My Kind of Beautiful (Finding Love 2)

“You would’ve been better off just buying the cake,” Max says.

I shoot daggers his way, but he isn’t fazed.

“Hey, leave your sister alone.” Alec pulls me into his side. “It’s the thought that counts.” He gives me one of his panty-dropping winks, and my insides turn to mush. Why couldn’t my best friend be ugly? Like seriously? Did I do something in another lifetime where God decided I needed to be punished? Or maybe Alec just did something really good. It had to have been something amazing, though. For him to have been given those gorgeous milk chocolate eyes, that strong nose and chiseled jawline. Not to mention, his perfect, silky smooth hair that has my fingers always twitching to run through the strands. And let’s not forget his hard, muscular body that has every woman drooling when they see him. Ugh! And that ass! My God, I hate the gym with a passion, but sometimes I go just to watch the guy run from behind. His tight, muscular ass bouncing as he runs on the treadmill.

Sigh.

In another lifetime, he must’ve saved tons of kittens who were stuck up in trees, or maybe he cured some crazy disease that, if not for him, we’d all be dead. Something. Because there’s no way God just makes someone that damn beautiful for no reason. It just doesn’t make sense. And not only is he beautiful, but he’s seriously hung. I’m talking about huge! Like when he goes to the store, he’s definitely buying king size, and I’m not talking about candy bars. And in case you’re wondering, no, I’ve never gone there—not that I haven’t fantasized about it. But you can’t live with someone for close to a year without accidently—or on purpose—walking in on them naked at some point.

Oh, and did I mention he has tattoos? Yep! The man’s bulging biceps are covered in them! And not shitty ones like most guys get. Nope, all sexy, meaningful ones. His body is literally the equivalent of a perfect canvas that I just want to paint—or lick—my way across.

Unfortunately, there will be no licking—I mean painting—for me. I just get to be the best friend. You know the one I’m talking about. The girl who gets to meet all of the other girls he dates, while cursing each one to hell while smiling way too brightly. Luckily, Alec isn’t a manwhore, so it doesn’t happen often. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, it hasn’t happened in a long time, but when it does, it takes everything in me not to kick them out and beg him to take me right there on the coffee table, and on the couch, on the kitchen counter, in the shower. Oh hell, if Alec were mine, I would make him take me on every inch of every surface in our condo.

And I know what you’re thinking: why not just beg him now? What could you possibly lose? Well, I’ve obviously thought about that, and the answer to your second question is everything. I’m only twenty-one years old. Alec isn’t much older. The odds would be stacked against us, and if it didn’t work out, I would lose him. I don’t care what people say. You can’t fuck your best friend then go back to being friends once it doesn’t work out. I would rather have Alec as my best friend long-term than as my boyfriend temporarily.

The truth is I kind of suck at relationships. Being Tristan and Charlie’s daughter has made it easy for me because in their eyes I can never do any wrong. Their rose-colored glasses probably stem from the fact I was abandoned by my mother at birth—from the little bit my father told me, Gina was a drug addict who felt I was better off with my dad. She walked out the door of her hospital room without looking back, caring more about her drug addiction and drug addict boyfriend than me. Eventually, she overdosed and died.

My parents would never say it, but I’m almost certain I take after Gina in several ways, including my ‘free spirit’ as my parents like to put it, which is really just a nice way of saying I’m a hot fucking mess. Sure, my parents say they love how carefree I am, but I see the worry in my dad’s face every time he asks me what I want to do with my life. Or there was the time when Max let it slip that I occasionally smoked cannabis while hanging out with my friends at the beach. My dad nearly lost it, afraid I would end up just like Gina—which is how I found out the truth about her.

My mom says the way I am is just the artist in me, but if that’s the case then why is she so put together? Both my parents went to college, started their own businesses, and years later are still successfully running them. Georgia is a year younger than me, and she’s already running a successful web design business. Me? The only reason I’m in college is because it was the only way I could keep slacking off—painting and surfing—and make my dad happy. If it wasn’t for Georgia keeping me on track with my classes, I would’ve failed out my first semester in.