The Beauty of Us (Fusion #4)

“Can you talk a little bit about the other women, and how you feel about what they all bring to the table?”

“I could talk about these women all day, so how much time do we have?” She smiles, her eyes finding mine again, and shrugs one shoulder. “They’re spectacular people. Intelligent, funny, generous. It’s very much been a group effort, since the beginning. We all have a say on everything, and sometimes we disagree.”

“What happens if you disagree?” Trevor asks.

“We take a vote,” she says. “In fact, you’re here because of a majority vote.”

“Really?” Trevor tips his head to the side. “Who didn’t want me to come?”

“I’m not telling,” Kat says, holding her hands up in surrender. “The point is, this is a team effort. We all put in double what a normal work week looks like. Sometimes we sleep here.”

“Sleep here?” Trevor asks.

“Sure. If I’m here working on inventory and such into the wee hours, I just crash here. Or, I should say, I used to, before I met Mac. He prefers I go home these days.”

“As he should,” Trevor replies. “Can you walk me through your workday?”

Kat continues to answer Trevor’s questions honestly, with humor and the love she has for our place shining through her eyes.

When she’s done, we all stand to stretch and Shawn unhooks her from the sound, reaching down her clothes to get all of the wires out.

“She did great,” I whisper, and take a deep breath, and suddenly Trevor turns to me and wraps his arm around my shoulders.

Holy shit, he smells good.

“Stop worrying, Riley. She was great. You’re all going to be great. I promise.”

I smile and nod, not able to speak. The more time I spend with him, the more attracted I am to him. And then he had to go and wear a suit today.

Shit.

He turns back to his notes, and I take another deep breath, wondering what in the hell I’m going to do with this pent-up sexual aggression and the attraction I feel for Trevor.

Maybe going out on a date tonight will take my mind off him.

I doubt it, but a girl can hope.



“Wow, you haven’t changed at all,” Dave says as he sits across the table from me. I wish I could say the same about him.

Dave and I dated for two years in high school, and he’s recently moved back to town. He called last week, and we set the date for tonight.

But Dave has done nothing but change. In high school, he was a jock, tall and built, with dark blond hair and a killer smile.

And now he’s lost a good portion of his hair, he’s let himself go, and his smile just looks . . . smarmy.

“Thanks,” I reply, and take a big sip of my wine. “What have you been up to?”

“Well, I lived in the San Francisco area for a while.”

“Oh?” I sit back as the waitress delivers my food, and wait for Dave to keep talking. Maybe, if we eat really fast, this date will be over sooner rather than later. My biggest regret is that I let him pick me up, so I’ll have to ride back from downtown Portland to my house with him as well.

I know better than that.

“Yep, I was down there for about eight years. Had three kids.”

“Really? So you got married?” I take a bite of broccoli, but can’t actually taste anything, so I set my fork back on my plate.

“Well, the third baby’s mama talked me into marrying her, but that’s not working out.” He shrugs, and I’m taken totally aback.

“So, you’re still married?”

“Yeah,” he says, as if he’s telling me that he put gas in his car before he picked me up. “But, man, she’s a bitch.”

“So you’re going through a divorce.”

He shifts in his seat and won’t meet my eyes now.

“I’m sorry, Dave, I misunderstood when you called last week. I thought this was a date.” I laugh and take another sip of my wine, relieved. “But I can quickly switch to friend-zone mode.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “This is a date. I wanted to see you.”

I narrow my eyes and suddenly have a very bad feeling for what’s about to go down.

“You’re married.”

He brushes that off. “I just need to tell her I want the divorce. I moved back up here, like I told you over the phone. I’m staying with Mom and Dad for a while because I’m still looking for a job, and all three baby mamas think I’m made of money or something, always wanting money.”

Now my jaw tightens and hands clench in my lap.

“I heard that you’ve done well for yourself with that porn restaurant.”

I’m quite sure my eyes are going to pop out of my head.

“And to be honest, I need someone who can help me out. I need to be with a girl who has her shit together, you know?”

Because you’re a colossal shit show.

But I don’t say anything quite yet, I just sit back and wait for him to finish his spiel about how he’s lonely, and needs nine thousand dollars.

As if I have nine thousand dollars to give him.

Finally, unable to listen to him anymore, I hold up my hand to stop him.

“Stop talking.” I take another sip of wine.

“I’m really a great guy. I mean, you know that.”

“Shut. Up. You’re a great guy? I wear heels bigger than your dick.” He blinks fast, clearly shocked by that statement. But I’m just getting started.

“Let me get this straight. You have three children, all from different mothers, and you married the third. You’re still married to her.”

“Yes, but—”

“I said shut it.” I glare across the table at him and he stops talking. “You’re a piece of garbage, Dave. You won’t financially support your children, and I may not know you anymore, but I can pretty much guess that you don’t emotionally support them either.”

“They’re just kids—”

“And now you’re living with your parents, probably avoiding the whole job thing because they’d just garnish your wages for child support.”

“I’m looking for something under the table—”

“I’m so relieved that I broke up with you when I did. I dodged a huge bullet with you. I think you’re nothing but a jackass, and all three of those children deserve far better than they’ll ever get from you.

“I’m leaving now. I will not sit here and listen to this bullshit. And as far as ever getting a dime out of me, or anything else? Fuck you, Dave.”

I stand and throw my napkin on the table and grab my handbag.

“I can’t afford all of this,” he says angrily, and I just keep on walking.

What an asshole!

And now I’m stuck in downtown Portland, late in the evening, with no car. Cabs don’t just drive around here like they do in New York. You have to call for one.

But I’m pissed off and I want to vent.

I want to yell.

I might want to punch something.

The girls are all busy tonight with their men, Mia’s at the restaurant.

But Trevor’s place isn’t far. I could easily walk there.

I take my phone out of my handbag and call.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Trevor, it’s Riley.”

“Hi,” he says again, “are you okay? Your voice sounds different.”

“I was just wondering if you’re home, and if so, can I stop in? I’m in the neighborhood.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” he replies. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need me to come get you?”