Page 31 of Beach B!tch
12
Dean
I was trying, I really was.
Brinley about slayed me with that kiss beside the restaurant. Sweet Jesus, she was grinding up on me like an easy hook-up at the club, but then she so innocently asked if she could do it again after dinner. I would bet my life the girl was inexperienced, but damn, her body knew what to do. And it did it well.
So here I am at dinner, trying to keep my hard-on from showing, while also trying to keep from grabbing her from her chair and laying her across the table while I lift that short skirt of hers from behind. With those heels on, her ass would be positioned in the air, ready for me to plunge into her. The things I'd love to show her...
But instead of indulging in that fantasy, I'm trying to slow myself down and get her talking. It's like I've got myself on repeat 'I'm in it for the long haul'. I can't rush the sexual side of our relationship when I want an actual grown-up relationship with her. I want to get to know her and understand her past and why she's so inexperienced and why she's so insistent she doesn't have time for a relationship.
A subtle shake of my head and I refocused on our conversation. We'd ordered our meals, both ridiculously healthy, and we sipped on some iced tea while we waited. I'd normally order a glass of wine, but I felt I needed my wits about me so I didn't screw up this date with Brinley.
"So you learned a lot about me already. It's your turn. When did you start playing volleyball?" That should be a safe enough topic to warm her up. I knew I was right when her face lit up and she began to talk freely.
"I started playing in middle school. I was always on the tall side, so the coach got me into both volleyball and basketball, but I enjoyed volleyball way more so I stuck with that. By the time I made the high school team, I lucked out with awesome coaches who took me under their wing and shaped my game. About the same time, I met Shasta, my boss at Strike Ready. She was the most colorful, confident woman I'd ever seen, so when she wanted to train me in Jiu Jitsu, I couldn't say no. Between my coaches and Shasta, they got me through college scouts and interviews, and got me into USC on scholarship." Brinley took a breath, but I wanted to know more.
"So when did you start the IVP thing?" I asked.
"Well, that was pretty much my dream ever since I picked up my first volleyball. I was at the beach one day in middle school and happened to see part of a tournament. The athletes looked so strong and so coordinated. I just knew I had to be out there one day. It's been a good goal to focus on when things got tough, you know?" Brinley broke off and looked down.
"Yeah, I do know what it's like when things get tough. But I'd also like to know the specifics of what that means to you. In your life. Will you share that with me?" I asked quietly. I tried to convey all the warmth I felt for her through my eyes. I wanted her to trust me. I wanted her to burden me with her past. Let me shoulder some of the weight.
Brinley fidgeted with her napkin for a few moments before lifting her head and making eye contact. She looked scared, yet determined to speak of her history. I gave her a small smile of encouragement.
"I'm not too sure where to start, to be honest. I'm not good with sharing about my childhood. At first, because it was too painful, and I was too ashamed. Now, because I don't want anyone to pity me." Brinley took a deep breath. "Are you sure you want to know?"
"If you trust me with your past, I'd like to hear it. I'd be honored to know you that way, sweetheart." I meant every word I said. This girl already owned me. What she said would only confirm what I already knew about her.
In a soft voice, she began to recall her childhood. "My mom died when I was really little. My dad was a mess and had no business raising a child. I know that now. He was an alcoholic. And he liked to take his bitterness with life out on me. He made sure the bruises would be hidden so school teachers didn't know what was going on. But the physical stuff wasn't the worst. It was his constant belittling. He would tell me over and over how worthless I was. How pathetic. What a loser I'd always be. And I started to believe him. That was the worst."
I reached across the table and grabbed both of Brinley's hands in mine. I gripped them tight and held on for all I was worth. I was so angry, I was way beyond seeing red. The hot anger filling my body as she continued speaking choked off my breath. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew my anger wouldn't help her. I knew I had to keep my cool, but if there ever was a test to my vow to be a non-violent man, this was it.
I'd thought my brother had it bad growing up. No legs and no father. But at least he had my mom and I. We loved each other and always supported each other. We grew up in a happy, loving home.
My Brinley had had no one. No one to give her a hug on a hard day. No one to protect her from her asshole father. No one to tell her how precious she was. Just violence, pain, abandonment, and abuse.
I couldn't wrap my brain around what it must have been like to grow up like that.
"Dean?" Brinley's voice broke through my thoughts and I realized she'd stopped talking and was looking at me with wide eyes. "Are you okay?"
"Wha-? I'm sorry, yes, I'm okay. I was thinking about what that must have been like for you. Brinley, I'm so sorry." I shook my head, unable to come up with adequate words for everything I was feeling.
"I appreciate that, but please don't feel sorry for me. I don't want your pity. It is what it is and I can't go back and change it." She tried to pull her hands away, but I wouldn't let go.
Hell, I may never let go.
"I don't pity you, Brinley. I'm fucking pissed as hell you've been hurt. Repeatedly. By a fuckup who was supposed to love you." I was whisper-yelling at this point, but I couldn't control it any longer. "You don't have my pity, you have my anger. I can't go back and change it either, but what I can do is be here for you now. I support you, I am in awe of you. And I'll show you exactly what a real man looks like when he loves someone."
I broke off my rant, afraid I might push her too far, but knowing she needed to hear it. She needed to know my intentions. She needed to know I'd fight for her.
She stared at me, motionless. Her tan face looked drained of color. I pulled her hand to my lips and kissed her knuckles.
"Brinley?" I pleaded. "Please talk to me."
No answer.
Time to pull out the big guns. "Hey Brin, feel my shirt."
