Beyond the Pale Motel by Francesca Lia Block Read Free Book Online

models,” Dash had said with an edge to his voice that at the time I’d interpreted as jealousy of his charismatic brother, not a reflection of something lacking in me.
    Thinking of the comment now made my stomach flip like the pancake in my pan.
    I was relieved to see Cyan in spite of his resemblance to Dash and the memories it brought up and I didn’t really want my guest to leave right away. There was something comforting about the way his body filled the small space of the bungalow, the smooth-planed, almost monastic beauty of his face.
    â€œWhere are you staying?” I asked.
    â€œI got a motel. I’m good.”
    â€œA motel? Is that comfortable?”
    â€œI love motels. I’m doing a photo series on them. The older and more run-down the better.”
    â€œCool. I’d like to see them. The photos, not the motels. My sheets are nicer, I guarantee it.”
    The corners of his mouth pulled up slightly; he had very full lips. “I don’t doubt that. It’s fine. But I’m going to be checking up on you, Catt. Seriously.”
    â€œOkay,” I said. “And if you need a haircut, I’m your girl. On the house.”
    He laughed, smoothing his fingers over his shaved head, so well shaped it looked like an Egyptian statue’s. “If I ever actually need one, yes.”
    â€œDo you want to stay for pancakes?” I really wanted him to.
    â€œNo, you have company. You two need the nutrition more than I do. You better eat some. And I have to get going anyway and hit the gym early.”
    â€œThe gym? Instead of pancakes?”
    â€œI need it to de-stress. I’ll take a rain check, though.”
    â€œOf course. Where are you going to work out?”
    He wasn’t sure so I told him about Body Farm and gave him a guest pass I’d had in my wallet for months.
    His hands were cool and strong, with large, smooth nail beds and oddly flexible thumbs, and I let him hold my hand in both of his, for a moment, before he left.
    *   *   *
    â€œDash’s brother? The hot one?” Bree said when I told her. She was an hour late to pick up Skylar, so I’d fed him dinner and helped him with his homework for the next day.
    â€œThere’s only one, Bree.”
    She had met Cyan at my wedding and flirted with him of course, telling him about her interest in photography. “I’m obsessed with an art form entirely based on light,” she had said.
    â€œAnd its absence,” he had corrected her.
    Nothing came of it; she was solid with Baby Daddy at the time. I remembered Cyan’s placid expression when they were introduced, so unlike the reaction most men had to Bree, figured he was just being respectful of Baby Daddy. But that cool regard was probably another reason why Cyan had stuck in her mind. A challenge.
    â€œDoes he have a secret crush on you or something?”
    I pushed her hand away—she was trying to brush my hair out of my eyes.
    â€œWhat?” She pouted at me, innocent gaze, incensed mouth.
    â€œHe just wanted to see if I was okay. All you think about is—”
    â€œSex. Yes, I know.”
    This made me flash on Dash with his sex-addict meetings and I flinched. Cyan seemed so different from his brother.
    â€œAnd also, why else would he have ignored me at your wedding?”
    She had a point there.
    Our Love Monster –documented, punk-rock wedding had been at Dash’s friend’s house in the Hollywood Hills. Dash’s band played and everyone brought food, which we later called “pot bad luck” since it was basically a mess of fruit salad, hummus, guacamole, and chips with no real main course. The dessert was good, though—our favorite homemade chocolate chip cookies and a pink-and-black skull-and-crossbones cake festooned with frosting roses. The bride and groom were a Day of the Dead skeleton couple. We hung white gauze and pink twinkle lights in the trees. I wore a