The Beast and His Beauty

Chapter three

Chapter three
A long time was an understatement. Try eight years. Well, five actually, but I like to pretend that night never happened.

I had no idea how to feel, angry, hurt, relieved, happy, all of the above?

Part of me wanted to run into his arms and the other wanted to slap him so hard across the face he wouldn't remember how badly he had hurt me. 

I mean, to come back, after eight years, eight whole years, and act like nothing even happened, calling me that stupid nickname he made up for me as kids. Foolish kids. That's all we were back then: foolish kids drunk on the idea that love, and only love, could heal our wounds. To go back to that kind of simplicity would be a dream.

And now he was back, looking as good ever, tormenting me with his presence. Killing me on the inside as every emotion from highschool came flooding back.

"Sawyer," I gritted as I eyed him carefully. I showed his no mercy, did not spare him a fraudulent smile, did not even look him in the eyes. "What are you doing here?"

I had no idea how he would have found me, or where I lived. I stayed pretty under the radar.

He shivered gently, begging with his eyes to enter my home, if you could even call it that. I kept my stance stiff, not feeling the slightest bit of remorse for him. "What are you doing here?" I repeated, leaving him to suffer in the freezing cold.

He sighed, realizing he wasn't going to get anywhere. "I need your help."

My face fell, even more than it already was.

Of course that was the only reason he came back, the only reason he'd ever want to see me again. He needed my help. As for what, I can't imagine. What can he possibly want from me? I have nothing to offer. I have no money, not that he would ever need that. I have no high social status, which again, I doubt he would need. He is famous enough as is. I could offer him nothing.

"Please, Beauty?"

I should have kicked him out, left him to rot on my doorstep. There are a lot of things I should have done differently but instead, I melted like butter, as I always did when he called me that name. I step aside, pulling the door open to gesture him in.

He doesn't hesitate a second, rushing into my home, trembling like a virgin on their wedding night. A trail of water dripped behind him, leaving a large puddle on my, already ragged, hardwood floor.

"I'll grab you some clothes." My voice was cold and emotionless. I wouldn't give him the pleasure of knowing how fast my heart was pounding inside my chest.

I crossed the room, not giving him a second look, before heading to my own. I rummaged through my dressers bottom drawer until I found what I was looking for. I unburied the old pair of sweats and a t-shirt that hadn't been used in years. They formerly belonged to my ex-husband. He left them here and never came back for them. With everything going on with Nico, I never had the chance to clean the house and get rid of all of his stuff.

I headed back to where Sawyer was standing in my living room. I tossed him the clothes. For a football player, he was a lousy catcher. The clothes tumbled to floor, barely missing a puddle, before he could grab them.

"Bathrooms over there." I pointed to the broken door, which was barely hanging on to its hinges. "Don't use the sink, the water doesn't work."

His eyes grew in size the more he looked around at my shambolic household. "Well?" I pressed, "We don't have all day." I gestured aggressively toward the front door.

He gave me one last look before hesitantly heading towards the bathroom. The door refused to shut behind him, leaving it wide open. He didn't even seem phased as he quickly started to strip off his shirt. My eyes widened as I realized what he was doing. I quickly spun around on my heel, turning the other direction.

He laughed that low, raspy chuckle of his that make butterflies erupt in my stomach, though they felt more like angry moths. "Come in Beauty, it's nothing you haven't seen before."

He was right. It wasn't. I had seen it on numerous occasions and I could still remember every curve of his body even after eight years, though I'm sure it's changed.

"I have a husband," I grumbled, even though that wasn't remotely true anymore.

I felt Sawyer's rough hands find their way to my waist, slipping under my shirt. Despite the fact that he was soaking wet and had just come in from the freezing cold, his hands were exceptionally warm. Burning, in fact. I leaned in towards him, my shirt absorbing the water that trailed down his bare chest. His breath tickled my ear, "That didn't stop you last time." His voice was deep and husky.

He was right, it didn't stop me last time, but last time I had nine shots of tequila to do that talking for me. (Well, I guess we didn't do much talking, but you get the point.) I wasn't myself. And that night should have been a lesson for me: never let Sawyer Wright back into my life. It never ends well. I should have guessed that when I woke up the next morning and he was no where to be found. And, his number had mysteriously been deleted from my phone. He made it very clear that night was a mistake. He made it very clear he never intended to see me again.

But here was, solely because he needed a favor. He wasn't here for me at all.

"I can't do this again Sawyer." I spoke firmly, but I still didn't pull away from him.

His lips lowered to my neck as he trailed hot, gentle kisses down it. "I don't see a ring on your finger." He murmured against my skin.

For a split second, I let myself go. I melted into his touch, allowing his hands to roam where they please. Just as I had done that night five years ago. And then my eyes locked on a stray doll which had been shoved into the couch cushions. I must have missed it when I was cleaning. My thoughts trailed back to Nico. My beautiful baby boy.

I pushed Sawyer away. "I can't do this." I moved over to the couch, rapping my hot pink, bunny pajamas around me tighter.

I stared up at Sawyer. He almost looked... hurt. Most likely his ego. It must be killing him to be rejected by the loser in childrens' pajamas, who lives in an apartment so run down it's practically a death trap.

"I've got to get to the hospital so you should probably leave." As I made my way to my room, Sawyer followed.

"You're a nurse?" He questioned.

If only. It had always been my dream to be a nurse, but I guess that never happened. Another dream that didn't come true.

"No," I paused, "My son is sick,"

Sawyer stopped dead in his tracks. "Son?"

I nodded. "Yep, I'm a mother,"

He didn't say a word, simply staring at me with a shocked expression.

"Don't be so surprised Sawyer. I'm sure you have one too somewhere out there, with all the girls you've slept with it's bound to happen,"

He grimaced at the thought.

Oh how he has changed.

I could still remember him in high school, his much less less defined, his face a little more innocent and carefree. We had talked about having children, he had always wanted a kid. A daughter to be more specific. It was a dream and he would have made an amazing father. He really would have.

"I really have to get going so what do you want?" I undid my hair, combing through it as Sawyer simply watched me.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, making him look like a goldfish, before finally letting out a long sigh. "Look, I don't know how to say this so I'll just spit it out." Another long pause, "I need you to be my alibi."