The Rich Boy

by Scott, Kylie

  “So what are my future wife’s favorite hobbies and/or interests?”

  “Hmm.” I stick a fry in my mouth and chew, thinking it over. “Reading, films, music…the usual. You?”

  “Lots of things.”

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t know…hiking, rock climbing. Stuff like that.”

  “So basically I like to sit still and you’re all about being busy and athletic. We have nothing in common.”

  “No. Wait. I can change,” he jokes. “Give me another chance.”

  “You shouldn’t have to change.” I swirl another fry in some ketchup. “I’m sure you’re perfectly fine just as you are.”

  All humor is gone from his face now, his expression blank. The look in his eyes, though, is dark and unhappy. It would seem I’ve hit a nerve. So of course, I do the worst thing possible and babble.

  “I mean, what is even the point of being with someone if all you want to do is change them?” I ask. “If you and your significant other were both exactly the same, where’s the interest or challenge in that? Do you just live in each other’s pockets until the day you die? You’d have to run out of things to talk about pretty fast, right?”

  Nothing from Beck, but a line is now embedded between his dark brows. A moment ago, he seemed all good humor and confidence. Now, however, he almost seems kind of lost. Something I’m more than familiar with these days.

  “Beck, are you okay?”

  He blinks, coming back to life. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

  “Nothing; it’s fine.” My face warms and oh my God. Blushing is so fucking annoying. Be gone, foul anxiety. “I was just….”

  “Imparting wisdom to me.”

  “Sure. Yeah. The combined wisdom and experience of my twenty-two years plus a degree I have yet to find a use for. Please take it with all due seriousness.”

  “I’ll do that.” The tension he’s feeling seems to ease. His shoulders relax; his hands gesture around him. “I like this place.”

  “Me too.”

  “Probably not quite right for a wedding, though.”

  “Probably not,” I agree. The weird mood has lifted. I want to ask him what it was about, but I don’t know him well enough to pry. So instead, I settle for staring at him. Good Lord he’s pretty. I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll soon be saying it again. While I feel sort of bad for objectifying him, what can you do when he’s right there breathing and existing and getting all up in my face? More importantly, I like him. Not a thing that happens often. And he can quote Austen. Still, rushing in doesn’t feel right. “I bet you’ve got a girl in every town you’ve been to.”

  “If you’re asking if I’ve spent all of my time wandering alone, then the answer is no,” he says. “I’ve met lots of different people, worked lots of different jobs. Spent a lot of time staring out Greyhound bus windows, too.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What about you? Do you make new friends and acquaintances at the bar often?”

  “No, not normally.”

  He stares at me and every damn time he does it my nerves start to tingle. But it’s only chemistry, sexual attraction. Nothing to get my panties in a knot over. In all likelihood, it’s the reptile part of my brain indicating his sperm is of interest and how he might make a good protector for me and our young. There’s no actual bond between us. Not really.

  “I’ve reached a decision,” I say.

  “Regarding?”

  “You.” I put down the fry and wipe my hands on a napkin. “I’m not taking you home with me tonight.”

  “You’re not, huh?”

  “No,” I say, though my voice wavers with my lack of conviction.

  The way he watches me, the look in his eye, it’s as if nothing has ever been half as interesting as what just came out of my mouth and he can’t wait to hear what I have to say next. A girl could get drunk on this kind of attention. But hot males and I do not have a good history. It’s your usual pathetic backstory. Heartbreak, shattered dreams, and angsty songs played on repeat for weeks on end annoying the living shit out of everyone in the vicinity.

  Much safer if my pants remain fastened. At least for the time being.

  “Okay,” he says.

  “Assuming, of course, that all of this flirting is leading somewhere and you were interested in going home with me?”

  “It is and I am.”

  A group of butterflies is called a flutter. And that’s exactly what’s going on in my stomach right now. “Perhaps another night, then…”

  All of the smiles he flashed me before were nothing compared to the smaller, more thoughtful one he gives me now. Holy shit. My heart hammers inside my chest and my brain is both dazed and confused. I am utterly beguiled. That’s the word for it. This man is the perfect mix of funny, gorgeous, and intriguing. “No rush. After all, we have the rest of our lives together. And, when you’re ready, I’m happy to wait through however many bouts of meaningless sex before we go all the way to coffee. Whatever it takes for you to feel comfortable.”

  I shake my head. “You know, I honestly can’t decide if you’re crazy, comedic, or something else entirely.”

  Beck just grins.

  Down at the beach, all is pretty much quiet and still. Most of the attractions on the pier shut down hours ago. I don’t usually come here in the early hours of the morning, but Beck was interested so here we are. Guess neither of us want the night to end. Which is wonderful. The sand is cool under our feet, the moon low. In a few hours, it’ll be dawn.

  “I’d like to hold your hand, if that’s not too forward.”

  “I think that would be okay.” I place my palm in his and he immediately laces our fingers together. His skin is warm, his hand large. It suits his size. Yet we seem to fit together just fine. Without being told, he shortens his strides so I’m not left behind or dragged along.

  “I think taking it slow is the right idea, at least for the next forty-eight hours or so.” His expression is thoughtful, gaze looking out at the water. “We want to build a solid foundation for our marriage.”

  “Right,” I drawl. “Dare I ask, have you been married before?”

  “No, I haven’t. What about you?”

  “Nope,” I say.

  “Then our expertise is on the same level.” He gives my fingers a squeeze. “I have a good feeling about this, Alice. A very good feeling indeed.”

  Waves lap at the shore, the sound soothing. After all the noise at the bar and then the bright lights at the diner, it’s good to be outside in the clean ocean air. To stare off into the distance and think not particularly deep thoughts. My feet hurt and my head is tired, but the company is lovely. He has the hem of his jeans rolled up, toes digging into the sand. And his bare feet are every bit as attractive and interesting as the rest of him. Toes have never particularly titillated me before, yet here we are.

  “Never really spent much time at the beach,” he says. “More used to the mountains.”

  “There’re no sharks in the mountains.” A random but relevant comment. Shark week made an impression on me. “So it’s probably safer.”

  “Yeah.” He scratches at the dark stubble on his chin. “It does have that going for it. Though they do have Bigfoot up in the hills.”

  “But does he actually attack people or is he more of a hairy introvert who just wants to be left alone?”

  “The latter, I think.”

  “Can’t believe you rock climb. Isn’t that hard?”

  “Well, it’s not always easy.”

  “You use safety harnesses and wear a helmet, right?”

  He winces. “Ah, not so much.”

  “You free climb?” I tear myself free of his grip and turn on him. “Beck, that’s dangerous. People die doing that.”

  “But it’s cool, right?”

  “Are you doing it because you think it’s cool?”

  He shakes his head. “No. It’s for the challenge. Me against the mountain. See, there’s not just the ph
ysical aspect, but there’s the mental fortitude required as well. It’s an amazing experience.”

  “I don’t even know why you bother flirting with me,” I say. “I think staying up past my bedtime to finish a book is a perilous and exciting adventure.”

  “Climbing is a calculated risk and I am as careful as can be. Promise not to make you a widow anytime soon, if that helps.”

  “Thanks. I think you’re very brave.”

  He just smiles.

  Meanwhile, my frown is intense. I can feel it. While this has been fun, it makes no sense whatsoever. Insecurity is a bitch, but it’s not always without cause. “You know, at first I thought you were just talking to me because Rob dared you or something.”

  “You did? Why would you think that?” He frowns back at me.

  I just shrug. No need to delve into my various complexes and issues right here and now. Or ever, for that matter.

  “Let me state unequivocally for the record,” he says. “I’m not here to hurt your feelings or lead you on, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He motions me closer with his hand. “Now you say it back to me.”

  “Ah, I’m not going to hurt your feelings or lead you on.”

  “Thank you,” and he says it so sincerely. Guess I’m not the only one who’s been screwed over in the past. “Now what do you think about our future prospects, wife?”

  “I still think we’re complete opposites.”

  “So according to your comments over dinner, we will therefore have much to discuss for the rest of our lives.” He steps closer. Moonlight and shadows make him even more handsome. A little dangerous and a lot mysterious. The breeze tousles his hair and he stares back at me, calm as can be. He keeps his emotions well contained. I can’t read him at all. Though the comedy seems like a type of protection, a sleight of hand to hide his real feelings. I can’t talk; sarcasm and wit are my crutches of choice.

  “I didn’t think you were paying attention,” I say.

  “Of course I was.” He takes another step closer. Our chests are almost touching now and his gaze never leaves my face. The heat of his body is intense, the pull of him extreme. Like he’s this giant magnet I want to fall into and crash against. Stupid of me not to take him home tonight and get naked, preferably with no lights on. A real lost opportunity. How often does someone of Beck’s caliber come along? Answer: next to never. “According to the rules of taking it slow, Alice, I’m not allowed to kiss you yet. Which is damn hard when you’re looking at me that way.”

  “There are rules?”

  “You don’t know them? To be exact, I’m quoting article five subsection seven.”

  “That one, huh?”

  “That’s right. No kissing on the first date. And definitely no head.”

  A laugh stutters out of me. “Oh. What a shame.”

  “It is. But we can hug it out and discreetly feel each other up over our clothing,” he says, his voice low and hypnotic. “If you like.”

  “Actually, that sounds quite nice.”

  “I was hoping you’d feel that way. All right, then.” He holds his arms open. “I’m ready.”

  We’re so close I barely need to move to be in his embrace. My arms go around his waist and my cheek rests against his pec. Arms wrap around me, holding me tight. He smells amazing, warm man flesh with the faint hint of sweat and the lingering scent of his aftershave. Combined with the salt air, it is all things good and right in this world. I could get high off of him, no problem. He holds me against him while his other hand is busy giving me a neck rub. The pads of his fingers stroking over my skin before kneading the muscle with just the right amount of pressure. The man knows what he’s doing. I give this hug eleven out of ten.

  Meanwhile, his face is buried in the top of my head, sniffing at my long blond hair. He’s not even being discreet.

  “I probably smell of stale beer,” I say, trying to be helpful.

  His chest moves slightly as he chuckles. “No. It’s something floral.”

  “Hibiscus.”

  “Ah. Pretty.”

  It’s actually from a dry shampoo because I’m two days past needing to wash my hair. Though he doesn’t need to know this. The length of my leg hairs would also probably scare the man, but such is life. Sometimes a girl just needs to go natural. Also, I wasn’t in the mood or anticipating getting this close with anyone. At least, not tonight. Being female can be ridiculously high maintenance.

  But back to the hugging.

  It’s funny, his body is hard yet comfortable and the way he holds me is nothing less than swoon worthy. Like I’m treasured and protected. But also wanted. And with my breasts squished against his chest, he can no doubt feel my hard nipples reacting to his touch. Oh well. With his firm hand now working its way up and down my spine, going a little lower each time, teasing us both, there’s no innocence about this embrace. Something is also happening in his pants.

  “Isn’t this nice?” he whispers. “And so chaste.”

  “You know, I was just thinking that.”

  His palm eases over the top of my ass cheek, fingers digging into the flesh just a little, grabbing hold of me. I slide my hands under the hem of his T-shirt, needing to feel his skin. Hot, smooth, and perfect. It’s a visceral thing, the need to get closer. I rest my chin on his chest, staring up at him. Being this close gives me full body tingles. In this low light, his gaze is all dark and mysterious. And very sexy. The man makes me so giddy I can’t think straight. Too many sensations, so much yum. It wouldn’t take much to reach up and press his mouth to mine. How tempting. I can barely even remember why I thought waiting to go further was a good idea. Caution means nothing when your blood’s running hot and your hormones have been so thoroughly agitated.

  Then, I ruin it all by yawning. My jaw even cracks nice and loud. “Oh God. Sorry.”

  He laughs. “Think we better call it a night. Let you get some sleep.”

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Want me to walk you home?”

  I shake my head. “It’s fine, thanks.”

  And he just stands there and looks at me for the longest moment. If only I could read his mind. I don’t know why this gets to me so much, all of the attention he’s showing. But it does. My body adores the way this man watches me as if nothing else matters. The complete focus in his gaze. Already I’m learning there’s nothing half-assed about Beck. A change from the last few guys I dated. Not that we’re dating. I don’t actually know what this is.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” he asks, hand resting low on my back, thumb rubbing back and forth against the cotton of my shirt.

  “Right.” I smile. I can’t wait.

  CHAPTER TWO

  When he walked into work the next day, I felt like I could breathe again. Like I’d been bracing myself, expecting him to disappear, expecting to be disappointed. I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to be this invested. It isn’t wise. I kind of also dressed up for him, but also for myself. Sixty/forty maybe. I don’t know. But one of my favorite outfits is a pair of skinny jeans that hug my ass and a short-sleeved black button down with a stand-up collar. Makes me feel fancy, especially with my hair braided and small silver hoop earrings.

  I have it so bad for the boy. God help me.

  And hey, odds are good that he will lose interest. Get distracted by one of the babes who frequent the bar or something. Lord knows he receives enough attention. Not that I was watching him all night. But I was sort of watching him all night. What can I say? He’s very watchable. Or maybe he’ll get sick of the place and its dumbass management and leave. Who could blame him? And yet, after closing time, when it’s just he and I…

  “Would you mind disposing of these for me please, wife?” he asks, depositing a collection of numbers and names scrawled on pieces of beer mats, dockets, and other strips of paper on the bar.

  “You sure you don’t want to keep any of them?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay.�
�� I sweep them all up in my hands and drop them into a trashcan. “Why does giving them to me feel like a statement on your part?”

  “Because it is,” he says. “Sometimes it’s important to not only do the right thing, but to be seen doing it.”

  “Huh.”

  “That’s some wisdom from my stepmom.”

  “Are you close to her?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Reasonably so.” He turns his face away. “Like I said, complicated family.”

  “You must miss some of them, though, right?”

  “Sure.” The dismissive way he says this is less than convincing. “Some of them.”

  “Don’t you get lonely, moving from town to town?”

  For a long moment, he just looks at me. The hint of sadness in his eyes giving way to something else. Happiness or hope maybe. It’s hard to say. Beck is a mystery I long to unravel.

  “Not when I’m with you,” he says. “When I’m with you, wife, I’m exactly where I want to be.”

  “Smooth.”

  He grins and leans the broom against a table, resting his elbows on the bar. “Do you have any phone numbers you feel the need to dispose of? No pressure.”

  “Ha. No pressure.” I smile. “But no. I don’t accept numbers.”

  “I hope you’d accept mine. If I had a phone.”

  “You don’t have a phone?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “When you have a cell, then people you don’t necessarily want to be able to contact you can do so and it’s just a steep path straight into hell so far as I can tell.”

  “Ah.”

  “If it was just you sexting me that would be fine. But it inevitably wouldn’t be.” And at these words his mask slips once more. Just like last night in the diner when he went blank and distant. Only this time, his jaw is rigid. Seems like whatever he’s trying to outrun isn’t behind him just yet. But I guess that could be said of most of us and our emotional baggage.

  I hate seeing him hurt or upset. “If you had a phone, I would definitely accept your number.”

  His answering grin is the slow sexy one. It turns my knees to water. “I’m very glad to hear that, Alice. How about a drink?”