Best Kind of Broken

9 Pixie

Two college girls with fake IDs walk into a bar…

So cliché.

The bouncer didn’t even check out the birth dates on our IDs. He simply checked out Jenna’s butt, which beats mine in the bootylicious department by at least two jiggles, and waved us in.

Behold, the power of the booty.

I follow the cherry blossom tattoos on Jenna’s exposed lower back as we weave through the almost-drunk, pretty-drunk, and has-anyone-seen-the-floor-oh-wait-I’m-lying-on-it-drunk crowd.

I ditched the cardigan at the door and shoved it in my Purse O’Plenty, so I’m looking perfectly slutty in my push-up bra and low-cut tank top. I don’t usually take such liberties with my wardrobe, but I was feeling feisty when I got dressed tonight.

Jenna and I squeeze our way through a cluster of people and my feisty boobs accidentally brush against a nearby stranger. His eyes drop to my chest.

I had my boobs long before I had my scar, so I know the difference between a guy checking out my rack and a guy feeling sorry for me. And this guy’s not checking out my rack.

Whatever.

I move forward and keep my eyes on the cherry blossoms. They’re pretty. Very girly and delicate and not at all like Jenna, yet somehow they suit her. I wonder if cherry blossoms would suit me.

“You made it.” Matt’s face lights up as we approach the bar. He’s already there with his roommates, Ethan and Jack, saving us seats. He pulls me in for a quick kiss, then pulls back and whistles as he looks me over. “Nice outfit.” His eyes rove over my very visible scar.

I quirk a teasing brow. “Am I showing too much tragedy?”

He meets my eyes and smiles. “Not at all. I think you look badass. Like a pirate or something.”

“A pirate?”

“Yeah. Like a sexy Captain Hook.”

“He’s the least sexy pirate ever.”

“Okay, Jack Sparrow, then,” he says.

I frown.

“Captain Morgan?” He looks supremely uncomfortable, like he’s not sure if it’s okay to joke about my scar, and I almost feel sorry for him.

I wrinkle my nose. “How about we stop comparing me to sea criminals and alcohol mascots?”

“Brilliant idea. I’m a stupid boy.” He smiles at me, but I can see small red splotches of nervousness creeping up his neck.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ethan looks at Jenna as she squeezes into the barstool between him and Jack. “You can’t sit next to me. You’ll ruin my game.”

“What game?” she says. “You’re a white guy wearing a gold chain. You have no game.”

“Oh, I have game. And you’re cock-blocking it. How am I supposed to pick up hot chicks when a hot chick is sitting right beside me?”

Jack leans over. “For starters, maybe don’t call them chicks.”

“I’m not cock-blocking you,” Jenna says.

“Yes, you are,” Ethan says. “You do it every time. Switch seats with Jack.”

“Oh my God, you’re such a girl.” She stands back up and waits for Jack to move.

“Musical barstools. Yeah, that’s not lame.” Jack grudgingly scoots over so he’s next to Ethan, and Jenna is next to him, and I’m next to Jenna, and Matt is next to me.

“Happy now that my hotness isn’t screwing up your sex life?” Jenna glares at Ethan.

He gives a slight bow. “Me and my penis thank you.”

“God.” She rolls her eyes and leans over to me. “We need new friends, Sarah. Like immediately.”

“Hey,” Jack says in offense. “What did I do?”

“You’re Jack,” she says. “That’s enough.”

Jenna and Jack always bicker, but I see the way they look at each other and I’m pretty sure the only thing keeping them from tearing each other’s clothes off at any given moment is the fact that they’re usually in public. And really, I wouldn’t be surprised if that didn’t hold them back much longer.

“What can I get you guys to drink?” The bartender—who looks like she could be a supermodel—directs her question at Jenna and me, but her eyes travel to Matt. I can’t really blame her.

Matt’s pretty in that Abercrombie kind of way. All blue jeans and designer shirts, perfectly styled blond hair and a killer smile. He’s stunning, really. And he’s totally humble about it, which makes him even hotter.

I’m not really sure why he’s with me. He could do better. Not that I’m hideous or anything, he just… he could do better.

When I first met Matt, he pursued me for weeks with his soft brown eyes and dashing manners. I was such a wreck at the time and had no interest in starting a relationship with anyone. I’d gone on a few disappointing dates and decided that boys were the last thing I needed in my life, but something about Matt made me feel… normal. And soon enough, all that charm and goodness of his wore me down until I was agreeing to a first date. Then a second. Then a third. Before I knew it, he was calling me his girlfriend and I wasn’t correcting him.

He made me feel unbroken and I clung to the illusion.

We place our drink orders, and the supermodel bartender gives Matt a sexy smile before walking away. He pretends not to notice and squeezes my knee affectionately.

“So how’s life on the prairie?”

Bell peppers flash in my mind.

“Boring,” I say. “How’s your internship at Edgemont going?”

Matt’s an artist, but of the left-brained variety. The kind that likes math and perfection and drawing ninety-degree angles on everything. His internship at Edgemont Design is the perfect launching pad for his future career in architecture.

“It’s great, actually.” His hand moves from my knee to my thigh, sending a pleasant warmth up my leg. “I’m making some good contacts. Hopefully, they’ll consider keeping me as a part-time employee through the year, just until I graduate.”

The hope in his eyes makes me smile. “They’d be crazy not to. You’re amazing.”

I mean it. Matt really is talented, and I have no doubt he’ll go on to build epic skyscrapers and buildings and whatever else he sets his mind to, because he’s that kind of guy. A go-getter. An overachiever.

He’s only two years older than me, but he’s a good decade ahead of me in maturity and, well, life in general.

He’s got a list of life goals and a ten-year plan and probably some kind of color-coded flowchart to keep them both straight.

Me? I’ve got a fake ID and a loose itinerary for tomorrow. No flowchart.

“Thanks, babe.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer. He always smells good. Clean.

The drinks arrive, and I suck on the straw in my ginger ale while Jenna takes a gulp—not a sip, a gulp—of her Manhattan. Jenna orders cocktails like an old man and drinks them down like a desperate housewife. I love her.

Matt turns to me and lowers his voice. “So you didn’t call me back all week.”

I make an apologetic face. “Sorry about that. I just got so busy. You have news?”

He nods. “Remember Tyson, my roommate last semester?”

“Yeah,” I say, watching as Jack reaches for the plastic spear of olives garnishing Jenna’s drink. She swats his hand away.

“Well, he works at New York University now, in the admissions department,” Matt continues. “And he said he might be able to get your transfer application reviewed again.”

I whip my eyes to him. “Really?”

I’ve been applying for transfers all year. California. Colorado. New York. Virginia. I just need something else. Something other than Arizona and all the familiar people and places I can’t hide from.

New York was the first school to get back to me with a denial letter. The others followed suit shortly after. Fickle undergrads majoring in art don’t seem to be at the top of every university’s wish list for transfer students.

So the idea that Tyson could get my application reviewed again—that I might be able to transfer after all—is thrilling. For the most part. My palms start to sweat.

He nods. “Yeah, but he needed you to submit an appeal by last Thursday.”

My heart dips, but comes right back up. “Well, that sucks. I guess I’m stuck at ASU for now.”

“Giving up so easily?” He smiles at me mischievously.

“What?” I eye him.

His smile grows. “I submitted an appeal for you.”

“What?” I squawk.

He nods excitedly. “Tyson said I could fill one out for you and, since you refused to answer your phone, I took the liberty of doing just that. So there’s still a chance you could transfer there this fall. We could go to school together.”

My mouth falls open. “Wow.”

Matt starts his graduate program at NYU next semester, which explains the smile on his face. But me… I’m equal parts thrilled and panicked.

“Aren’t you excited?” His smile slips.

“Yes.” I force my mouth into a grin and nod. “Very excited.”

Balls of stress tighten in my stomach.

Jack goes for the olives a second time and Jenna slaps his hand. Again. “Back off my olives or I will voodoo your ass.”

Even though Voodoo is a peaceful religion that has nothing to do with cursing people, Jenna takes full advantage of others’ ignorance and plays the Voodoo card every chance she gets.

“Oh please. You’re not going to voodoo my ass.” He tries again, only to be smacked harder.

“Keep playing,” she says. “See if you wake up with all your appendages.” Her eyes drift over to me and she cocks her head. “You okay?”

I lift my brows. “What? Yes. Yeah, I’m okay.” I push out a smile.

I’m okay. I’m totally, completely okay.

Hours go by until everyone is drunk except for Matt and me. I’ve never seen Matt get wasted. He’s too responsible for that.

Again, why is he with me?

We don’t mention NYU or school again, so the stress balls in my stomach slowly unwind until I’m actually enjoying myself.

When Jenna, Jack, and Ethan decide to move the party to the bar next door, Matt and I opt to head to his place to watch movies. Matt cracks joke after joke on the way there, and by the time we reach his apartment, my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.

After choosing a movie, we go to his kitchen and make popcorn. Five minutes and four handfuls of salty popcorn later, we’re kissing against the fridge, the wall, the counter… until we’re kiss-walking our way back to his bedroom. It’s dark in here, the only light being the soft orange glow filtering in through the window from the streetlamps outside.

We fall on his bed and the kissing turns into something more, which is right about the time my eyes—and my mind—start to wander.

Why is his room so clean all the time? I mean, seriously. Everything is tidy and organized. His desk is spotless. His shoes are in neat little pairs in the closet. It’s not natural.

And why is it so quiet in here? He lives in a campus apartment, for God’s sake. His neighbors should be throwing a kegger and blasting music through the walls.

Before I know it, our shirts are gone and his hand moves down my rib cage as he settles on top of me, trailing kisses along my neck. I stare down his broad back and frown. I should probably do something here, like sink my nails into his shoulder blades or grab his butt or something.

Meh.

I slowly flatten my palms against his back in a symmetrical way and try to relax my arms. Why is he always so warm? And why the frack is he still sucking on my neck?

He just ate popcorn and now he’s tonguing my throat and leaving a trail of buttery germs in his wake. And I swear to God his scruffy jaw is going to rub my skin raw.

The butter germs start to spread lower as my eyes wander back to his desk. There’s not even a pen out of place. Left-brained artists are so weird. Should I have my eyes closed? Why is he breathing so hard?

Focus, Pixie. Focus.

His hands run over my body but avoid my scar completely. He never touches my scar. I’m not sure if it’s because it freaks him out or if he’s just being careful. Probably a little bit of both, which is unfortunate because, well, my boobs are right there and I don’t want my boyfriend to be afraid of my boobs—which are flawless, by the way. I might have a nasty gash marring the valley between the girls, but the boobies themselves are pristine. Still. Matt avoids my chest for the most part. Such a shame.

Is that a piece of gum on his ceiling?

My eyes flutter a bit as his hand glides over my thigh and up between my legs. My skirt has ridden up, so I’m pretty much just lying here in my panties, holding on to his overly warm back as his jeans press against the inside of my legs.

He brings his popcorn tongue up to my mouth and kisses me deeply. I force my eyes shut and try to concentrate on kissing him back as the scruff on his jaw scratches against my face like a bristle brush. I just know my face is going to be all red after this. Maybe I’ll buy him a new razor. But not an electric one. Those aren’t always reliable.

Who invented electric razors? What guy was shaving his face one day and thought, You know what this flat knife against my throat needs? A battery. Perhaps I should invent a razor with a cord—

Matt yanks back from me and sits up on his knees with a frustrated exhale.

“What?” I sit up and cover my boobs. “What’s wrong?”

I notice his hair looks perfectly styled, not a single blond strand out of place. Aren’t people supposed to have messed-up hair after sex—or almost sex? That’s probably my fault. Shoot. I need to remember to mess up his hair.

He runs a hand over his mouth. “Maybe I should ask you.”

“Uh…” I glance at his spotless desk again.

“You’re not into this, Sarah.”

“Yes, I am,” I say quickly. Too quickly. “Sex. Let’s do this.” I roll my hips in an embarrassingly unflattering way and clap my hands together like I’m breaking up a football huddle.

Go team, go!

He shakes his head. “This happens every time. It’s like the moment we start getting hot, your head goes somewhere else. If you don’t want to have sex, that’s fine. Really. But I can’t keep doing this almost-but-not-really thing when you’re not into it. It makes me feel like an ass. Like I’m pushing you or something.”

“No, no, no. You’re not pushing and you’re not an ass at all. It’s me. I swear I can do better. I will do better.”

I stare at his bare chest, shadows of orange lining his hard muscles, and try to feel something naughty.

Nothing.

Maybe I am a lesbian.

He sighs. “I don’t want you to do better, Sarah. I want you to want it.”

“I do want it.”

Right?

Right?

He looks at the bed for a moment before slowly climbing off and pulling his shirt back on. “Why don’t you get dressed and we can talk about this later, okay?” He attempts a smile, but all I can do is nod back.

I hide my face in my hands and let out a long, heavy breath. Why don’t I want to have sex with my superhot and totally sweet boyfriend?

What is wrong with me?