Bet on Me (Bet on Love #2)

by Rachel Higginson

  “Britte, it’s your mom. It’s Stacey.”

  White hot fury pierced through me. “How did you get this number? I can’t believe dad! I told him not to. I told him I didn’t want to speak to you.”

  “I found it,” she said quickly. “Your dad didn’t give it to me, honey. I swear. He told me that you weren’t ready. I just…I just couldn’t wait.”

  Tears welled in my eyes and spilled over my lashes before I could stop them. “You should have waited,” I yelled, my voice breaking with heavy, heart-rending emotion. “And don’t call me honey! You lost that right when you left. You lost the right to talk to me when you left.”

  “Britte, listen, I just want to—”

  “No,” I hissed, sounding just as much like a poisonous snake as anybody. “No, I don’t want to hear it. Don’t call here again.”

  My hands shook so violently that it took three tries before I could get them to end the call. I dropped my phone on my bed, the charging cord still attached, and sank to the ground.

  I sat in the middle of my bedroom as the tears flowed down my face and my heart broke all over again. She hadn’t left this time, I had.

  I had been the one to end that short conversation and walk away.

  All my life I had imagined a moment like this, where I could hurt her as much as she had hurt me.

  But it didn’t feel good. I didn’t feel satisfied. I didn’t feel justified or vindicated or proud. In fact, I felt very much like my eight-year-old self, losing my mother all over again.

  I cried and cried and cried until it was time for my midterm. I tried to get ready, but I kept crying and it kept interfering with everything. So, dressed in the most comfortable clothes I could find, with my hair in another messy bun and no makeup on, I spent another test being distracted, confused and lost.

  By the end of the test, I knew I hadn’t mastered Microbiology.

  At this point, I wasn’t even sure if I passed the test.

  But I did know I had to do something about all these distractions in my life…all these obstacles that wanted to derail my carefully laid plans and steal my dreams.

  My mother for the second time.

  And Beckett without even realizing what he was doing.

  My mother was an easy fix. I’d already told her not to call me or talk to me. If she called again, next time, I wouldn’t answer. I knew better now.

  I wouldn’t let her hurt me again. I wouldn’t open the door to more heartbreak and more disappointment. She’d squandered whatever chance of a relationship we could have had years ago.

  As for Beckett, I felt the same way. I wouldn’t open my door to allow in more heartbreak. It was only a matter of time before he moved on or things went badly between us. My life had already started to suffer because of him. I couldn’t risk anymore.

  I wouldn’t risk anymore.

  He at least deserved to hear it from me in person. He at least needed to understand that no matter what he wanted, we could never be together.

  As much as that hurt now and as much as it killed me to even consider the conversation I needed to have with him, it had to happen. Now. Before it was too late.

  Before I was too deep into this with him that I couldn’t let him go.

  He wasn’t part of the plan.

  And he didn’t make the list.

  I’d just have to figure out a more diplomatic, but permanent way to tell him that.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Beckett

  I had just stepped out of the shower after a long day of internship slavery, then taking my to sister lunch, and then coaching in the heat of the afternoon when I got Britte’s text. Can I come over?

  I took stock of the growing laundry problem on my floor and my unmade bed. I ran to the living room and saw dishes everywhere. And more laundry. I had papers and books all over the small table in the kitchen.

  My place was a mess.

  Yes, I texted back anyway. What time?

  30 minutes?

  I texted her my address and apartment number and said, See you then.

  That was plenty of time. I got dressed, fingered through my hair and started with the laundry first. It was everywhere, but cleaning up was easy. I just had to get it to the basket in my room. Sheets were next.

  Just in case.

  I stripped the bed and made it as quickly as I could. Then I went about collecting random dishes strewn throughout the house. There didn’t end up being too many of those, so I put them all on one side of the sink and decided I’d throw them in the dishwasher if I had time.

  I straightened my room and living room, then the table. Again, that wasn’t so bad, I was just in the middle of a paper so research texts and my notes were in messy piles that only I could decipher.

  I had just used a Clorox wipe on the toilet when my intercom buzzed. I shoved the tube of disinfectant wipes under the sink where they belonged and made a mental note to thank Ellie for stashing them there in the first place.

  “Here,” she’d declared, making a big show of putting them in the cabinet under my sink. “For when you have girls over.” Then she’d looked at me with a scowl and ordered, “Be thorough.”

  I remembered thinking that was ridiculous, but since she’d given them to me, I’d actually needed them more than once. My sister was a genius.

  “Hello?” I spoke into the speaker.

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “I ordered a stripper an hour again. The ad said thirty minutes or less or your money back.”

  Britte’s unamused voice filtered back, “I’m freezing, Beckett!”

  Fine, she didn’t want to roll play as a stripper. I supposed I would find a way to struggle on.

  I buzzed her up and opened the door so she could just come right in. While I waited, I started throwing some dishes in the dishwasher and since they were mostly glasses and silverware I made pretty good progress before Britte arrived.

  I closed the dishwasher and leaned back on the counter to greet her. I wanted to pin her against the wall and pick up right where we left off this morning, but then I thought, hey, maybe it would be hotter if she attacked me against the dishwasher.

  Then we could make good use of the counter space.

  So, I stood there and did my best to look irresistible.

  Britte closed the door behind her and slid off huge mittens that looked better suited for the dead of winter than the middle of fall.

  But I could tell she was cold. Her face was shockingly pale, and I noticed blue and purple bags under her eyes for the first time ever. Plus, her eyes were all red and bloodshot.

  I knew she pushed herself beyond normal limitations, but she had never looked this worn out before. Nervous concern pulsed through me. I had all the intentions of waiting for her to sexually molest me, but I couldn’t stand the sight of her looking so…breakable.

  I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around her, tugging her tightly to my chest. “Hey,” I said against her cheek. “Is everything okay?”

  She didn’t respond verbally, but she shook her head, and that set off a chain reaction through her body. Pretty soon she was trembling in my arms.

  I held her tighter, deciding I would be the strong foundation she needed to fight whatever it was that was going on.

  “Is it your midterms? Did they go badly?”

  She nodded this time, confirming my theory. “Well, shit,” I sighed. “That sucks.” She sniffled, and it sounded like the beginning of a cry, so I moved quickly, unzipping her jacket and shedding it from her body. Then my arms were right back around her, and I walked us further into the apartment, so we didn’t have to talk in the entryway.

  “It’s more than that, though,” she confessed. I could feel how strongly she was trying to fight back these tears. Her voice was marked with the need to cry and the deep emotion that she’d bottled inside.

  “Tell me,” I demanded. I’d never once before been interested in any girl’s drama. I hadn’t wanted to hear about it o
r talk about it or even acknowledge that it existed. But Britte was different. First of all, I knew this wouldn’t be needless theatrics. Whatever had happened to Britte wasn’t petty or made up in her head. This was real.

  Second of all, I genuinely wanted to know. And I wanted to fix it. I didn’t want her to feel like this anymore or look so frightened. I didn’t want her shaking in my arms or fighting against obvious tears.

  I wanted the snarky, sassy, feisty woman I had come to know so well over the last few months. I wanted my girl that bit back and bit hard.

  This wasn’t her.

  And I hated that.

  I hated whoever or whatever had done this to her.

  My voice gentled as much as I was capable of with the building energy ping-ponging through me. “Is there more?”

  “Yes,” she finally spoke. “There’s more.” She pulled back and looked around at my small apartment for the first time. Her eyebrows scrunched together over her nose, and she looked adorably confused. “I pictured it differently.”

  Realizing she’d changed subjects, I didn’t know what to say or do. Did I press her about her problems? Or let her get distracted?

  What was better?

  Curiosity won out. “How did you picture it?”

  She spun in a slow circle, “With pictures of naked girls all over the walls and a stack of Playboys on the coffee table.”

  “Come on,” I laughed. “My mom would kill me.”

  Her gaze moved back to mine. “You care about what your mom thinks?”

  “Of course. She helped me decorate when I got this place. That couch was her idea. The table. The coffee table. All of the furniture, except for the TV. That was all me.”

  “You didn’t have opinions?”

  I smiled at Britte and gave the obvious answer, “Hers were better.” I pointed back at the couch. “Ellie helped, though.”

  Her expression became unreadable. “What about your dad? What does he think?”

  What kind of question was that? “He doesn’t care. He’s only been here a couple of times. Mom is the one that comes to visit us and forces us to ‘host’ meals in our homes. Those are her words. I’ve only had to do it once because I just moved out of the dorms.”

  “Ellie’s never had to do that.”

  “She has,” I disagreed. “When you were back home one weekend. But you’re the reason Ellie gets out of it. My mom doesn’t want to bombard you with all of us.”

  “Your dad doesn’t go to those?”

  “Not usually. He has his own area of meddling with us, though. He’s all about our futures and jobs and money. He wants to know everything. And he always has our five, ten and twenty-year-plans worked out. He’s obsessive.”

  “But he means well.”

  I nodded because her words were said as a fact. I wasn’t sure I believed them, but she did. And she wasn’t in a state where I felt safe arguing with her.

  She looked around again and raised one eyebrow. “So no Playboys.”

  I grinned at her because I couldn’t help it. I glanced at the table and said, “Well, I mean, I have the internet.”

  She laughed, and it felt like warm sunlight.

  Still worried about her, I took a step in her direction and made my voice serious. “Why did you come over here, Britte? Tell me what’s wrong?”

  Before I knew it, we were close again. All I had to do was reach out, and I could pull her against me. But I let her make the final move. I wouldn’t push her.

  “I want to talk to you about something. I mean… we need to talk about something. There’s something I have to say.” She looked around again and let out a tired sigh. “But it’s kind of nice to just take a second first. This day has really sucked. So yeah…this, this is surprisingly nice.”

  Dread curdled in my stomach. Instinct told me that I didn’t want to hear what she had to say. I didn’t know where it came from or what grounds it was using, but I could sense her pulling away from me… getting ready to run.

  Maybe it was the flighty look in those green, green eyes. Or the way her hands couldn’t be still. Her nose hadn’t wrinkled once she’d been here and I took that as a very bad sign.

  “It is nice to talk,” I agreed, dropping my tone and skimming my fingers along the side of her hand. “But you know what’s nicer?”

  She took a step toward me, “What’s nicer?”

  I looked at her, feeling myself heat with anticipation and memories of this morning. “Waking up next to you. You’re so nice to me in the morning.”

  She laughed, so I took another step toward her. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? When Britte acts slutty, that’s just her being nice?”

  My fingers played with hers, and I dropped my free hand on her waist. “I have never, ever seen you act slutty. Not once.”

  Her expression twisted with disbelief. “What about the first time we kissed? I was pretty slutty that night.”

  “First of all, I deserve the credit to have noticed how driven you are, how hardworking…passionate…determined you are with every aspect of your life. I have always rightly assumed that’s how you approach everything in life. You see what you want, and you go get it, Britte. That’s not slutty, that’s genius. I’m constantly impressed by you.”

  Her cheeks heated with a pretty blush, and she didn’t look quite so pale anymore. Her eyes were still red and puffy like she’d been crying, but she didn’t look like she was on her deathbed either.

  And I had done that.

  I’d made her feel better and chased away her fear or hurt or whatever it was she wasn’t ready to talk about yet.

  “Beckett,” she whispered as if she had no idea what else to say.

  “What?” I teased. “Are you not those things?”

  Her eyes lifted from my chest. Her gaze met mine, and I marveled at all the secrets she kept locked up tightly in that brilliant brain of hers. Or maybe they weren’t secrets.

  Maybe they were walls.

  Defenses.

  Miles and miles of barbed wire.

  But I had been putting in the time, slowly chipping away at everything that kept me away, that separated us. I thought I would hate this part…I thought it would be something I had to put up with to get to the end goal, but I had been wrong.

  So wrong.

  This was the best part. Getting to know her. Spending time with her. Letting this happen slowly and authentically and permanently. This wasn’t a one and done deal. I couldn’t let this girl go. Not after I was in this deep.

  And I didn’t want to let her go.

  That was the best part.

  I’d gotten to know her, I’d gotten to know her soul and heart and insides. And I only wanted to know more.

  I wanted to know everything.

  Britte closed the distance between us and her trembling hands landed on my chest. “I don’t know what to do with you, Beckett Harris. I thought I knew. That’s why I came over here. But now…now I have no idea.”

  The heat of her palms moved over my chest, and my grip on her hip tightened. “That’s a lie, Britte Nichols. You do know what to do with me.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Kiss me.”

  And she did. Our mouths met, hungry, greedy…ready to let this building energy between us combust into the flame and fire we had both been fighting.

  That’s exactly what happened. We burned together, igniting with a white-hot heat that scorched the touch and singed the air. And yet, we couldn’t get enough.

  For me, I knew I would never have enough.

  I wanted her to burn through me, leaving her mark all over my body. I wanted to taste her fire every damn day. I wanted her to consume me.

  Burn me to the ground.

  Turn me to ash and dust and then bring me back to life with that same fire.

  God, this woman.

  She reached for the hem of my t-shirt, tearing it off my body. I removed her shirt slower, not wanting to push her. She didn’t have the same reserva
tions.

  Her shirt disappeared, then her hands disappeared behind her back and in the next second her bra was gone.

  I took a step back, wanting to admire her, wanting to drink in the sight of her gorgeous body that I was being given permission to touch…taste…love.

  It hit me hard, how privileged I was. This was a gift. She was a treasure. And I got to have her. Me. She chose me.

  I could have stood there all night just staring at her, memorizing every curve and detail of her, those plump breasts, her tapered waist, the elegant line of her throat and the way her hair had come loose in her bun thing and made her look wild, untamed, otherworldly.

  She didn’t let us stand apart for long. She launched herself at me, her arms wrapping around my neck and our mouths crashing together in something more than passion… more than lust.

  I had to kiss her, or I would die.

  I had to have her, or the world would end, and the zombie apocalypse would start and life as we knew it would cease to be.

  And it would all be because I didn’t do my part to save mankind.

  She pulled back for a second just to say, “Are you sure?”

  I smiled, because I wasn’t used to girls asking me that question. “I have a civic duty,” I told her. “Are you sure?”

  Her nose wrinkled with confusion, but she nodded in answer to my question. “You should know…I’m a virgin.”

  My body jerked with this new information. What? I hadn’t even imagined that was possible. Not with someone this beautiful…and talented and smart. “How is that possible?” She flinched, and I realized I might have offended her. “I mean, goddamn, Britte, your gorgeous. Unbelievably gorgeous. How is it that no one has ever…”

  I didn’t know how to finish that sentence, so I let it trail off.

  Her smile was nervous and a bit shaky. “I just didn’t…I don’t know. It just hasn’t. There’s never been anyone I wanted to go this far with.” Her gaze brightened, finding courage and something deeper. “Until you.”

  Pride beat against my chest and my brain echoed those words to my ego. Until me. Damn, she had no idea what those words meant to me. I felt like a man. Not just a man, but all that was man. Like I had been living my entire life for this one thing. Like I’d found my purpose and future and reason for existing.