The Beauty of Us (Fusion #4)

The Beauty of Us (Fusion #4)

Kristen Proby





Chapter One





Riley


“I’m done,” I announce as I stomp into the bar and see two of my four business partners behind it. Kat, the bar manager and maybe the coolest woman I know, has her flaming red hair up in ringlets, and Mia, the master chef, has pulled off her chef hat and let her long black hair down around her shoulders.

They both look as exhausted as I feel.

“What, exactly, are you done with?” Mia asks as she pours herself a glass of red wine, batting Kat’s hands out of the way. “I can do this myself.”

“I have a system,” Kat says, earning an eye roll from Mia, who passes the bottle to her, takes a sip from her glass, and walks around the bar to sit on a stool.

“Men,” I say as I take the stool next to hers. The bar is pretty empty, as it’s nearing closing time in the middle of the week. There’s just the three of us and a man sitting at the far end of the bar, nursing what looks to be a Jack and Coke.

And I’m not even going to think about the fact that his profile is hot.

“You say that at least once a month,” Mia says.

“I mean it,” I reply, and nod when Kat offers me a glass of Mia’s wine. “Fill the glass to the top.”

“You’re both killing me with your wine habits,” Kat grumbles. “There’s a correct way to pour a glass of wine.”

“We’re not fancy like you,” I reply, and offer her a smile when she passes me my glass.

Kat simply shrugs and goes to work washing the few glasses in her sink. “So why has the male species pissed you off this time?”

“So, I went out last night with this guy,” I begin, and take a sip of my wine, gathering my thoughts. “Let’s say he was . . . not my type.”

“In what ways?” Mia asks. “I mean, did he have blond hair instead of dark? Or didn’t drive the right car?”

“You make me sound shallow,” I say with a frown. “Those things aren’t the deal breakers.”

“We don’t think you’re shallow,” Kat says. “What are the deal breakers with this one?”

“Well, he was super sweaty. Like, just-walked-out-of-the-gym sweaty. And at first I thought, well, maybe he’s just nervous. I mean, we haven’t gone out before, so that’s pretty normal.”

“Sure,” Mia says with a nod.

“But, the longer we sit there, the more he sweats. And I’m talking, he has to use his dinner napkin to keep wiping the sweat away the way Whitney Houston did when she was in concert.”

“So, he’s a sweater,” Kat says, then grimaces. “Can you imagine how much he probably sweats during sex?”

“Ew.” I wrinkle my nose, almost gagging at the thought. “No. No, I don’t want to think about that. So, he’s super sweaty and smelly. And it’s really the smell that did us in.”

The dude at the end of the bar chuckles and takes a sip of his drink. I ignore him and keep talking.

“So, aside from the sweating and the stench, was he nice?” Mia asks.

“I think so,” I reply. “I feel like a horrible person, but I didn’t hear much of what he said because I was too distracted by the rivers of sweat on his face, and the smell.”

“Okay, that’s pretty gross,” Kat says with a nod. “I mean, in his defense, maybe it’s a glandular thing, or anxiety, or he has large pores or something, but I don’t think I could get past the smell either.”

“Exactly,” I reply, holding my glass up in salute. “And the guy last week didn’t smell or sweat, but I guess he assumed that if he bought me dinner he could get in my pants. Which he can’t.”

The guy down the bar from us laughs again, and now I can’t ignore him anymore. I turn to face him, and have to take a breath when I really get a good eyeful of him. He’s tall, lean, and his forearms look fantastic in the rolled sleeves of his button-down shirt. His brown hair is a bit messy, probably from shoving his fingers through it.

And he’s wearing black-rimmed glasses.

“Hi there,” I say, getting his attention. He glances my way with seriously sexy green eyes and I have to remind myself that I am done with men. Because otherwise, I’d be tempted to ask him out.

“Hello,” he says.

“Did you want in on this conversation?” I ask, swirling my wine.

“I don’t think I have anything to add,” he says with a shrug. “I’m just a guy.”

“Maybe you can give me some insight into the brain of a man,” I reply thoughtfully. “Because I’m stumped. Completely stumped.”

“Well, I don’t sweat like your last love interest,” he says with a cocky grin, making me laugh.

“He was definitely not my love interest,” I reply.

“And I’m no doctor, so I can’t assume that he has a glandular issue like you suggest. Could have been nerves. I mean, you’re a beautiful woman. It makes sense that he might be a bit nervous. Doesn’t mean a man can’t use some deodorant, though.”

“Yes. Exactly. But what is it with guys thinking they can just jump right into sex? I mean, I’m not a hooker.”

“Whoa,” he says, holding his hands up and grinning. Damn him for having a killer smile. “No one called you a hooker.”

“Well, I think it’s sort of implied that they think of me that way when they take me out, buy dinner, and then get pissed when I don’t put out. I’m way too picky for that. I have standards.”

“As you should,” he says in all seriousness. “Maybe you’re just meeting assholes.”

“Well, that seems to be all I meet,” I reply, and sip my wine. “I mean, what do you have to say for the rest of your species? Because lesbihonest, this isn’t worth a penis. None of this is.”

He just tips his head back and laughs, long and loud, and it charms me. He throws back the last of his drink and turns in the stool to face me head-on. And then those incredible green eyes of his take me in from the tip of my Jimmy Choos to the top of my blond head.

“Maybe they’re simply attracted to you.”

“You don’t get it,” I reply with a sigh. “Attraction is fine. Flirting is fine. But since when has it been okay to not show any respect for the person you’re with? I have so many doubts about the human race as a whole at this point. Sometimes I wish the Enterprise was real, and Chris Pine could sweep me away to the Death Star, and we could have a bunch of Jedi babies and stuff.”

Mr. Man just stares at me for a moment, then scowls. “You’ve just combined Star Wars and Star Trek.”

“Whatever,” I say with a shrug. “It’s all the same thing.”

“No,” he says, and clears his throat. “No, it’s not the same thing at all.”

“But you understand what I’m saying.”

“No, I don’t understand because you just combined Star Trek and Star Wars. They’re not the same thing, so everything you just said is . . . incomprehensible.”

I roll my eyes and look to Kat and Mia for help, but they’re just smiling and watching me banter with the stranger.

“You guys are no help.”