The Beauty Within (17 page)

the phone, yet Tyler didn’t get any joy as she watched his face crumble. No

matter how hurt she was, she still couldn’t hate him.

“How do I make this right?” Quincy asked, stepping closer to her. “Be-

tween us? How do I fix this?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly, wishing the vulnerability she saw in his

eyes didn’t still affect her so much.

“I still care about you, Tyler. I still lo—”

She put her fingers to his mouth, knowing she wouldn’t be able to handle

hearing what he’d been about to say. “Don’t. Please? I’d gone from reconciling

the fact I’d never see you again to this emotional rollercoaster of an evening. I’m

hanging on by a thread as it is. Please don’t break it.”

Quincy took the hand at his mouth in his, then turned it around so he

kissed her knuckles. “Can we at least be friends?”

“I don’t know,” she said again. That was all she had in her to give him right

then.

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91

He nodded once more and pressed a longer kiss to her knuckles. “Take all

the time you need, Tyler, but I’m not going to give up on you. Not like I did

before.”

“Goodbye, Quincy.” It was little more than an exhalation of breath.

He leaned in as if about to kiss her, then stopped, dropped his head, and

backed away, keeping her hand in his until he couldn’t anymore. She stood

outside and watched him get in his car and leave.

“Damn him,” she murmured, finally letting the tears she’d held at bay fully

break free as she entered her home. “Damn him to hell.”

Gunnar nursed his drink as he tried to ignore Damon’s penetrating stare. It

was a Thursday night and the pub was full of people watching a basketball

game. Gunnar didn’t know which teams were playing or even if they were

collegiate or professional. He didn’t care, however, because he hadn’t come to

watch a game. He’d come to sulk.

Damn it. Why did Damon have to be in love with the sister of the woman

he…

Damn it.

“You’ve been working that beer for the better part of an hour, Son.”

Gunnar glared. “Oh, because you’re so much older!”

“By four months!”

Gunnar snickered and finally took a long-awaited sip. Damon applauded

him.

“You’re so dramatic about everything,” Gunnar said on a borderline whine.

“
Me
? You’re the one crying in almost lukewarm beer! Over a girl who ain’t

even yours!”

Gunnar clenched his jaw, irritated by how right Damon was. Tyler Carver

worked his nerves like no other, as was proven by the disastrous date he’d

attended last weekend. Why had he called Kaci again? She hadn’t changed in

the weeks since they’d last gone out, and just as before, she was scouting

potentials while with him. Clearly he’d just needed another reason to sulk, and

calling Kaci was as perfect a one as he was going to get.

“Look, all I know is you betta be glad Wendy had to work late, or else this

would’ve been a pity party of one!”

“You’re free to leave,” Gunnar muttered, taking another drag of his beer.

There were four tall, empty glasses next to the one he held, all which used to

hold beer. All that he’d consumed. “I ain’t holdin’ ya back!”

Damon gave a long-suffering sigh and shook his head, leaning back against

the booth seat. “Naw, man. If anyone has an inkling of what you’re going

through, it’d be me.”

Gunnar snorted. “Not just you…”

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Savannah J. Frierson

“What does that mean?”

Gunnar remembered the tall man who looked like he belonged on the cov-

er of
GQ
instead of standing inside Tyler’s little barbershop. He still saw the

look of awareness and possession on the other man’s face, and never had

Gunnar wanted to punch someone so hard his face cracked. Gunnar wasn’t a

violent person by any means, but considering the way Tyler had avoided the

man’s eyes and the sense of ownership that had emanated from other man,

Gunnar’s need to fight and protect had kicked up a notch.

“What do you know about Tyler’s past boyfriends?”

Damon’s eyebrows shot up, as if that were the last thing he’d expected

Gunnar to ask. Perhaps the alcohol had loosened his tongue, but Gunnar was

through playing softball with Tyler. He needed to know things, anything, that

would help him drop her guard. Those few times they had kissed had left him

more breathless than anything he’d ever experienced. The best sex he’d had

thus far paled in comparison to kissing Tyler. Since she was dodging him at

every turn, though, he’d go to sources that wouldn’t.

Damon was as good a start as any.

“How serious are you about her?” Damon asked.

“It’s not just a fuck, if that’s what you want to know.”

Damon bristled at his language. Gunnar wasn’t a curser in the usual sense,

but when he got a buzz going, some of his manners fell by the wayside.

“Or jungle fever?”

“Damon—”

“And why do you care? Ain’t you kicked her out your house that last ses-

sion?”

Gunnar groaned and slumped against his seat dramatically. “Is that what

she said?”

“No, but that’s what Wendy said—”

“Wendy wasn’t there!”

“She’s going off what Tyler said—”

Gunnar blew out a breath. “There were some…words…”

Damon shook his head and took a sip of water. He was the designated

driver for tonight, and he wasn’t much of a drinker anyway. “Something about

testing waters—”

“Tyler isn’t the first black woman I’ve had sex with, Damon.”

“It’ll never be just about sex with Tyler, either, Gunnar,” Damon said, still

unwilling to budge.

“And I don’t want it to be!” Gunnar said, slamming his glass on the table.

Some beer sloshed over the sides despite the fact the glass was only a fourth

full. “But it needs to be better than what it is now—this hot and cold shit. I

can’t take it anymore! And you know what else? I think that guy who came

into her shop the other day has something to do with it too.”

Damon sat up straighter. “What guy?”

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93

Gunnar described him, unable to keep the scowl from his face. He also told

Damon about the weird interaction they’d had. When he finished, Damon

looked mutinous, and he swore worse than a sailor.

“Know the guy?” Gunnar asked sarcastically.

“No, but I know of him,” Damon grumbled, his tone still dark. “He broke

Tyler’s heart. I know that nigga ain’t—”

He broke off his speech when he noticed Gunnar had flushed and winced

at his slur.

“Sorry, man,” Damon apologized. “I try not to say the word normally, but

damn it, if the shoe muhfuckin’ fits—”

“Moving on…”

“Yeah.
Oooh
! That ni—
negro
betta be glad I ain’t evah met him, or he’d catch

a size fifteen right up the ass!”

Gunnar chuckled, but it was without humor. Funny how this mystery man

had inspired similar reactions from them both, and neither of them knew him

personally.

“So what happened…how did he break her heart—
why
? Only an idiot

would do that!” Gunnar said, his words slightly garbled as he spoke and

swallowed more beer at the same time.

“Perpetratin’ Uncle fuckin’ Tom!”

Gunnar glowered at Damon. “Story! Get on with it!”

Damon’s jaw clenched, along with his fists atop the table, and he began

telling Gunnar all he knew about Quincy Lucas. The more Gunnar heard, the

more he wished he’d punched the pretty boy’s face. It was obvious Tyler still

felt something for the man, too, and Gunnar wondered why she would waste

those feelings on someone who obviously didn’t deserve them. Then he

remembered how he’d treated her when they had met, and Gunnar began to

understand Tyler’s hesitancy to start anything with him. Gunnar would like to

think of himself as someone who wasn’t particularly shallow, and yet he’d

treated Tyler with borderline contempt that first time. If Tyler was still

nursing a broken heart over a man who had dumped her for her appearance,

why should she open up herself to someone who had seemingly underscored

how lacking her ex-boyfriend had thought her to be?

“Boy, did I fuck up.”

Damon frowned at him. “What makes you say that?”

Gunnar shook his head, his beer warm and of no use to him anymore, so he

slid the glass between his hands as if it were a puck on an air hockey table. “I

insulted her that first time…I was so mean. I don’t think she’s fully forgiven me

for it yet.”

“You were pretty foul,” Damon agreed, “but you’ve been making strides to

show her you’re sorry.”

“And what if Quincy’s come back to do the same? As you said, she really

loved him. Tyler strikes me as the type of woman who loves hard and long.”

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Savannah J. Frierson

“Yes…”

“I don’t stand a chance.”

“You want one?”

Again, Gunnar stared at his beer. The kisses he’d shared with Tyler had

enlightened him to one thing: what he felt for her was more than lust. He knew

lust; had recognized it, embraced it, numerous times. What he felt with Tyler

went beyond that.

It shocked him too. He’d only been with her a handful of times, and outside

of their mutual dinner, their conversations had been full of teasing and innuen-

do, but nothing more personally informative than that. Yet despite this, every

time Gunnar left her, he would have the immediate need to see her again, as if

he hadn’t gotten his fill and needed seconds and thirds.

“You can’t overanalyze it too much, Boss.”

Gunnar snapped his eyes to Damon, who had an amused expression on his

face.

“So says you.”

“Since I’ve been in love longer than you have, I feel I have the right
to
say

something.”

“Longer than
I
have?”

Damon merely smirked.

Gunnar blew out a breath. It was time to go, to lay off the beer or anything

with grapes or hops, for surely he had misheard what Damon had

said…insinuated. He threw down two twenties, more than enough to pay for

the drinks and leave a tip, and left the pub. Damon came out a few minutes

later and squeezed Gunnar’s shoulder.

“I had to wait for the receipt.”

“Right.”

“You know, it’s okay to feel the way you feel.”

“It’s never okay to feel like an elephant is sitting on your chest!”

“An elephant, huh? I think mine was a rhinoceros with Wendy…”

That made Gunnar chuckle in spite of himself. Though he still wasn’t

ready to concede Damon’s claim, Gunnar was a bit heartened Damon had felt

similar during his time with Wendy. Even still, Gunnar and Tyler had different

circumstances, chief among them was the fact her heart hadn’t fully mended

from Quincy’s abuse of it…and the fact she was black and he wasn’t.

As he’d told Damon, Gunnar had had relationships with all colors of wom-

en. True, dates with black women weren’t as common as with white women,

or even Asian women, but Gunnar let his attraction guide him more than

society’s mores. It had been easier in LA, too, the metropolitan city a veritable

Neapolitan ice cream of flavors of women to chose, and with him being a

model, the more exotic a woman was the more alluring she would be.

Apparently, Tyler was creamy chocolate with butterscotch and caramel

swirls, and Gunnar licked his lips as if he could taste her upon them. Part of

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95

him couldn’t blame Quincy for trying to get back with Tyler. Perhaps the man

wasn’t a complete idiot, and had realized he’d made the atrocious mistake of

letting her go the first time. That didn’t mean Quincy had the right to get her

back, however, and Gunnar wasn’t going to stand by and let it happen, either.

“Ain’t that the look of the devil on your face!”

Gunnar snapped to the present, Damon’s car door already opened so he

could get in and he waited for Gunnar to do the same. He hadn’t even realized

they’d found Damon’s ride, and he shook his head and got inside.

He found himself nodding off during the short ride to his house, the Quiet

Storm hour on the local R&B station helping to lull him as well. When Damon

pulled into Gunnar’s driveway, both men sat in the car for a few minutes with

the engine still running.

“Look,” Damon said quietly, all traces of teasing and ribbing gone. “I know

I’ve been bustin’ your chops since you and Tyler began, but I needed to make

sure you would treat my girl right. It wasn’t even because of you being white,

although if I’m being honest, it didn’t help matters. Looks have always been

important to you—body image—maybe not as bad as it had been when you

were in LA, but all the women you’ve dated since you’ve been here looked the

same—skinny, busty, and pale. The only thing Tyler had in common with them

was the busty part, and hers are natural!”

“How do you know?”

Damon gave him a “get real!” look, but Gunnar grinned. He knew they were

natural, all right. Soft, supple, and a generous handful…

“I don’t think I like that look, Gunnar. I’mma need you to fix your face.”

Gunnar laughed drunkenly. “I can’t reminisce?”