene gesture, you know what people do when they go away to these conferences, don’t you? Sin, baby. Flings of sin. She laughs but her expression falls when she sees the color drain from my cheeks. With a soft exhale she reaches for my hand. Seriously, sweetie, all will be well. Text me through the entire flight if you need to.

I throw my arms around her, pressing my lips together and forcing my eyes shut as if this single embrace can overcome my internal struggle.

You’re going to squeeze all the life out of me if you’re not careful, she squeaks out.

Reluctantly, I pull back, dropping my hands to my sides with a sigh. I guess I’ll see you later.

See ya, and I wouldn’t want to be ya, she teases, laughing and walking toward the exit, her manicured fingernails waving high in the air.

Very funny, I call out, but that’s why I keep her around.

I grab my suitcase and turn briskly to wave at Peyton one more time before watching her amber waves and perfectly curved figure disappear into a sea of travelers, leaving me completely alone. An extraordinarily happy woman with a blonde bob and straight, white teeth greets me from behind the counter. I feel like I’m in a commercial.

Good morning! Welcome to Delta!

Morning, I reply, suddenly wishing I could have whatever she’s just had. As soon as she turns her head to wink at the dark-haired Adonis further down the counter, the one who must use the same brand of whitening toothpaste, I realize maybe that’s exactly what I need.

After leaving Miss Congeniality, I check my suitcase and go through security clearance to find Gate 35. I’ve still got about an hour until it’s time to board the plane, so I take out my cell phone and send a couple of texts: one to Gabby, letting her know I’m at the airport, and one to Peyton, telling her I’m still alive.

I can’t seem to stop fidgeting so I plod over to one of the shops to kill some time, grab a bottle of spring water, and some M&M’s to calm my nerves. My heels drag as I make my way back to the sitting area before I finally take a seat and tear open the bag of candy, picking out the green ones first because they’re my favorite. I remember always hearing stories about how they’re an aphrodisiac, not that I necessarily need any help in that department.

The contemporary romance I’ve been reading on my Kindle is calling my name, so I pull it from my Dooney & Bourke handbag and dig in. I love getting lost in a good book, especially one with a happy ending, mostly because I know that won’t be in the cards for me. The screen blurs as a heavy breath releases from my chest before I continue to read about Andrew and Camryn. I’m completely absorbed in the story so it takes me a while to notice the little girl standing in front of me with short, curly red hair, a multitude of freckles, and the most piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. I stare at her face, a happy smile lifting her pudgy cheeks.

Hi, she says, rocking back and forth on her black Mary Janes while she eyes my M&M’s.

Hi, sweetie, I return, peering at her tiny body until my gaze lands on her Scooby Doo t-shirt and I freeze. My throat closes up and my neck burns. Her lips are moving but her words are no longer registering in my ears. The only thing that is, is the rush of blood. Suddenly I’m back there. In my room. With my dad.

Remember, this is our special thing we do together. He smiled but it wasn’t happy like Mommy’s. I’ve got your favorite Scooby Doo band-aids all picked out.

I drop the bag of M&M’s to the ground, scrambling to my feet before I stumble to the nearest bathroom. Pushing open the door, I stagger to the sink, turn on the faucet and splash a blast of cold water on my face. It’s a wake-up call, but one I desperately need right now. I’m not that little girl anymore, I keep telling myself, I’m a twenty-eight year old woman. Yet as my head lifts slowly and my eyes crawl up to the mirror, the image of a scared, fragile child with sad, bleak eyes is staring back at me. My hands grip both sides of the sink and I clamp my eyes closed, hoping like hell when I open them, she’s gone.

By the time I make it back to my seat, the red-headed girl is nowhere in sight, no doubt telling her mom about the scary lady with the candy. The only thing that remains are my M&M’s scattered all over the floor. I reach down and pluck them up one by one, throwing them away in the nearest garbage, and that’s when I hear my flight being called over the speaker.

Flight three-fifty-five from New York to Los Angeles now boarding at Gate thirty-five.

A wave of heat washes over me and I feel lightheaded. For a second, I consider bolting out of the airport to anywhere. I don’t even care where, just as long as I don’t have to fly. But then my subconscious smacks me over the head, reminding me that this is the first of many trips I’ll have to take, and I need to get a grip on the swell of emotions threatening to swallow me whole.

I grab my purse and carry-on and get in line behind the other passengers, waiting for my group to be called. Closing my eyes, I try to picture myself in a calm, serene place, just like my therapist always suggested. I’m trying, I really am.

After the all-too-happy flight attendant checks out my boarding pass, I slowly walk through the tunnel leading to the plane. I take one last, longing glance back at civilization before I step in and my fate is sealed.

The plane isn’t too crowded yet. I scan the rows looking for seat 4D and thankfully find that it’s along the aisle. I have no desire to be near the window so I can watch as we descend into oblivion. After stuffing my carry-on in the overhead rack, I sink back into the seat which actually feels pretty comfortable. My eyes drift closed, mostly so I can stave off the panic attack that’s headed my way like a tornado. I wipe my sweaty hands on my gray pencil skirt. I can do this, I can do this, I tell myself. Of course, I eye the Jack Daniels in my bag and decide it couldn’t hurt. With a darting glance to the seats nearby, I quickly twist the cap off and take a couple of swigs, wincing a bit as the strong taste glides down my throat.

The white-lined notepad is hanging out of my bag and I pull it out to work on a redesign for one of our clients. The flight attendant announces we’ll be departing shortly, and with that, I take a deep breath and let it out gradually.

I feel eyes on me and turn my head to see a man with salt ‘n’ pepper hair and a wrinkled forehead staring at me. It makes me