I played the kiss over and over again in my head. The feel of his lips. The way he had said my name like I was the air he breathed. My heart sped up at the memory that I couldn’t shake.
Beckett Kingsley had found his way under my skin, and I didn’t see a way to dig him out. Not without inflicting some serious damage.
Nope. The best thing was to cut all ties. To pretend that everything that had transpired between Beckett and me didn’t matter. It was all surface stuff. Nothing substantial.
And if I were Pinocchio, my nose would have grown a good ten feet.
It was becoming extremely difficult to lie to myself where Beckett was concerned.
So of course I found myself at the Methodist church on Tuesday evening.
I hadn’t seen or spoken to Beckett in days. I ignored his calls. I purposefully didn’t read his texts.
I was behaving like a stone-cold bitch.
My sister would be proud.
I stayed in bed all day Saturday and most of Sunday, only getting up when my own smell threatened to make me ill. I was plagued with fevered nightmares that wouldn’t go away, strengthening my resolve to cut Beckett from my life before things went too deep.
But on Tuesday I knew I had to see him.
I couldn’t stay away.
I was tired of being alone, stricken with anxiety. Incapacitated with fear and doubts.
Meeting and getting to know Beckett had shown me how much I was missing. How much better life could be.
Because I had already jumped into the deep end and I definitely couldn’t swim.
But I knew that I really wanted to learn.
“You look…nice,” Adam said, looking up as I walked into the store that morning.
I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic. Sure I had been wallowing in bed for the better part of three days, but I had made a point to shower and had even shaved. That had to count for something, right?
“Uh, thanks?” I posed the statement more as a question, though I gave Adam a smile.
I walked back to the office and sat down at my desk, turning the computer on. I pulled out my phone and turned it on, not surprised to see a text from Beckett.
I didn’t read it, knowing I’d see him later. I had made the only decision I could make. Anything that needed saying would be said face-to-face. Not over the phone.
“Do you have a moment? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” Adam appeared in the doorway, standing with his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes not quite meeting mine. He had a strange note in his voice but I wasn’t really in the mood for whatever he had to say. It was most likely to tell me that the plumbing was backed up or that he was wondering if I had noticed the giant zit in the middle of my forehead—which I had, no need to bring it up.
“Not really. I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on.”
Adam was quiet for a long time. I chanced a glance and was surprised to see that he looked…hurt?
Did Adam Johnson even get hurt feelings? I thought his heart was coated in Teflon.
“You’re wearing makeup. That’s weird. Are you going to see that heart guy?” he probed before I could recant my bitchy comment. Adam never probed. What was up with him? I was feeling almost violated.
“Uh. I have support group tonight if that’s what you’re asking,” I answered, clicking the Excel icon on my desktop and opening the spreadsheets I had been working on last week.
“Are you two dating?”
I scrolled through the meaningless numbers, feeling uncomfortable. Now was not the time for him to play interested friend. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about Beckett.
“Did the Goldstein party come in on Saturday?” I asked, changing the subject.
Adam didn’t respond. He continued to stand there. He normally didn’t notice much. Today he was entirely too observant.
“How are you feeling?” Adam asked, not answering my question.
“What do you want me to say? That I feel like shit? Because you’ve never seemed very bothered by my health before. Is Mercury in retrograde or something?” I snipped.
“Just because I don’t ask you every three seconds how you’re feeling doesn’t mean I don’t care. I know you like to play the suffering martyr all alone in her tower. But that stuff is completely in your head. Just so you know,” Adam stated rather heatedly.
“What in the world crawled up your ass?” I frowned at him.
“I know you sit around thinking no one cares about you. No one listens. Well, I listen. I just wish you would return the favor once in a while. You’re not the only one with stuff that needs unloading,” he huffed.
“Whoa, Adam, what’s going on—”
“Forget it. Hope you feel better.” Then he walked out of the room.
And I was left very, very confused.
And feeling like a big jerk.
—
“Hey,” Beckett said, sitting down beside me.
“Hey,” I said back.
“You never responded to my texts or answered my calls,” he said without accusation. But there was a hint of pain in his tone that was all too obvious.
“I’m sorry. I was sick all weekend,” I answered, afraid to look at him. Knowing that if I did, he’d burn me up.
Beckett was instantly concerned. He angled his body closer to me. Almost touching. But not quite.
“Are you feeling better? What was wrong?”
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. His worrying about me was nice.
I knew Beckett cared.
He cared about me.
“I’m fine. All better,” I told him, giving him my eyes. My face. Not turning away from him but turning toward him.
I looked at his lips. I couldn’t help it. If I closed my eyes, I could still remember their taste.
I was terrified.
I felt the edges of panic that threatened to take hold.
The instinct to push him away was almost overwhelming. But it was trumped by a stronger emotion.
One that only Beckett could make me feel.
Hope.
“You should have told me you weren’t feeling well. I would have brought you chicken noodle soup or something.”
I chuckled. “I hate chicken noodle soup.”
Beckett made a face. “Yeah, me too.”
The rest of the group filed in, taking their seats.
Carefully, slowly, Beckett took my hand and laced his fingers with mine. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t stiffen or fall prey to awkwardness.
What if he leaves me like Mom? Like Dad? My subconscious argued.
How will I survive that?
I had no answers. And for once I wouldn’t look for them. Beckett made me want to just be.
So I held his hand.
Palm to palm.
And it just felt right.
“Will you talk to me after? Please?” he asked, not letting go.
I nodded. Words were useless things. They never expressed exactly what needed saying.
So I didn’t bother.
Beckett looked happy. Relieved. And he didn’t let go of my hand. He held it the whole time. Balancing them on his leg.
Palm to palm.
The heat of his skin branding me as his.
I wasn’t thinking about my pain. My aches.
I felt…
Good.
—
After group was over I walked outside and sat down on a bench. I was nervous. I was excited.
Yep, there was also some nausea. But it was the good kind. If feeling like throwing up could ever be construed as “good.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Do you want to go get some green tea somewhere that I can smell the coffee and pretend that’s what I’m really drinking?” he asked.
“That sounds a little depressing, Beck. How about we grab something to eat and go to the bridge?” I suggested.
Beckett gave me a smile that lit up his entire face. He lifted my hand and pressed it to his cheek for just a moment.
“That sounds perfect, Corin.”
I could feel his skin beneath my hand, and I was filled with the most inexplicable feeling. Something that wasn’t scary in the least.
It was like a fluttering of a thousand butterfly wings.
“How about burgers? Everyone likes burgers, right?” he offered, and all I could do was nod. Because I had apparently lost all control over my vocal chords.
So we walked down the street toward the burger joint in the middle of town. Beckett was still holding my hand and I was pretty sure my palms had started to sweat. But I didn’t worry about it. Much.
We quickly ordered two hamburgers and a large order of fries. After Beckett paid for our meals—even though I offered to pay for my own—we started toward the bridge that had connected us even before we knew each other.
Neither of us spoke for a time. The air was chilly and I shivered slightly even though I was bundled up in a heavy coat and scarf.
“Are you cold?” Beckett asked.
“A bit. But I’ll be okay,” I replied dismissively.
Beckett wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. He rubbed his hand up and down my arm, sending a thousand tingles to all parts of my body.
“Is that better?” he asked, close to my ear. So close that his breath tickled my neck.
I nodded. Those vocal cords still weren’t working apparently.
When we reached the bridge, we sat down on a bench along the bank. Beckett released me long enough to hand me my bag of food before pulling me close again.
I unwrapped the greasy paper and took a bite of the burger. I barely tasted it. I wasn’t even that hungry. I was too focused on Beckett. And Beckett’s arm around me.
“I shouldn’t be eating this stuff,” Beckett mentioned in between mouthfuls. “But it’s okay to take a risk once in a while, right?”
I dropped my burger back in my bag and glared at him. “Not when it comes to your health, Beck. Some risks are most definitely not worth it,” I lectured.
Beckett went very quiet. He looked out at the stream, his brows furrowed, his eyes sad.
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Did you realize that some risks aren’t worth it?” he asked, his voice hard.
The burger sat like a lump in the pit of my stomach.
Say something, Corin. Anything!
Just don’t tell him about that whisker you pulled out of your chin this morning!
I stayed silent.
“Your friendship means a lot to me. You’re different—”
“Oh jeez, thanks,” I deadpanned, finally finding my voice.
Beckett stared down at me with serious eyes. “You are different. For the first time since my heart attack I felt like someone understood me. You asked the questions no one else seemed to think about. You cared how I felt. What I thought. But you also helped me to realize that there are other things in my life besides the things I lost.”
His mouth was set in a firm line as though waiting for me to argue with him. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because with him I had experienced and felt all of the same things.
And then I felt them again.
The butterflies.
Beautiful, excited butterflies.
Everywhere.
“So, yes, Corin, you’re different. You’re better.” Beckett picked up my cold, trembling hands and pressed them to his mouth, gently kissing my knuckles. I shivered again but this time it had nothing to do with the cold.
“You’re so much more to me than you realize.”
“I’m not sure you really know what you’re saying—” I began, but Beckett cut me off. He had a habit of interrupting but this time I didn’t get annoyed. Not when he was looking at me like that.
“Don’t talk to me like I don’t know my own mind!” he retorted angrily, and I couldn’t help but smile at his frustration.
“Well, I’m glad you find this all so amusing,” Beckett muttered, enfolding my hands with his and putting them in his lap. Our food had been forgotten. We were only focused on each other. These words. These truths. In the dying evening light.
I grew serious. “I’m not amused, Beck. I’m scared. So damn scared,” I whispered.
“I know you are, Corin. But I’m not. There’s nothing scary in realizing who you want to be with. It’s exciting. Exhilarating.” He leaned in and pressed his forehead against mine, closing his eyes briefly. “That’s what you make me feel, Corin. Exhilarated.”
I opened my mouth to tell him everything. He deserved to know. He made it seem so simple. To give him the secrets of my heart.
“I’m not sure you understand what you’re saying, Beck. What real chance do we have?”
Beckett opened his eyes, his gaze intense. Heady.
“We have the same chance as anyone else.”
My eyes blurred and my chest felt tight.
“What are you saying?” I asked.
Already knowing.
I knew.
“I want you to give us a chance.”
“I’m not sure, Beck. You don’t know me—”
“Then let me get to know you. I want to know everything.”
I pulled back, needing room to breathe. Distance suddenly seemed necessary.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for. I could change into a wolf at the full moon and eat you whole,” I said lightly. Trying to make a joke. It wasn’t a very good one.
Beckett didn’t laugh.
“I know exactly what I’m asking for.”
He moved closer again, closing the gap. “Even if you turned into a wolf.”
How could I say no to him? Ever?
“Sure,” I finally said.
“Sure?” Beckett’s lips curved upward, his eyes twinkling.
“That’s what I said,” I answered with a shrug. I was trying to act nonchalant. I was a really bad liar. My eyes twinkled back.
“That wasn’t the most enthusiastic response I have ever heard. Do you need some time to think about it?” Beckett was laughing now. He knew what I was thinking. What I was feeling.
Because he just got me.
“Hmm, maybe you’re right and I should think about it some more,” I kidded. My stomach was in knots. My hands were still sweating. I prayed that my deodorant was still working.
But I was smiling.
Really smiling.
“Time’s up, Corin. The ‘sure’ stands. And now that I think about it, it’s the best word I’ve ever heard.” He seemed so happy. It was infectious. It made me forget about my misgivings. Forget about my fears.
Forget about everything but being here with him.
Then he was on his feet and pulling me to mine.
Before I could ask him what he was doing, Beckett was kissing me.
Really kissing me.
The kind of kisses that made you forget sense and reason.
The kind that made you forget where you were.
The kind of kiss that you never came back from.
Ever.
And it was then that I started to swim.
Chapter 14
Corin
“What am I going to wear? Mr. Bingley, help!”
I threw another shirt onto my bed in exasperation. Mr. Bingley sat on my armchair licking his ass and giving me disdainful looks. I was clearly interrupting his naptime and he was not happy.
“I should have let Tamsin have you.” I glared at him and he gave me his version of kitty stink eye before resuming his butt licking.
I wasn’t the kind of girl to change her clothes a million times. I typically didn’t bother with my hair and it took an act of God to have me apply any makeup. And shaving? Maybe once in an ice age.
But tonight was different.
Tonight I was going on an honest-to-goodness date.
And not with just any Joe Schmo.
I was going on a date with Beckett Kingsley.
My good buddy, lasagna hater, green-tea-drinking Beckett Kingsley.
Not only were we going on a da
te, but it was most likely going to be a date with kissing. Hopefully lots of kissing. And that made me tingle all over.
I was a twenty-five-year-old woman trying to suppress the urge to run around the room shrieking and squealing like a teenager at her first boy band concert.
“Ahh!” I screeched, startling Mr. Bingley, who was now officially pissed off. He jumped off the bed and sauntered out into the living room where he could sleep without my random bursts of crazy.
I looked in the mirror at the navy blue dress I had tried on and winced. It looked like something a grandmother would pick out. What was I smoking when I paid money for this thing?
I pulled it over my head and stood in the middle of the room in just my bra and underwear. At least I liked my undergarments. They were a cute pair with pink polka dots. No granny panties tonight.
I sort of wanted to put on my robe and crawl back into bed. This whole getting-ready-to-go-out-with-Beckett thing was way too stressful.
I hadn’t slept at all the night before. My mind was racing through so many different things. I couldn’t calm down long enough to drift off.
But there hadn’t been any panic attacks. It was the first time in ages I hadn’t experienced one during those dark hours.
My doorbell rang.
What?
I looked at the clock and realized it was already 7:30.
So that meant it was Beckett on the other side of the door.
Shit.
I looked down at my half-naked body.
Shit!
And then I started freaking out.
“I’ll be right there!” I yelled.
Should I let him in?
But I was practically naked!
I couldn’t let him see me like this!
Maybe I should own it. Shake my hips and let him get a look at the goods.
Like that would ever happen.
Crap, what was I going to wear?
I grabbed a pair of jeans from my floor and wiggled them on, not really paying attention to which ones they were.
I reached into my closet and pulled the closest shirt off the rack. I tied my hair into a ponytail and slipped on a comfortable pair of ballet flats.
I hoped Beckett hadn’t planned on five-star dining because I was dressed more for a McDonalds milkshake before hanging with the bowling league.
“Sorry,” I said, out of breath, opening the door and letting Beckett inside.
Butterfly Dreams Page 15
