by A. Marie
“You’re creeping me out. What the hell are you doing? And can I put my pants on first?”
One side of his mouth tips into a sexy smirk. “My answer to that question will always be no. You should never wear pants again as far as I’m concerned.”
His eyes scan my half-clothed body. Not only is Beckett’s bedding thick as hell, but I don’t like feeling restricted when I sleep. A girl needs some air.
“Here.”
I catch what he tosses at me and inspect the item, turning it over in my hand and cocking my head.
“A brake pad?”
“I changed your rear brake. That’s the old one.” He nods at the heavily-worn pad I’m holding. “And I installed a new battery along with a manual CCT. Your bike is as good as new. Better than new actually.”
My jaw drops making Beckett chuckle.
A cupcake with a single lit candle is presented to me next.
“Happy belated Birthday, although in my defense you didn’t say a word about it being your actual birthday yesterday.”
I can’t even form a response as I look from the treat to Beckett. How did he do all this? Better yet, when did he do it? I’ve been with him for the last forty-eight hours and I would’ve known if he was fixing my bike. Or…baking?
He passes me the cupcake with a grin tugging at his lips.
Why did he do this?
His words ‘good as new’ hit me like a bucket of cold water. First, his friends threw me a quasi-surprise party for my birthday when we’re not even, like, friends.
Wait, are we friends now?
Or does he think he and I are something more because of yesterday? What happened between us confused the hell out of me and once my family was added to the mix, I didn’t even know how to react. So much more came out than I ever wanted either of my roommates to know, not to mention a guy that I…like?
Ugh. It’s all so complicated now when that was the last thing I wanted.
Now he’s fixing my motorcycle up after my embarrassing explosion yesterday. He knows more than any other guy I’ve hooked up with at this point, and I don’t know how to feel about it. Should I cut and run now, saving myself from further humiliation? Should I wait and see how this all plays out? A part of me thinks I should move the hell out and in with one of my brothers. A bigger part of me abhors that idea.
I didn’t answer his question last night because I couldn’t. I didn’t have the guts to admit to myself, let alone to Beckett, how living here really makes me feel. How he makes me feel. I keep guys at arm’s length for a reason—several actually—and with the guy’s impressive wingspan, I thought that would be easy, but the situation took a sharp turn when emotions suddenly appeared. As much as I’ve tried fighting it, my feelings for Beckett have morphed from barely being able to stand the guy to tolerating his company to craving more from him.
More is something I’ve been training myself to go without though and my first instinct is to automatically reject it. To avoid the craving altogether so it goes away quicker. But how can I deny a six-foot, six-inch man in his underwear handing me an overly-frosted cupcake?
“Make a wish,” he urges.
Outwardly, I’m calm. Inwardly, it’s a whole different story.
Closing my eyes, I try to think of what I really want. What would turn my life around from what it’s become. What I haven’t dared to dream about.
I wish…
My gaze finds his and he smiles down at me reminding me that this little happy bubble of ours won’t last. I sleep during the day, working the nights that Beckett and I just spent getting cozy. That’s my normal. The opposite of his schedule. What happens when I go back to work tomorrow night? What happens when reality bites us in the ass with its constant harsh expectations?
The last couple days might’ve been a dream in their own right but soon we’ll have to wake up and face the decisions we’ve made. Will I regret mine? Will Beckett? I don’t have the answers but right now feels too good to pass up.
Raising onto my knees, I take the cupcake and place it on the desk.
Beckett, watching through hooded eyes, quickly shuts his laptop then seizes my unsuspecting lips making me forget all about the cupcake and that mysterious Pin. With a groan, he lowers us to the bed, careful to keep most of his weight off me.
Gathering all the feelings that are better left unsaid, left unidentified at all, I direct them into our connection and give everything I can, letting Beckett know what his gesture means to me without speaking a single word. Unexpectedly, he matches my intensity with one of his own. He’s revealing things I know he’ll never admit, maybe not even to himself, and I accept his confession greedily, suddenly desperate for what’s brewing between us.
Beckett repositions us further up the bed, only breaking contact for a second to rip my sleep shirt over my head, and begins kissing lower until I reach for him through his underwear ready to take things up a notch. He rears back out of my grasp so suddenly, I open my eyes, sure he’s disappeared into thin air.
“Nuh uh,” he scolds. “This is about you.”
Breathless, I ask, “Didn’t you already get enough?”
I’m not complaining about him going down on me twice in one day but a man like Beckett? I wouldn’t expect him to give so freely without wanting something in return.
His instant response of “never” rocks the room like an earthquake followed by an awkward pause that neither of us knows what to do with. We sit with it, we dine with it, we take it out for fucking ice cream.
Never…as in not ever?
How do I respond to that?
My back begins to sweat as does my conscience. Are we talking a for-fucking-ever, eternal desire here? Or more like a chocolate craving? The kind you know is always a good idea regardless what form it’s in. Like today Beckett’s hankering for semi-sweet but tomorrow he might want milk chocolate. Is that what he means?
I don’t get to find out though because Marc chooses that moment to knock on Beckett’s door, interrupting the loud silence.
“Come in,” Beckett calls out with more relief than annoyance while covering me back up before Marc can catch a glimpse of my exposed chest.
Beckett’s erection though? That’s not getting concealed no matter how big a pillow he tries to hide the monster with.
Marc’s gaze takes in the room before landing on our position with a funny look.
My eyes flit to Beckett but he’s not looking at me anymore.
“What’s up?” he asks gruffly instead.
A frown creases Marc’s already rigid expression. “Cruz just called. They’re having a party down at the river. He said it was cool if we stopped by. You down?”
“I don’t know, man. I got shit for sleep last night.”
I watch as Beckett picks at his cuticle. He works with cars for a living. Engines. Grease upon oil upon who-the-hell-knows-what, but now’s the time he’s decided to take an interest in his nail beds?
“Paige? What about you? Cruz wouldn’t shut up asking about you.” His laugh that follows should be criminal. He’s so attractive when he’s just scowling and generally frowny but when he lights up, it’s practically indecent.
Beckett’s hands freeze but he still refuses to meet my eyes. I wait a beat, giving him time to come to his senses.
When he doesn’t, I shrug a shoulder and stand from the bed facing my other roommate. “I don’t have anything else to do.”
We agree on a time frame that works for both of us and just as he’s about to leave, he adds, “Wear a swimsuit. Cruz is taking his jet skis and you can show if you’ve got skills riding anything other than that Honda.”
I laugh under my breath. “I thought I already proved my riding skills to Beckett but sure. I’m game.”
The smile Marc flashes tells me he knows exactly what I’m referring to.
“Fuck it,” Beckett bursts out, finally looking between the two of us. “I’m going.”
Hiding a grin, I make my way over to my own ro
om in search of an outfit. And a swimsuit.
* * *
The park hosting the impromptu soiree is hidden away in a quiet riverside neighborhood I’ve never been to before. There’s a tiny boat launch with a dilapidated dock that’s proving to be quite the hot spot on this sweltering afternoon with several tweens taking turns jumping from the rough wood they’ll undoubtedly get splinters from, if they haven’t already. The nurse in me cringes while the daredevil in me cheers them on with great envy.
The hot air sits like crackly tissue paper all around us with no wind whatsoever to break up the itchy heat. Basketballs bouncing on the nearby court along with various watercraft engines skimming past on the water create a backdrop soundtrack to the otherwise sluggish summer day as hints of watermelon and flattened grass fill my nose.
With a plate of food, I make my way over to a picnic table, sitting next to Angela while keeping an eye on the preteens.
“They make it look so easy, don’t they?” Angela nods at the squealing bunch.
With a tee tied at the midriff, cut off shorts, and a baseball hat paired with aviator glasses, she looks like she belongs in California. If I didn’t know her better, I’d assume she was carefree, living the dream instead of troubled, having survived a nightmare that she thinks she’ll never fully wake up from.
“Not a care in the world.” I shake my head. “It must be nice.”
We exchange a knowing look.
While most of the guys were caught up in a game of beer pong last night, we swapped childhood stories. Hers nearly broke me to hear, yet here she sits with an amazing boyfriend and a family of friends she blended into seamlessly.
“No salad today, Paige?”
Marc’s question is greeted with crickets as he finds a seat at the end of the table.
Too soon. Too fucking soon.
“See? This is what happens when the broody one tries to make jokes.” Beckett, dressed in colorful swim trunks and a light blue shirt that says Remember To Twist Your Fist, sits opposite me with a heaping plate of his own. “Don’t go there, bro, that’s my thing,” he says to Marc before leaning in to lock eyes with me seriously. “If you or someone you know has been personally offended by one of Marc’s dark jokes, you may be entitled to generous compensation.”
“You’re the most offensive one here,” our roommate openly accuses.
Beckett throws his hands in the air, looking around wildly. “Did you not see the guy on the way in here? Dude was wearing a banana hammock while riding one of those wiggle scooters. Ba-na-na ham-mock. At a family park, wiggling his junk back and forth aggressively. That’s offensive. I thought we were gonna have to pick Paige’s eyes up off the concrete.”
He’s not wrong. There are some things you just can’t unsee.
Still talking to Marc, he says, “just watch and learn,” then pins me with his best smolder. “You craving sausage, baby? I got a pound right here.”
His hand disappears under the table, most likely grabbing his own junk, and the table erupts in mixed reviews of groans and amused chuckles as Angela tsks “offensive” under her breath but loud enough for everyone to hear.
Coty joins the group with an extra plate full of lime wedges that he hands off to her.
I toss one of the gluten free chips we picked up on our way over—there’s at least one person at every party with an intolerance these days—but Beckett catches it with a smile on his face and pops it into his mouth. Eyes dancing with humor that’s been absent since our awkward hiccup this morning, he digs into his food without further delay only to stop short when my foot grazes his inner thigh.
“Hmm. Are you counting packaging because I’m only coming up with half a pound?”
I wink at him as the joke lands, better than both his and Marc’s combined.
Beckett shakes his head while fighting a smile but snatches my foot in his hand, refusing to let go even as I attempt to wrestle it from his grip.
A silent war between us ensues before I catch sight of a little girl over his shoulder joining the crowded dock. Her head of tight curls sticking out of the littlest ponytail I’ve ever seen bounces as she sits down at the edge, watching the older kids play around her. I glance around for an adult but come up empty. She can’t be older than five or six years old and doesn’t even have a life jacket.
The fast-moving water has a reputation for being dangerous for even the strongest of swimmers around here. Drownings have actually become a top cause of death in recent years. I can only hope she’s with an older sibling that’ll keep an eye on her.
Normal conversation picks up around me but I’m too distracted to partake. Beckett notices and glances over his shoulder to see what caught my eye just as a bikini-clad—Brazilian bikini to be exact—woman steps up, blocking his view. I say woman because she stands out among the rest of the laidback crowd here. Easily. While everyone else is dressed in outfits meant for a day at a park, she’s got breast implants practically bursting from her string top, and wedges on her feet. If I tried wearing wedges in this kind of terrain, I’d easily topple over but she floats through the barely maintained grass with a seasoned agility. While stunning, in a trying too hard kind of way, she also has a bit of a weathered look to her, like she’s spent many, many days outside under the sun. The words rode hard and put away wet come to mind before I can shake away the disturbing image attached to it.
And wouldn’t you know it, she plants herself right behind Beckett, digging her freshly painted nails into his bicep as she leans down to whisper in his ear.
With him distracted, I yank on my foot again but to no avail. If anything, he tightens his grip, making me huff out a breath of frustration.
His smile grows but it’s hard to tell if it’s at my expense or for the woman currently puffing her hot ass breath in his ear. Gag me with a salad.
Using my other foot, I kick his hand and the unexpected move gets him to finally release my imprisoned foot.
Still keeping an ear to his friend as she takes a seat beside him, Beckett shoots a frown at me but I ignore him. Everything about him. Even the way he casually shakes her hand off his arm. And the way he tells her “it’s no problem” after she thanks him for the third time for something I can’t quite make out due to my successful attempt to ignore them.
Their employee, or friend—or both maybe—Cruz, sits on my other side, stealing a strawberry off my plate. A strawberry I was planning to eat.
Beckett spots the new addition like he just found a pimple on his blemish-free face.
Seriously, what is he using for face wash? I use the same shower as him and all I’ve seen is a bottle of body wash and some kind of shampoo/conditioner mixture. Two things, that’s it. Meanwhile I use an entire regime and I still have more break-outs than him. It reminds me of the time I caught Tysen using only a bar of soap for his entire body, even his hair. He swore it worked best at getting grease off but…his scalp, too?
Catching Cruz eating my food, Beckett places his elbows on the table and clasps his hands together, resting his chin on his knuckles as he watches on unabashedly.
Really?
Cruz has been glued to my side since we arrived and even though he’s been polite, until now, I’m struggling to find anything remarkable about him. The small reprieve from my new shadow while he loaded his jet skis into the water was actually kind of nice.
I refuse to meet Beckett’s intense stare for the rest of lunch which proves to be quite difficult when that’s all he’s doing. Literally. He hasn’t eaten a single thing as he just stays in the same position, locked on what Cruz and I are doing, like if he blinks for a second Cruz might finger me under the table or something.
Give me a break.
If Cruz notices the Great Wall of Beckett, he doesn’t let on as he keeps up a steady stream of one-sided conversation while I continue stealing glances at the little girl on the dock. I just do it around Beckett’s big head and even bigger attitude problem. Luckily she has yet to move from her spot.
“So, how does it work living with two dudes?” Cruz asks, falling into step beside me.
“What part?”
“Dating.”
“It just does, I guess.” I shrug my shoulders and follow Cruz closer to the water’s edge, listening in on the rambunctious kids splashing around.
The truth is none of us have really dated since I moved in. I’ve yet to see Marc with a guest, overnight or otherwise. He’s about as inviting as a barbed wire fence wrapped around hot coals. He’s actually really thoughtful when you get to know him but I don’t know what kind of girl could skate past his daunting exterior to claim his heart. Hats off to any woman who tries and helmet off to the one who succeeds—she’ll probably need it. He’s…intimidating. In an extremely sexy way. He looks like he fucks with every part of his body including those charcoal eyes. Like those eyes alone could undress a fully clothed woman in seconds if he wanted. Seconds.
Beckett, on the other hand, has entertained a few times but I never stuck around long enough to see how any of them unfolded. I’d rather put my head through another wall.
Then the only times I had visitors, Beckett scared them off before I could even try anything, so I’m not really sure how dating is supposed to work. The thought of bringing a guy home now, or worse, Beckett bringing a girl home, makes my chest tense.
“We all keep to ourselves.” Except when we don’t.
“What would they say if I asked you out?”
I bite out a laugh.
All my life decisions have gone through the men around me like a moat surrounding the locked-up princess. I’d hoped that I’d be passed that point but here we are—same shit, different army of bossy bastards. Can’t the princess make her own decision of who gets to wait at the bottom while she rescues herself?
“They have no say over my choices. Any of them.”
“Okay.” Cruz nods as he watches the fast water. “Then what would you say if I asked you out?”
My first thought is no. I would say no. But is that because I really don’t want to date Cruz or is it because someone else is still on my mind? Someone that was just pressed between my legs only hours ago.
