A Minor Offense

Desiree

"Beau." I said once we were done eating, and he raised an eyebrow at me, signaling me to continue.

"Is that your mom?" I point to the photos of the women all over his walls that I had assumed to be his mom earlier. He curtly nods, his jaw clenching as he avoids my gaze; and I had a feeling that she wasn't alive.

"You know, my mom loved to drink. God that women could drink a whole gallon of tequila. She doesn't drink anymore, she quit." He paused and his eyes locked onto mine. So she isn't dead. As if reading my mind he said,

"She doesn't drink anymore because she's dead."

The smile that once occupied his full lips is gone, and a ghost of it is left in it's place.

"I'm sorry." He let out a laugh at my words and stood up from his chair, and began pacing back and forth. He stopped moving and looked me in the eyes.

"You know Arielle, everyone fucking says that. What does that even mean? How can you be sorry? Sorry that she's dead? Sorry that I suffered? That she suffered? Well you can't be sorry. Because she's not your mom, she's mine. You didn't know her. Jesus." I'm stunned speechless so I fix my gaze on the mahogany of his wooden table. I hear an almost inaudible sigh from Beau.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm just not ready to talk about her." I don't say a word, I just get up and walk over to him and rest my hand onto his chest as I look into his eyes.

"You're beautiful." I whisper, changing the subject. He chuckles at this, but it's true.

"Enough with this sappy shit, let's watch the fast and the furious." He spins around on the balls of his feet and walks into his room.

And the bastard is back.

I follow him into the room and he has already got the TV and DVR on. I perch myself on the king sized bed and wait patiently for him to get the movie started.

Finding some courage, I burry myself under his blankets and lean against the back board of the bed frame.

Me and Beau, practically a stranger, will be in bed together.

In bed.

Together.

As I chew this over in my mind, the butterflies in my stomach flutter a thousand miles a minute.

He grabs the remote off the TV stand and gets in bed next me.

How can you barely know someone, yet the proximity between you and that someone actually feels right?

Like it's suppose to be that way.

I stare at and study his chiseled features, watching the light from the changing scenes from the over rated movie reflect in his warm and expressive eyes. I feel the blood surge to my cheeks as he catches me staring at him.

"I've told you that you're cute when you blush, right? And you also know it's not polite to stare I hope." He raises an eyebrow at me, something that I've discovered he does often, with a cocky grin plastered on his god damned perfect face.

I let out a ring of louder and shake my head yes. I don't dare speak, because I know my voice will betray me and shake with nerves.

Twenty minutes ticks by, and I can feel my eyelids become heavy with fatigue. I have no idea how much time has passed, because I've fallen into what I call "limbo." Limbo is that state of mind that I define as being somewhere in between of being half awake and half asleep. (Which is the same thing, so basically half asleep.)

I was virtually aware of his warm thigh pressed up against mine, and was also aware of how hard the pillow I was on was.

"Ari-". But that's all I hear, because I'm slipping into unconsciousness. The voice grows louder. "Psst. Arielle." The voice is deep and pulls me out of "limbo" and my eyes flutter open.