EveryDayLove!: A MyHeartChannel Romance

by Lucy McConnell

  She could have sworn Beckett was going to kiss her on her sixteenth birthday. He was so dashing that night in his suit and tie, telling everyone goodbye before he headed off into the world on his first humanitarian mission. He kept staring at her mouth as he talked about all the things he was going to do, to see. He lifted a strand of her belt-length hair and twirled it between his fingers, making her whole body tingle in anticipation.

  He hadn’t kissed her. Hadn’t even made the move.

  And now he was naked on her couch. And he smelled like her mint shampoo.

  The man had been in her shower!

  Her fingers tingled at the thought of touching his warm skin. Oh, she’d had it bad for this guy, despite the fact that he looked at her like a little sister.

  He shifted, bringing his arm across his torso. Daisy jumped out of the way to avoid being hit and waking him up. Her hands flew to her plastic-covered head and the warm oil oozing down her neck. She could only imagine the teasing she’d take if he saw her like this.

  Come to think of it, he’d teased her a lot growing up. Even as a teenager he’d done things like put red food coloring in her foundation. She could have killed him for that alone. The coloring didn’t show up until she applied the foundation—on camera! The whole segment had to be re-filmed. Then there was the time he and Quinton dressed the dog in her favorite shirt and skirt. They hacked into her MyHeartChannel account and posted a video of the dog dancing for a treat. It was a wonder she had any subscribers at all in those early days.

  She was about to abandon her mission to find something for her hair when a pair of white tube socks on the coffee table caught her eye. Obviously they were Beckett’s, and obviously they were brand-new. She snatched up the pair.

  “Karma, baby.” She blew a kiss Beckett’s direction and skipped down the hallway to tell her viewers that she’d found the perfect solution.

  Daisy leaned back in her chair. She’d done most of the editing on the footage and her eyes ached. Eye drops were the one thing she never seemed to keep track of. She could have sworn she left them by her monitor, but they were nowhere to be found. Just a few more minutes of work and she’d have this segment ready for her videographer/editor/all-around great gal, Vivian, to upload.

  Her stomach growled, reminding her that there was more to life than her channel. She hopped up and headed for the kitchen. Her heart did a little flip at the idea of seeing Beckett again. Of him seeing her. Surely he was awake by now. Hopefully he had on clothes. Not that the view had been all that bad. In fact, the view was rather splendid. However, if she had to make a breakfast smoothie while Beckett walked around without a shirt on, she’d cook the egg in her hair faster than you can say “one Jalapeño Hottie Omelet, please.”

  Her hand went up to check the office clip that held the sock in place. Now that she’d had some time to think about taking the sock without asking, she felt kind of bad about it. Cream-colored oil had made spots on the white sock. It would wash out. Probably. If not, she’d buy Beckett a new pair of socks.

  She kicked off her fuzzy slippers and threw on a fluffy seafoam sweater. She usually filmed in a white T-shirt and yoga pants. The white shirt worked like a blank canvas for the colors she applied to her face. No one could see what was on from the waist down, but since there was a guest in her house and she was already wearing plastic wrap on her head, the fuzzy slippers spoke more to “crazy cat lady” than they did to “cute and fun footwear.” The thick sweater tied around her middle was chic. She glanced in the full-length mirror. The sweater was high-quality and had a thick collar that came up around her neck, giving her a bit of Audrey Hepburn allure. “Great—now I look like a crazy rich person.” At least her makeup was done.

  Her stomach growled again, reminding her that she couldn’t hide in her room all day. “I really need to stash some cookies in the nightstand,” she muttered.

  She yanked open the door and marched down the hallway as if she owned the place—which she did, so that wasn’t much of a stretch.

  Beckett was a guest in her home. And he’d grown up—the image of his manly body splayed out on the couch came to mind—he’d grown up a lot. The likelihood of him pulling any of his old pranks was low. She hoped.

  The couch was empty. Daisy breathed a sigh of relief. She really didn’t want to be the one to wake him up. She could count on two hands the number of people she’d had to rouse from slumber in her lifetime.

  Waking up was personal and intimate. There was that first deep breath before your eyes opened—a moment when contentment and peace filled your soul. That’s when a person was real—before they had a chance to slip into a mask or let stress enter their consciousness. That’s when they were at their most vulnerable. It was the moment that set the tone for the whole day, and sharing it implied familiarity.

  She rounded the corner and found Beckett facing the open dryer wearing just a pair of cargo shorts. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest she put her hand over it to muffle the sound. Although, she should have let it pound freely, because she squeaked. He looked even better standing up.

  Beckett flipped around, his eyes widening as he took her in from her bare toes to her peculiar headgear. Daisy froze in place, giving him the same once-over. He was all man with corded muscles in his forearms and tan legs. His feet were white and there was a tan line above his ankle. Her eyes traveled lazily up to his face, where she found a smirk. “Mornin’, Daisy.”

  Her cheeks burned and she knew they were on their way to being as red as a tomato. Flushing easily was one of the hazards of being a redhead with creamy skin. “Beckett.” His name came out with more breathy anticipation than she thought necessary.

  “Trying to contact the mother ship?” Beckett pointed at her head.

  She pressed her lips. “That would be tinfoil hats—not plastic ones.” She ripped her eyes away from his body. “Do you have a thing against clothes?” She opened the fridge and used the door as a shield between them. The cold air hit her cheeks and brought them from tomato to dusty pink.

  “I was just getting my shirt out of the dryer.” His voice echoed in the steel drum.

  She left the door open as she gathered strawberries, blueberries, yogurt, and almond milk to make a smoothie. Her arms were full, so she kicked the door shut with her foot. Beckett was right behind the door, and she jumped.

  He grinned like he enjoyed startling her.

  She turned away to put the fruit on the counter. He was the same old Beckett—still a tease and something of a pain in her behind. But she wasn’t the same little girl. She had the top-ranked beauty channel in the nation and almost had a deal for her own line of all-natural cosmetics. She just needed to come up with a segment that would seal the deal. Something new and different from what other beauty bloggers were doing.

  “What are you doing here?” She pointed at the floor.

  “I had a layover and Quinton offered me the couch.”

  Daisy ripped the top of the blender off and poured in the almond milk. “That was sure sweet of him.” Her tone was anything but sweet. She was going to have a talk with her sweet older brother about how at home he should feel in her home. Living here? Sure. She was great with that. He was the best roommate ever. Inviting his friends to live here? Not cool.

  “He’s a great guy.” Beckett leaned one hip against the counter.

  “The best.” She threw in the fruit, feeling angry and antsy that Beckett was the same old, same old. He was treating her like a sixteen-year-old little sister, and that ticked her off.

  “Wait—is that my sock?” Beckett reached for her head.

  Daisy ducked away. “Yep.” She smiled sweetly, feeling like she had the upper hand for the first time since she’d seen him sleeping. He’d looked so peaceful, so nonthreatening a couple hours ago. My, how things change in the daylight.

  “Can I have it back?”

  “In …” She made a show of checking the clock on the microwave. “About twenty minutes.”

 
Beckett sighed a mighty sigh, the kind of sigh that carried the weight of a thousand miles. “Come on, Daisy. That’s my only pair of socks. Twenty minutes won’t matter.” He reached for the clip.

  Though she had felt bad for taking the sock earlier, his scaring her when she shut the fridge wiped her conscience clean. She covered her head with her arms. “No. I have to leave it in for four hours. I never lie to my subscribers. If I take it out early, I’ll have to redo the whole segment and I don’t have that kind of time. I’ll give you money for new socks.”

  He lowered his eyebrows. “I’m leaving with Quinton—he needed help with a cat or something.” He took a step forward, his eyes sparking with challenge.

  She danced away from his grabby hands—grabbing for her head, that is. He didn’t seem at all interested in any other part of her. Which was fine. Just stinking fine with her. She scooted around the bar with Beckett just out of arm’s reach behind her. “Stop!” she yelled.

  “No!” he yelled back.

  Daisy threw a dirty look over her shoulder and picked up speed. Beckett growled low, and the sound caused her nerve endings to hum. Stupid nerve endings. Who cared if Beckett had Zac Efron blue eyes? Not her, and certainly not her flip-flopping belly.

  “Quin!” she called, pulling a barstool out from under the countertop and placing it between her and Beckett as a barrier. Beckett wagged a finger at her and winked before he dodged right. She saw his fake-out coming and stepped back, placing another barstool between them.

  Quinton appeared in the kitchen, his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. “You bellowed?”

  “Please loan Beckett a pair of socks.” She ducked behind her brother. Although, now that she was there, he didn’t look nearly as protective as a barstool. Beckett was his best friend, after all, and he outweighed Quinton by at least twenty pounds of chiseled, delicious muscle. She headed for the couch and was assaulted by molten memories of Beckett’s bare chest that made her knees weak. Beckett pursued her, his knees bent, ready to strike. She could only imagine being tackled onto the couch. Her face began to heat up.

  “Sure.” Quinton shrugged. “What happened to the … oh.” He rolled his eyes at her head. “We all have to make sacrifices for beauty, bro.” He pointed to the laundry room. “There’s a basket with clean socks on the top shelf.”

  Beckett glanced towards the laundry room, giving Daisy the single moment she needed to make a break for the hallway. She’d lock herself in her room until these two were gone. Quinton was right behind her, still brushing his teeth. She flipped around, walking backwards. “You could have told me he was here,” she hissed. “What good is having a big brother if he invites the Big Bad Wolf into the house?”

  At least her brother had the good sense to appear repentant—for about three seconds. He pointed at her head. “Don’t touch his stuff.”

  She blew a raspberry.

  “Did you really steal his sock?” His voice held a note of admiration that made her laugh and let her know that there were no hard feelings.

  “Like a ninja.” She shut herself in her room and locked the door, Quinton’s laughter filling the hallway. With a sigh, she leaned against the door. That was … fun. Really fun. It’d been a long time since a guy had chased her around the kitchen. She tapped her fingertips together like an evil scientist. She’d have to figure out how to make that happen again.

  Chapter Three

  Beckett stared into the basket of socks while he replayed the chase scene in the kitchen. Daisy hadn’t changed much in personality—thank goodness. She still had that honest innocence in her wide eyes that hit him right in the chest. The areas she had changed were all good. He couldn’t make out much under that heavy sweater, but her delicate wrists and adorable feet were enough to intrigue him. He’d thought about tackling her onto the couch, his body growing warm with the idea of full-body sports with Daisy Covington.

  He pushed the unwholesome thoughts aside and concentrated on finding footwear so he could get out of the house and shake off the yearning to storm the hallway and claim that kiss that should have been his on Daisy’s sixteenth birthday.

  There were at least five pair of socks that hadn’t been matched up yet and a half dozen that didn’t have matches. The socks reminded him of his last night in El Zacapa. The chief threw him a party complete with traditional dances and the fatted calf roasting over an open spit. They ate fruit and then settled around the fire for stories. Normally, Beckett enjoyed a party, but this time, all he could see was the empty spot beside him. The circle was rimmed with couples. They didn’t hold hands like Americans. Instead, they touched shoulders, knees, thighs, and even hips. In some cases, it was difficult to tell where one person stopped and the other began. That’s what the people believed, that the two parts made one whole.

  Beckett wanted that. He wanted a woman who made him feel like he was enough.

  He kind of liked that Daisy took his sock. Daisy’s socks were probably folded neatly and lined up in a drawer. That was all beside the point. The point was, he liked seeing part of him with her. He’d only half-tried to get it back. He’d been about to wrap her up in his arms for a hello hug and maybe a bit of an I’d-like-to-get-reacquainted moment when Quinton came into the room. Even with that weird plastic on her head, she was beautiful and funny and sassy and sweet. Her older brother had put a huge damper on the warm feelings spreading throughout his body at the idea of holding Daisy close.

  Quinton came back in, sans toothbrush and no longer foaming at the mouth.

  “Maybe I should go.” Beckett began folding the blanket he’d kicked off in the middle of the night. He briefly wondered if that was before or after Daisy came in to pillage his supplies. Recalling his state of undress, he truly hoped the blanket lasted long enough to keep him covered during her visit. Sheesh, no wonder she stared at him funny first thing this morning.

  “Why?”

  “Daisy …” He trailed off, running his hand down his scraggly beard. He couldn’t exactly tell Quin Daisy was hot, nor could he throw out that he’d had a slight crush on her since the first day they moved into the neighborhood. Her mop of hair was the reason Beckett had a thing for redheads. After seeing Daisy face-to-face, seeing how she’d grown up into a classy, beautiful woman full of spirit, he had to admit that he didn’t have a thing for redheads. He had a thing for this redhead. “I think I ticked her off.”

  Quinton’s head whipped around. “She’s over it.”

  “But—”

  “Seriously, she was laughing. It’s no big deal.”

  There was a knock at the door that drew Quinton away and ended Beckett’s opportunity to insist he head to a hotel.

  “Hey, Vivian.” Quinton’s ears turned bright red—a sure sign he found the woman attractive. Beckett smothered the smile, instantly sliding into the role of wingman.

  He took a step back. The soft way Quinton said her name spoke to his level of interest. Vivian hustled into the house, followed closely by a young boy. Both had straight black hair and deep brown eyes. Vivian’s hair hung over the right side of her face and swooped back like a Charlie’s Angel’s do without as much volume. Her dark eyes were all made up like she was going clubbing, and she had on a flowing shirt and tight black pants. The boy hung tight to her side, his eyes wide as he stared at Beckett.

  Beckett had seen that look a hundred times. He checked Vivian for a wedding ring, praying the man that put the fear in the child’s eyes was no longer in his life. Her left hand was bare. He lifted his eyes and found that she’d caught him checking for a ring. Well, that was just great.

  Quinton shut the door. “Vivian, this is Beckett, my friend. Beckett, this is Vivian and Jason Jin. Vivian is Daisy’s editor.”

  “Editor?” Quinton focused on folding blankets.

  “Videographer,” Vivian threw in. Like that explained anything.

  Quinton leaned over so he was at Jason’s level. “Do you want something to eat?”

  Vivian draped her arm across Ja
son’s shoulders. “We just had breakfast.”

  Beckett tucked his chin. So the damage was to both of them, but mom was better at hiding it than Jason. She was strong, he’d give her that. Good. She’d saved her son. Beckett had seen what happened to kids who didn’t get out from under the heavy hand of physical abuse. He hated that things like this even happened. With quick snaps, he folded the sheet and set it aside.

  Quinton motioned for them to follow him. “I’ll bet you didn’t have Pop Tarts.”

  The kid brightened. Vivian rolled her eyes. “You can have one.”

  “Can I put it in the toaster?” Jason asked.

  “You bet,” Quinton replied.

  Beckett hung back. He finished putting the couch to rights and even fluffed the throw pillows before putting them in place. Quinton called him into have a bowl of cereal. He ate, mostly listening as Jason talked about school and the science project he was excited about. When he was done, he rinsed his bowl and set it in the dishwasher before retrieving his toothbrush and heading towards the bathroom. Just as he got to the end of the hallway, Daisy’s door swung open. She stepped out and then right back holding the door, ready to shut it if he charged.

  Beckett blinked once and then stared. She wore a white T-shirt and white yoga pants. But it wasn’t her clothing that had him speechless—it was her hair. He remembered it being a copper color, but it was a deep, deep sunset red. It cascaded down her shoulders, across her chest, and hung so far down her back he could get lost in it for days. Her skin was creamy and flawless and her eyes looked even bigger than they had a half hour ago.

  He reached right out and fingered a strand of her hair. “How did you fit all this inside my sock?” The words made it past his filter. He dropped her hair, feeling like a complete idiot.