Page 58 of Hot Shot

It was stunning. And a little terrifying.

13

MARCO

“Why would you think I was making fun of you?”

I run my hand idly up and down Carrie’s smooth, sexy back as we lay in her bed much, much later. Two condoms and numerous orgasms later.

“I don’t know.” She sighs. “I’m a little oversensitive sometimes.” She pauses. “My brothers always tell dumb blonde jokes around me.”

“What?” My mouth drops open.

“Yeah. Like, why couldn’t the blonde dial nine-one-one?” She pauses. “She couldn’t find the eleven.”

I choke.

“Yeah, go ahead, laugh. What’s every blonde’s dream in life?” She waits.

“Uh . . . “

“To be like Vanna White and actually learn the alphabet.”

“Jesus.”

“Sure, they’re funny, and I always laugh, but . . . well, like I said, sometimes I’m oversensitive. I was a bit of a freak in high school—taller than everyone else, including the boys, super skinny, with braces on my teeth. I didn’t fit in with the girls who were boy crazy and into sexy clothes and makeup.”

“Wow. That’s kind of . . . ironic.”

“I know, right? I end up earning my living with sexy clothes and makeup.”

“Come on, babe. That had to help your self-confidence . . . you have to know you’re gorgeous.”

“Sure, it helped. But inside, I still feel like that kid sometimes and I don’t really think I’m gorgeous . . . I think people are good at making melookgorgeous with the hair and the makeup and the clothes. And the Photoshopping. I guess I’m photogenic. But when that all comes off, I’m just kind of ordinary looking. Sometimes I still feel all gangly and awkward, although working out and dance lessons have helped.”

“Ordinary looking.” I think about that. I can kind of see what she means . . . the day she came into Conquistadors with no makeup on, she did look different. “I guess if by ordinary you mean not a high-maintenance glamazon, then okay, yeah. But even without all that stuff, you’re beautiful, Carrie. You glow. It comes from the inside. You’re beautiful on the outside, but inside is where the real beauty is.”

She lifts her head from my chest and gives me a long, searching look. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Jesus. I hope not.”

The corners of her lush mouth lift. “Really. I get lots of compliments. But somehow they never really mean anything. That . . .” She pauses. “Well. Thank you.”

I slide my hand into her hair and press her face back down, my arms around her, her soft curves pressed against me, legs entwined. “Nobody ever wanted me.”

Shit. Did I really just say that?

Her head lifts even the weight of my hand on it. “What?”

I swallow. “When I was a teenager. After my parents were deported, I was put into foster care. I was a bit of a handful . . . I was angry and bitter about what happened to my parents. Pissed because they took my sister away from me and I didn’t know where she was or how she was doing. Things didn’t go so well with the first family they placed me with. They were nice people, but I didn’t want to be there. I wanted my own parents. Same thing with the second family. The third one . . . I started thinking maybe I shouldn’t be such a little shithead and maybe they’d keep me longer. I started to . . . ” I cough. “I sort of hoped maybe they’d want to keep me.”

“Oh, Marco.” She gazes back at me with warm eyes.

“But nope. I got pissed. Acted out. Every time I got moved, I’d have a little hope that maybe this was the time someone would care about me, and I’d get my shit together and behave myself and maybe I’d have a home again. But it never happened. I pretended I didn’t care. And they believed me.Why would they keep me around if they thought I didn’t give a shit?”

She makes a soft, hurt sound that I hate. I hate pity.

“So I guess I know something about feeling like you’re not good enough . . . I knew it was me who was the problem. Nobody wanted me.”

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