Beautiful Mess (Blossom Beach #2)

Prologue

Grace, Fourteen Years Ago

“W hat’s a pretty little thing like you doing in here all alone?”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I turn my head, taking in the seedy, unattractive man with the horrendous comb-over and the tobacco-stained teeth as he sits down at the bar beside me. The stench of his cheap cologne is so strong it brings tears to my eyes. It could wake the dead.

“Looking for my next victim,” I say sweetly. Batting my eyelashes, I take a slow sip of my third vodka cranberry of the night. “Is that you?”

The left side of his mouth quirks up into a predatory grin that makes my stomach roll. “Depends,” he drawls and leans in closer. Seriously, I wouldn’t be surprised if I fell off my chair from how strong and bad his cologne is. “What’d you have in mind, honey?”

Honey. Barf.

There’s nothing I hate more than a middle-aged man calling a younger woman “honey.” Nine times out of ten, it’s condescending, and on the rare occurrence that it’s not, it’s just plain icky.

I finish the rest of my drink and indicate to the bartender for a refill. Thank gosh for fake IDs. Really came in handy tonight.

“Did you know that pigs will eat just about anything they’re given?” I ask the creepy man beside me, who somehow keeps getting closer.

Glancing over at him, his eyebrows hike up his forehead. “I did not know that.”

“Including human bones,” I add with a sickly-sweet smirk.

I can see the confusion in his gaze, the thin purse to his lips as he more than likely attempts to figure out why I’m telling him this.

Why am I telling him this? It’s some fact I saw on one of those crime scene television shows last weekend. I was holed up in my dorm room, dying of food poisoning, and binging shows was the only way to pass the time in between puking my guts out.

The cute bartender with the glasses and the eyebrow ring sets my drink down in front of me, giving me a wink. At first, it sends flutters all around my stomach. But then I remember why I’m here, and the same scowl I’ve been wearing all night slides back into place as I turn away from him, finding the creepy man still sitting beside me.

“Did I mention I own a pig farm?” I ask, before sucking down a mouthful of my cocktail that tastes more like vodka and less like cranberry this time. Hmph. Maybe the cute bartender knows I’m trying to drown my sorrows.

The man stands up in a hurry, brow furrowed as he stares down his wide nose at me. “You’re fucking weird,” he mutters before, thankfully, walking away.

Chuckling to myself, I spin around on the bar stool, taking in the scenery before me. I don’t own a pig farm. Hell, I’ve never even been to one, but it sure as hell got him to leave me alone, so I’m taking it as a win.

Why do men have to suck so bad?

And why on earth must I be attracted to them anyway? Not him, but in general. Anybody who thinks sexuality is a choice should take a serious look at my life for a moment, because if they did, they’d see there’s absolutely no way I’m choosing to like men.

Why can’t I like women instead?

What’s so great about men anyway? Yeah, they smell nice sometimes, and they look really damn cute sporting a baseball cap. And sure, it’s mouthwatering when their arms get extra tan in the summer and their corded veins pop out when they’re doing simple stuff like throwing a football or opening a water bottle.

But other than that, what’s there to like? I know it can’t be the sex, because it’s not even that great. They get horny and become a one-track mind, needing to get you naked as quickly as possible and stick their dick in you—no foreplay, might I add. And then what? A couple of minutes of them grunting and breathing heavily in your ear, and then they’re done?

Pass.

Maybe it’s the type of men I’ve dated.

Or rather, I should say man . I’m twenty years old, in my second year of college, and I’ve dated exactly one guy in my entire life. A whole lot of good that’s doing me now. God, how fucking embarrassing. Maybe I need to find a more…sophisticated type of man. A man who knows how to treat a lady right. Because I’m starting to doubt that my Prince Charming is a twenty-year-old frat boy, whose idea of a fun night is doing keg stands and ripping off his shirt like the hulk.

My gaze lands on a cute couple in the middle of the dance floor. They look like they could be my parents’ age, but they’re lost in the moment together. Bodies moving to the beat of the song pulsing through the bar, eyes locked. I watch them for a moment, desperately trying to keep my thoughts from gravitating back to the place it’s gone for the last thirty-six hours; walking into my boyfriend’s dorm room and finding him naked in bed with some chick. Cole and I started dating when I was fifteen. We grew up together and were each other’s firsts. We even decided to go to the same college last year. He was supposed to be my happily ever after.

As pressure builds behind my eyes, my vision blurs. No! I will not cry again. A man whose balls frequently hang out of the worn-out holes in his boxers is not a man worth my tears. Period.

It’s the whole reason I’m here tonight. Lustrous Lounge, a brand-new bar and nightclub in downtown Westbrook. Desire meets a new place. At least that’s what the ad on social media told me when I stumbled upon it earlier. It’s a cute, intimate place. Relatively new, if I’m not mistaken. It’s about twenty minutes outside of my hometown, Blossom Beach, South Carolina, in the opposite direction from my college.

“Surprised to see you here.”

Heat zips down my spine, settling low in my belly. I would know that deep timbre anywhere. Turning my head, my breath catches in my throat as my eyes land on a dark, familiar set of chocolatey eyes. A grin that looks part amusement, part surprise curls his full lips as he rests an elbow on the bar counter, standing exactly where the creepy man was just minutes ago. Except he’s not creepy.

No, he’s rugged and sexy and all man.

Thick, rich espresso-brown hair styled in a way that looks effortlessly messy, a full, cropped beard of the same shade, and golden-tan skin that can only come from spending hours in the sun every day. You can’t get that perfect shade from a tanning bed. No way.

“Mr. Levine.” I practically purr his name, shifting on the bar stool until my body is fully facing him. Rolling my shoulders back to press my chest closer to him, I smile up at him from beneath my lashes. “This is quite the surprise, isn’t it?”

I giggle, then feel my cheeks heat. Real cool, Grace.

Looking behind the bar, he gets the attention of the bartender before gesturing for the bill. “How many times have I told you to call me Conway,” he drawls, bringing his gaze back on me, and my whole body lights up. Conway pulls out his wallet, handing the cute man behind the bar his credit card, and that’s when it hits me that he’s paying for my drinks.

Is this the universe’s doing? Is this my chance for revenge on my cheating, loser ex-boyfriend?

It would sure seem that way because not only is Conway the hot older neighbor I’ve been crushing on since I was, like, fifteen…but he’s also that same cheating, loser ex-boyfriend’s dad. And I know I look hot tonight. Done up to the nines in a little black lace dress I picked up from the boutique in town, with my hair cascading down my back in loose curls, and my make-up applied to perfection.

This is it.

This is finally my time to act on the crush I’ve had for years, but also my chance to get back at Cole. What’s the saying? The best way to get over someone is by getting under somebody else? And what better way to get over a lying, cheating douchebag than by fucking his much hotter dad?

It’s perfect.

After Conway signs the receipt, he pockets his wallet before meeting my gaze. The weight of his stare sends an inferno through my veins. My nipples to harden. He’s totally checking me out, and it’s far more intoxicating than the vodka swimming through my system. Although, that’s definitely helping too.

“I think the most surprising thing about finding you here, Grace,” he starts, keeping his voice low, “is that I know for a fact you’re not old enough to be in here, yet based on the tab, you’ve already had several drinks tonight.”

Conway has this intimidating way of looking at you. Like he knows every secret you’re trying to hide. Probably how he caught his son sneaking out so many times. It’s usually unnerving, but tonight, it’s thrilling.

I flash him what I hope is my flirtiest grin. “A pretty girl always has her ways, Conway. ” Calling him by his first name has no business being as hot as it is. It’s a head rush all on its own.

He huffs out a breath before tipping his head toward the exit. “Come on, Grace. Let’s get you home.”

Yes, it’s happening! He was checking me out, he paid for my drinks, and now he wants to take me home!

Definitely getting over Cole by getting under his dad tonight. This has got to be the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. My body thrums at the salacious image that races through my mind; Conway and I alone in his bedroom as he gently—or maybe not-so-gently—removes the tight lace dress from my body. I bet a man like Conway knows how to worship a woman.

He’d no doubt find the clit on the first try. No aggressively rubbing my left lip until it’s raw, like he’s trying to start a damn campfire. No, a man like him is skilled . He’s had years of practice. Experience. And his hands…hard working, weathered, and calloused.

As gracefully as I can manage, I slide off the bar stool and strut toward the door across the room. Conway’s hand finds the small of my back, the barely-there brush of his fingers sending a shiver down my spine.

He’s touching me.

God, coming here tonight was such a good idea.

Stepping out into the warm night air, a realization dawns on me. “Oh, I drove myself here tonight,” I murmur, tilting my head to look up at Conway. Doing so nearly causes me to lose my balance. Jesus, now that I’m standing up and moving, the alcohol is really hitting me. Why am I such a lightweight?

He’s significantly taller than I am, and it’s such a fucking turn-on. Not like his son, who is a rather average height, if I do say so myself.

“I’m driving you home,” he says sternly, leaving no room for discussion. It’s authoritative. My core clenches, needy to be filled by whatever he’s packing in those tight Wranglers. “You can pick your car up in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.” I snort as he leads me to his impressive truck. It’s different—and newer—than the one he had the last time I was back in town. He’s lived across the street from my childhood home since I was about ten.

Conway opens the passenger side door for me, keeping his hand on my lower back as I hoist myself up, nearly falling on my ass. Apparently copious amounts of vodka and trucks don’t mix well. Who knew? It’s not even lifted or anything; I’m just that drunk, apparently. The whole cab smells of him, and unlike the first man who approached me, it’s not nauseating. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. It’s smoky and rich. It makes my head swim as he climbs behind the wheel and starts the engine.

He does that thing hot men do…the hand on the back of the passenger seat while he reverses out of the parking spot. Why is that so hot?

“Can I put on some music?” I ask, practically bouncing in my seat.

Conway eyes me and arches an eyebrow. “After you put your seatbelt on.”

Scrunching up my nose, I shake my head. “No. It’s uncomfortable,” I mutter, pulling out my phone to connect it to his Bluetooth. “I don’t ever wear one.”

With his truck stopped in the middle of the parking lot, Conway reaches over my body, my breath catching as I breathe him in. He grabs the seatbelt, sliding it over my chest before clicking it into place. Sitting back in his seat, he fixes his gaze on me for a moment before putting the truck into gear.

“Don’t let me hear about you not wearing a seatbelt again, Grace,” he says gruffly. “It’s dangerous and foolish.”

Okay, Daddy. I’m nearly panting as I get my phone hooked up and pick a song. At this rate, I’m going to come in my panties before we even get into his bedroom. The music fills the space, and Conway glances over at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Didn’t take you for a John Mellencamp kind of girl,” he murmurs, and I giggle.

“Music from the 80s and 90s is my favorite. It’s all my mom played when I was younger when I’d help her bake on the weekends.”

He nods, hand gripping the top of the wheel, causing the veins in his forearm to bulge. “Good song.”

“What can I say? I have good taste.” I shrug and breathe out a laugh.

“Cole didn’t tell me he was coming to town this weekend,” Conway mutters as he merges onto the highway.

Annnnd just like that…mood soured.

“That’s because he’s not in town.”

“Oh.” I can feel his attention flick to the side of my face. “You two usually come back together.”

Annoyance flares inside of me. He’s supposed to be removing my soaked panties with his teeth, not discussing his loser son with me.

“Yeah, well, he’s an asshole,” I huff out before I can stop myself. Really, I should watch what I say in front of Conway. He is his dad, after all, but fuck that. For a moment, I wonder if Conway already knows. He and Cole are pretty close, and I could totally see Cole telling his dad in that disgusting braggy tone he has.

“He’s young and stupid,” Conway offers. “Doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

Yup. He totally knows.

Guess it’s time for Daddy to swoop in and save the day. I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling as I press my thighs together, trying to relieve some of the growing ache.

The rest of the drive is spent in mostly silence, save for the music playing from my phone. Conway is a man of few words, I’ve come to realize. But even with neither of us talking, the air in the truck is electric. It’s like my body has a magnetic pull toward his, and I can’t wait until his hands are all over me soon.

Turning onto our street, he comes to a stop next to the curb in front of my parents’ house. Hmm, weird that he wouldn’t pull into his driveway, but whatever. Maybe he’s not assuming I’ll come home with him, giving me the option to go to my parents’ house if I want. But yeah right if I’ll do that.

Shifting the gear into neutral, he uses his left foot to push the e-brake before breathing out a heavy exhale and looking my way.

This is it. My heart thrashes in my chest, every inch of my skin tingling as I await what’s coming.

“Thanks for driving me home,” I say softly, lips lifting into a flirty smile. “Such a gentleman.”

He nods. “It was no trouble.”

I don’t know what washes over me, but it’s as if my body is acting of its own volition. I’m lunging across the seat before my brain can even register what I’m doing. Hands coming up to his face, the scratch of his beard against my palms lighting me up, I crash my mouth into his. I hear Conway suck in a breath as he grabs onto my arms, and just when I think he’s about to pull me in closer, he shoves me away. His eyes are wide, I’m sure matching my own, as I stare at him.

“What are you doing?” I ask, brow pinched in confusion.

“ Grace .” My name is a deep rumble. It almost sounds punishing, and it sends a shiver down my spine. Running his fingers through his hair, he shakes his head, jaw tight.

Oh, god. Did I read this entire situation wrong? “What’s the matter?”

“Cole is my son,” Conway says, almost growl-like. He won’t even look at me. “He may have fucked up, but he’s my son.”

The embarrassment starting to well up inside of me is quickly tamped down by a new emotion. Anger. I huff out a dry laugh, feeling like a fucking idiot. “Oh, I see. Like father, like son, right?”

“What?” When his eyes finally find mine, an emotion swirls within them that looks an awful lot like anger. “No. Not only are you my son’s girlfriend?—”

“I’m not his girlfriend anymore,” I bark, heart pounding from the growing irritation filling me up. “But I already told you that. Guess Cole inherited your poor listening skills, then, too?”

I don’t know where this newfound boldness in me is coming from. Normally I lean more on the side of meek and people pleaser. Probably the fact that I feel about two feet tall and pathetic.

“Fine.” He heaves a sigh, holding up a hand, like he’s attempting to placate me. Like I’m a child. What the hell does he have to be so displeased about? “Even so, you’ve been drinking, Grace, and I’m far too old for you. It’s not happening, end of discussion.”

I huff out a dry laugh as a smile slides into place that, I’m sure, looks maniacal. “Oh, end of discussion?” I retort, my hand trembling as I salute him mockingly. “Oh okay, Dad . Whatever you say.”

Pressure builds behind my eyes as I sit in Conway’s truck, listening to him reject me. Of course, a man like him wouldn’t be into somebody like me. I can’t even get a man my age to be faithful. Why would somebody more sophisticated and established want me? What a fucking joke I am. God, I’m so fucking dumb.

And he’s an asshole, just like his son.

In a hurry, I reach for the handle on the door, and as soon as it’s open, I climb out… Or at least I try to. It’s not until now I realize I’m still buckled in. Stupid fucking seatbelt. And, of course, as I try to unlock it, it jams.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I mumble, nearly groaning to myself. All I want is to get as far away from Conway as possible, and I can’t even get out of the damn truck!

Conway heaves a sigh. “Let me help.”

As soon as he reaches for it, I snap, ripping my hand away. “Fuck off!” I shriek. “I don’t need your help! I’m more than capable of undoing my own seatbelt. A seatbelt I didn’t even want to fucking wear!”

Not listening, he curses under his breath before freeing the buckle and sitting back in his seat. “Didn’t look like you had it,” he grumbles. “It gets stuck sometimes. Grace, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I snort as my feet land on the pavement. “As if you could.”

“Grace…”

“Just leave me alone,” I snap, my vision blurring. The last five minutes have been embarrassing enough; I will not cry in front of him too. I’ve wasted enough tears on one Levine man this week to last a lifetime, so over my dead body will I shed more on another one. “Be sure to pat your son on the back when you see him. You’ve sure taught him right. Thanks for the ride, asshole.”

I slam the door harder than I probably should, but I don’t care.

First, I get cheated on by the guy I’ve been with for years, the one I lost my virginity to, and now I get rejected by his dad?

Fuck them both.

The minute I’m in the confines of my childhood bedroom, I rest my back against the door, sliding down until my butt hits the floor, and I finally allow myself to cry. Just one more time. Then never again.

Never again will a Levine man cause me tears.