So Damn Beautiful (A New Adult Romance) (3 page)

“You don’t understand, Annie. This guy is the
most up-and-coming street artist in the city! I should show you the
New York
magazine profile from a few weeks ago. He was a
complete asshole in the interview, talking down to the guy and
making it seem like nobody knows anything about art anymore. But if
you knew some of the stories I’ve heard about his life, you’d
probably understand why he’s such a dick.” A heartfelt look came
over Kendra’s face.

“What do you mean? What stories have you
heard?” I was suddenly curious.

“They say he had a troubled childhood,”
Kendra responded excitedly, happy to share any gossip,
substantiated or not. “I hear he killed his stepdad with his bare
hands when he was, like, fourteen or something. Apparently the last
straw was when his brother died of a drug overdose.” Kendra’s eyes
widened, and I knew she was going to say something she found even
more scandalous, but suddenly we heard something that stopped us
both in our tracks.

“Hey, you!”

It was him.

Both Kendra and I whipped our heads around.
Jesus Christ—he was standing now, and he was every bit as perfect
as I had imagined he would be. Now that he was looking at us
head-on, I could see that while his hair was jet black, his eyes
were a striking bottle green, framed by long, dark lashes. His
cheekbones were high, and his lips were full and soft-looking. He
was probably just a little older than I was, around twenty or so.
His skin was tanned, and he had just a bit of a five o’clock
shadow. He looked like he could be a model.

Kendra and I were so struck by the fact that
Chase was actually addressing us that neither of us could talk for
a while.

“Who, us?” Kendra finally offered.

Chase gave a grin that would have been
captivating if it wasn’t so filled with disdain. I didn’t know if I
was scared or turned on.

“No, not you. NYU Goldilocks over there,” he
said, turning his gaze squarely on me, then looking me up and down.
I couldn’t tell if it was out of desire, curiosity, or contempt,
but it made my entire body feel like it was being pricked by hot
needles. My knees were mush.

“Uh, what do you want?” I said in a shaky
voice, immediately regretting the stupidity of my question.

Chase cocked his head to one side and took
the cigarette between two fingers. “Come over here. I wanna talk to
you,” he said.

“What are you waiting for? He wants to talk
to you! Go!” Kendra whispered heatedly and gave me a push that
practically sent me hurtling into Chase’s arms.

I could barely look him in the eye; he was
even more overwhelmingly gorgeous this close. He smelled like a
combination of cigarettes, cologne, and sweat—a heady mixture that
made me feel weak and light-headed.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Annie. Annie Green,” I offered. He didn’t
introduce himself in return—just kept staring at me with those
sea-green eyes, which made me lose sight of everything around me .
. . Kendra, the street punks, the hustle and bustle of urban
activity, all of it. For the time being, there was just him and
me.

“Well, Annie Green, whaddaya make of my
stuff?”

“I . . . I beg your pardon?”

“My stuff. My little work of art,” he
intoned, like I couldn’t understand English.

I looked down, and what I saw made me blush
furiously. Somehow, the five or six aerosol cans at Chase’s
disposal had created something I didn’t know could possibly exist
in this medium. A sultry-looking blond woman gazed back up at me
from the patch of concrete. Her mouth was open in a suggestive red
pout, and she was sprawled out on her side, propped up on an elbow.
Her creamy skin seemed to invite touches. And . . . she was stark
naked.

“It-it’s beautiful. It’s almost like a
photograph,” I said, still avoiding eye contact. “But if this is a
civic project, are . . . are you sure they’re okay with you drawing
a naked woman?”

Chase looked almost taken aback by what I
guess he thought was my boldness.
Weren’t expecting that,
eh?
I thought, feeling momentarily victorious.

“What do you know about street art, kid?” he
said, resuming his hardness and straightening up. I noted that he
loomed over me. I was only five foot six and 120 pounds, and he
cleared me by at least half a foot. I didn’t want to think of what
a guy like Chase might do if he was angry or offended.

“N-nothing, really,” I quickly said. “Well, I
mean, I’m taking this art class that’s about local art, guerrilla
art, movements that started right here, in fact. And we’ve
discussed zoning and urban beautification a bit, and I . . .” I
trailed off awkwardly, aware I was talking too much. And the way
Chase was staring at me, so intently, I thought I might become a
blubbering mess if I didn’t stop now.

“You’re learning about local art at the
university, huh, Goldilocks?” He snorted with disgust and lit
another cigarette while glaring at me. “Typical. Where are you
from, anyway? Nebraska or something?”

“Um, Ohio,” I replied faintly, although I
thought he’d posed it as a rhetorical question.

“What the hell do you know about art? What
the suits at your institution teach you, right? Well, they’re all
gallery flunkies—every single one of ’em. Green with jealousy over
the ones with real talent. And where are we? Not in the classroom,
that’s for sure. We’re busting our asses, making this shit so
people on tour buses and little girls from the middle of Ohio can
come by, check us out, marvel at how civilized punk-asses like us
can actually be.” He angrily blew out smoke, abruptly picked up one
of his cans of spray paint, and unloosed it on his own
creation.

I gasped and jumped back. “Why . . . why did
you do that?” I asked, as I gazed down at the gorgeous woman, who
was now covered in angry splashes of purple spray paint.

Chase smirked and stepped toward me. I winced
as he grabbed my arm and got right in my face.

“Why? ’Cause I don’t give a shit! This scene
is fucking terrible—full of starfuckers and washups who think they
might make a name for themselves trying to turn the hood into a
pretty place for preppy bitches like you two,” he spat out.

That was when Kendra came to the rescue.

“Jesus Christ, what’s
wrong
with you?
Let go of her!” she belted out, holding nothing back. At that
point, the throngs of people around us began to murmur and cluster
together, a mixture of concern and morbid curiosity etched into
their faces.

Chase shrugged and dug another cigarette out
from his back pocket. As he lit it, his lower lip curled into a
smirk. “Whatever. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just wanted to see
how much she knew—and cared—about art,” he said, his eyes on me the
whole time.

I didn’t really know what to say. But I was
pissed. And damn tired of my authenticity coming under fire,
whether from Professor Claremont or from punks like Chase. “You may
not think I have street cred, but I have class and manners—and that
is
definitely
more than I can say for you,” I said, my voice
strained with anger and my fists balled.

Chase’s eyes narrowed just a little bit, and
it looked like he was going to say something else, but he simply
shrugged and crouched back down over his arsenal of spray-paint
cans.

“How disappointing. But I figured he’d be an
asshole,” Kendra said as we walked away. “I’d bang him anyway. Did
you get a look at that ass?”

We were just a few feet away when I heard
Chase’s voice.

“Hey, Goldilocks!”

I turned around and saw that he was standing.
He wasn’t smiling, but the look on his face had softened somewhat.
His eyes were as intense as ever. He paused for a second before
saying, “If you ever want a
real
education, you know where
to find me.” Then he went back to his business, acting like I’d
never been there to begin with.

My heart did little somersaults as Kendra and
I walked back to the train station. I was confused by what I was
feeling, though. Chase had been such a dick to me, so why was he
making me react like a girl who’d just been asked to prom by the
most popular guy in school? It wasn’t like me. I wasn’t hard-core
about my feminism, but I’d read enough Gloria Steinem to be well
aware of the pitfalls of getting all tongue-tied over a bad boy.
Besides, I was sure Chase was just messing with me, which
simultaneously excited and disturbed me.

“What the hell was
that
about? Do you
think he’s into you, Annie?” Kendra said, excited.

“I have no idea, but I’m heading back to the
library,” I snapped.

Kendra sighed. “Annie, I was just trying to
help.”

I instantly felt bad. “Oh, Kendra, I know you
were. It’s just . . . if
that’s
what the contemporary-art
world is like, maybe I’m kidding myself.”

“No way! Chase is just an upstart with a
pretty face. You heard him. He doesn’t even give a shit about what
he’s doing. You’re the real deal. You can spot a fake from a mile
away. Don’t let him make you feel bad.”

For someone I’d initially thought to be an
airhead, Kendra really had a knack for lifting my spirits. She was
a good friend. I smiled and slung my arm through hers. “You’re
right, Kendra. But before I head back to the library, there’s one
thing we need to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Get some Pinkberry. I’m PMS’ing, and I could
definitely
use a sugar fix right about now.”

Kendra laughed. “Totally. I was thinking the
same thing.”

The prospect of fro-yo with my bestie sounded
sweet, but the encounter with Chase had left a bitter taste in my
mouth. There was something about him, about how he made me feel,
that was really unsettling and foreign to me. As we got onto our
train, the image of Chase hunkered over his ruined graffiti art,
getting smaller and smaller as we got farther and farther away, was
seared into my memory. For better or worse, Chase Adams had left an
impression that was more gouache than watercolor—unlikely to fade
anytime soon.

Despite
the fact that I’d been satiated by Pinkberry and almost a full day
at the library, followed by an early-evening nap (a girl’s gotta
get her beauty sleep, after all), none of that appeared to be what
the doctor ordered. I found it was hard to get to sleep that night.
I kept tossing and turning, and at some point I even had dreams
about Chase. He was a large, flying angel who looked like he was
straight out of a Marc Chagall painting—except instead of being
romantic and whimsical, he was sneering and sinister. The Chase
angel chased me down through flat, sweeping midwestern plains and
dark alleyways and grottoes that looked like they were straight out
of a Renaissance-era painting.

I don’t remember what happened, but from the
way my heart was beating when I woke up, I can’t imagine it was
anything good. As I batted at my alarm clock, I was more than a bit
annoyed. Even the mere thought of Chase was enough to put me on
edge. He was chasing me not just out of the warm, familiar
landscapes of my past but also out of the cozy, comforting ones of
my artistic fantasies.

As long as he’s on my mind, I won’t feel
at home anywhere
, I told myself, frowning as I rubbed the sleep
out of my eyes and gazed up at the ceiling.

At that point, Kendra burst into our dorm
room—a twelve-by-twelve-foot shoe box that somehow managed to house
all of her outfits and my books. She was already all sunshine and
birdsong, wearing a simple yet stylish wrap dress and Jimmy Choo
sandals. She had two cups of coffee in her hands, I noted
appreciatively, as she shoved one into mine. I drank and breathed
in the fumes, already feeling myself perk up.

“Wake up, lazybones! Today is going to be
killer!”

I groaned. “Why? Is there a test I forgot
about?”

“Stop being so cynical. It gives you
premature wrinkles! It’s our lucky day. We both got invitations to
Harrison Waters’s party!”

“Harrison
who
?” I rubbed my head,
trying to shake off the sticky cobwebs of my nightmares in the
process. I was losing track of all of Kendra’s big men on campus,
mostly because they invariably had porn star–sounding names that
made it hard to remember the particulars.

Kendra snorted in playful disgust. She had
grown all too accustomed to my complete lack of interest in NYU’s
social scene. Aside from picking up a few informational flyers on
Spirit Day from the Curators Coffee Klatch (the only club on campus
that made you an automatic shoo-in for major internships in the
local and international museum world, might I add), I spent most of
my time in the library. Admittedly, part of me envied girls like
Kendra, who were already making phones ring off the hook with calls
from cute boys and upperclassmen. I wasn’t exactly a complete
bookworm, and I wanted to have as much fun as my bubbly roommate,
but I knew what I would ultimately be sacrificing if I went in for
the world of all-night DJ parties and beer hangovers.

Kendra’s words distracted me from my
momentary envy.

“Harrison Waters, my dear, is
only
the
hottest guy on campus. He’s the president of Sigma Phi Kappa, on
the crew team, and he comes from one of the most respected alumni
families.” She paused for a second. “I’m totally blanking on
whether they’re in entertainment or banking . . . anyway, I saw him
at the student lounge just minutes ago, and we talked for a bit—no
biggie, more of a hi-bye situation than anything else—but he said
that you and I should stop by the house tonight because it’s gonna
be their first major party of the season!”

She actually squealed. No joke.

I stretched my arms up and swung my pj-clad
legs from beneath the covers and onto the ground.

“Kendra, I’m not going to lose my new best
friend to a sorority, am I?”