“Nothing. Looking for a job.” I could feel Beckett’s eyes boring into me. From my peripheral, I saw a muscle jump below his cheekbone. “Moving into my new apartment.”
“Ah, you have a new home? Perhaps you can show me later?” Etienne was smooth and exotic next to Beckett’s raw American masculinity.
“What are you doing in the city?” I finally managed to ask.
“Promotional tour for one of my sponsors,” he replied. If he was nervous about the Neanderthal glaring over the table, he didn’t show it. I, on the other hand, had sweaty palms. Beckett’s stoicism screamed at me. “When Sydney told me you were here, I begged her to set up a surprise. You are pleased, no?”
“Yes.” No. I smiled and nodded politely, even though I wanted to push him aside, straddle Beckett’s lap and run my fingers through his hair. I ventured a glance in his direction. The darkness in his eyes made my knees weak. “How’ve you been, Beckett? Is the new chair working okay in your living room?”
“It’s good,” he said in a voice gritty with tension. “You should come by and see it.”
“I’m decorating Beckett’s apartment,” I explained to Etienne.
“Ah, I see.” Etienne nodded. I knew he didn’t care one way or the other about me and Beckett. Etienne had multiple girls in every city. He probably had one waiting at his hotel room this very minute. But Beckett? I got the feeling he was smoldering inside. I didn’t know if I should be angry or flattered by his possessiveness. He didn’t want a relationship, but he certainly acted like he did.
“I thought maybe you could take me shopping this weekend,” Beckett said. Compared to Etienne’s smooth tenor voice, Beckett’s deep bass rumbled and bounced inside me, stirring up feelings and thoughts I didn’t want to have.
“Maybe. I’ll have to get back with you.” I stood. Beckett stood with me, like the gentleman he was. Etienne relaxed deeper into his seat. Those gestures, no matter how miniscule, differentiated Beckett from every other guy I’d dated. “Excuse me. I need to visit the ladies room.” It seemed I had to pee every ten minutes. Drinking four glasses of water in the space of an hour hadn’t helped either. I gave both men a smile. Let them figure out their territorial differences.
When I came out of the restroom, I found Tucker leaning against the wall, waiting for me. A rush of fondness made me smile. He smiled back and brushed his surfer boy hair away from his face.
“V, you got a second?” He raised a hopeful eyebrow. “Sydney’s signing autographs again. You know how that is.” He rolled his eyes. “I wanted to ask your opinion about something, while she’s busy.”
“Okay. Sure.” The shine in his eyes caused an unpleasant premonition to cloud my mood. He was such a good person. As much as I loved Sydney, I loved Tucker too. Whatever they were doing, it was going to end badly for Tucker.
He pulled a tiny velvet box from the front pocket of his jeans and revealed a diamond engagement ring inside. “What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful, Tuck.” A thin silver band sparkled with baguettes and perfectly framed a huge, round diamond. I traced the edge of the center stone with a fingertip.
“Do you think she’ll like it?” The hope and enthusiasm in his voice brought a lump to my throat. He was going to propose to Sydney. She was going to marry someone else. I swallowed hard. “It’s perfect for her.”
“You can’t say anything. I’m going to surprise her with it. I just wanted your opinion on the ring. I don’t want to give her something she’s going to hate.” He snapped the box shut and shoved it back into his pocket. “You have to swear.”
“Alright. I won’t say anything.” I resisted the urge to touch his arm and avoided his gaze, certain he’d see the concern in my eyes. He and Sydney had both sworn me to silence. I couldn’t confide in one person without betraying the other. My neck and shoulders ached with the weight of their secrets. One or both of them was going to be devastated. I had enough secrets of my own without the added responsibility of theirs. I had never been a romantic, but my chest hurt thinking about their predicament. In the past, I never believed in happy endings. Tonight, I wanted to believe in them with all my heart—if not for myself, for them.
Chapter 27
Beckett
WHEN TUCKER invited me to tag along for a beer with Sydney, I only accepted because I hadn’t been away from the office all week, and I needed a break. Work had been crazy busy, and I’d only gotten a few hours of sleep each night. Hell, I hadn’t even paused long enough to text Venetia. Now, I regretted the oversight. Damn, she looked good. As soon as I saw her, I wanted to march up to her, fist my hand in her hair, and plant a hot, wet kiss on her mouth.
Her cool reception dampened my enthusiasm, as did Guillaume’s unexpected appearance. At the sight of him, my senses went on high alert. Were they together? A hot rush of jealousy scalded my veins. I disliked the way his eyes slid over her, like he owned her, like he knew her secrets. Jealousy gave way to panic. What if they were on a date? My guts atrophied at the thought of her—my girl—in his arms. My girl. Mine. The single word repeated in mind. Mine. Mine. Mine.
“How long are you in town for?” I asked Guillaume. I studied him, wondering what she saw in him, comparing his foreign flavor to my American flair. Next to him, I felt big, clumsy, and awkward.
“Two days. No more.” One shoulder lifted and dropped in a casual French shrug.
“I thought you’d be bigger,” I said. Although he was muscular, he couldn’t have been more than five-eight or five nine compared to my six-foot seven.
“Size is relative,” he replied, meeting my gaze evenly. “I’ve gotten no complaints.”
I had to give it to him. He didn’t back down from my glare. I hadn’t been in a fight since high school, but I had the irrational urge to drag this guy to the parking lot and drag his pretty face over the pavement. His sense of calm pissed me off even more. The way he sat there, casual and cool, the intimate tone of his voice when he spoke to Venetia, raking her with his eyes, incited my territorial instincts.
“Have you known Venetia long?” I asked. Before tonight, I had no intention of staking a claim on V, but when I saw his arm draped around her, I went a little bit insane. He wasn’t nearly good enough for her. Neither was I, but at least I cared about her. One look at this guy told me everything I needed to know. He was out for one thing—a good time—and by the heat in his eyes, he planned to have it with V. Over my dead body.
“We have been acquainted long enough.” The smug smirk on his face scraped over my nerves. “Who are you again?” He lifted an eyebrow as if he found my inquisition comical or absurd.
“I’m a—friend—of the family.” I stumbled to answer the very question I’d been asking myself over and over for the past few weeks. “I’m the guy she’s going home with tonight.”
“Ah? Is it so?” He nodded, amusement evident in the slant of his lips. “This remains to be seen.”
The direct challenge in his statement lifted the hairs on the back of my neck. Scarf-wearing, wavy-haired motherfucker. I hated the way his liquid voice slid over her name almost as much as I hated the way he saw through my bravado. I flexed my fingers into fists beneath the table until my knuckles ached.
By this time, Venetia had returned to our table. Tucker followed a few steps behind her. I’d been so intent on sizing up Guillaume, I failed to notice the cluster of Sydney’s admirers until now. They turned their focus to Guillaume, extending pens and paper for autographs. He waved them off with a flick of his fingers, centering his attention on Venetia. This was war, one I had no intention of losing.
“So, I’m going,” Venetia said. She looped the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. “Nice to see you all.”
“Can I come with you?” Etienne shot a challenging glance in my direction, stood, and brushed his lips over the knuckles of her right hand. He leaned forward, rattling off a string of French words I didn’t understand, but I recognized the meaning of his flirtatious tone. A renewed wa
ve of jealousy constricted my chest. She smiled and answered in fluent French. They both laughed. He asked another question, voice lower and laced with innuendo. I glared at both of them. In my head, I cursed my high school guidance counselor, the one who persuaded me to take Spanish as a second language instead of French.
“No, you may not,” she replied in English, leaving me to burn with curiosity over his question. “But it was nice to see you again, Etienne.”
I made a mental fist-pump in the air. Take that, motherfucker.
“Suit yourself. The loss is all mine. Perhaps another time,” he said. He leaned forward to kiss her on the lip, but she turned her cheek. Within seconds, he was seated at the bar next to a pretty girl in a short skirt, signing autographs for the guys he’d waved away moments earlier. Relief loosened the knotted muscles between my shoulders. Victory hovered in my corner, and it smelled sweet.
“You’ve got your key, right?” Venetia directed the question to Sydney, ignoring me.
“Yes, thanks. Don’t wait up,” Sydney said. Her eyes never left Tucker’s mouth. Tucker waved a hand, eyes bright. Poor sap was head over heels for Sydney. I knew right where he was coming from. The ebb and flow of my possessiveness and jealousy for Venetia signaled a shift in my feelings for her. I was falling for her, hard and fast.
“I’ll walk you out,” I said to V, pushing out of my chair. I expanded my chest and squared my shoulders before taking her elbow in my hand, aware of Guillaume’s eyes on us. I met his gaze. He nodded and lifted his drink in a silent toast, conceding his defeat. Score one for Beckett.
I muscled through the growing crowd, my hand on Venetia’s back. I liked guiding her, taking control, protecting her. She didn’t move away from my touch, and I took that as a sign of her approval. When we reached the street, I lifted a hand to wave down a taxi. The fall wind cooled my heated face and whisked away my jealousy.
“Really, Beckett?” Venetia turned to me, her voice filled with a mixture of humor and annoyance.
I couldn’t look at her, afraid my emotions showed on my face, not quite ready to admit my change in feelings. “He’s not good enough for you. Or our baby. No one is.”
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “Who are you to judge? If you ask me, there’s not a whole lot of difference between the two of you.”
I stepped back, wounded by her comparison and the knowledge that she was absolutely correct. The taxi pulled to the curb in front of us. I opened the door for her and followed her inside. We continued down the street in silence while I mulled over her statement. Who was I kidding? I was Etienne Guillaume. We both operated on the love-‘em-and-leave-‘em principle. Or at least I had. I didn’t love Venetia, did I? I definitely wasn’t going to leave her. Not ever. But was I going to be with her? Be. With. Her. The words called to me, taking on a new meaning, sounding so right it made my chest ache.
When the cab arrived at her building, I paid the driver and got out then extended a hand to help her exit, my blood heating at the touch of her fingertips to mine.
“I’m coming up,” I said, eager to resolve our differences in the bedroom.
“No.” She shook her head, chin lifting in a familiar gesture of defiance. “I’m sleeping alone tonight.”
“What? Why?” I never considered she’d reject me. In my head, I had it all planned out. We’d fight a little, fuck a lot, and get back to the routine of our lives.
“Because I said so.” The volume of her voice climbed. “I’m not your booty call, Beckett. This relationship won’t work until you figure out what you want. I don’t want to spend the next twenty years going back and forth with you when we have a child stuck in the middle.”
“Okay.” I shoved my hands into my pockets, a little bewildered and a whole lot ashamed. She made a good point. “You’re not my booty call. You never were.” She was much more than that, so much more.
“You said you were all in.” She placed a hand on my chest, her hand a direct lifeline to my heart. My pulse escalated, thudding against her palm.
“I am,” I replied, surprised by the desperation in my tone. Whenever she was around, I seemed to lose my self-control. No woman had ever affected me like this.
“I’m not sure you are.” She pulled her hand away, and the connection between us snapped.
Tell her, Beckett. Tell her you care. Tell her you want more. I wanted to say the words, but my lips froze, pressing into a tight line instead. We stared at each other. Silence blanketed the street, broken by the whistle of wind around the buildings and an occasional distant car horn. I stepped closer and hunched my shoulders, shielding her from the cold wind.
“Can I call you?” I asked, feeling awkward and uncertain, hating myself for my weakness. If she said no, I’d be crushed. “Later? When I get home?”
“Yes, you can call me.” She lifted to her tiptoes and brushed a dry kiss over my cheek. “But not tonight. I’m exhausted. Tomorrow.”
“Guillaume’s not coming over later, is he?” I asked, suddenly wary.
“Stop it.” Her laughter sent red-hot heat into the tips of my ears. “You don’t get to ask those kind of questions.” In a swirl of delicate perfume, she moved away from me. The doorman tipped his hat to her. I stared after V, feeling like a puppy kicked out of the house in the middle of a rainstorm.
“Fine. I’ll call you. Tomorrow. You can bank on it,” I said to her backside. After I paid the cabbie, I walked down the street, needing the exercise and time to reflect.
I hadn’t been so unsettled, so confused, since I’d fallen in love with my tutor back in elementary school. Was that the problem? Was I in love with Venetia? The idea seemed too preposterous to consider, but I couldn’t find any other explanation for my need to claim and protect her. I tried to blame it on the baby, but it was so much more than that.
The next morning, I met Tucker and Sam at the gym for an early game of hoops before work. I loved the smell of sweat and adrenalin. It took me back to the good old days when my problems consisted of making grades and improving the accuracy of my free throws from the foul line. Our shoes squeaked on the gym floor as Tucker drove down the line, and I scrambled to block his shot. He brushed past me and scored an easy layup. I grimaced. I was off. My head and heart weren’t in the game.
“Man, you suck this morning,” Tucker teased. He dribbled the ball from right hand to left and back again as he spoke. He shot the ball to Sam with a chest pass.
“What’s up with you?” Sam asked. He feinted to the left and evaded my outstretched hands easily. He launched a three-pointer from outside the circle. The ball swished through the net. Tucker raised his hand into the air, and the two men slapped a high-five. I shuddered.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I said. In truth, I’d tossed and turned for hours. The few moments of sleep I’d managed were peppered with dreams—make that nightmares—of Venetia with Etienne Guillaume.
“Beckett’s in love,” Tucker said. I shot him a warning glare, and he smirked.
“Shut up,” I said. I knocked the ball from his hands, drove to the basket, and slam-dunked it into the hoop.
“Really? This is news.” Sam retrieved the ball and stowed it beneath his arm, bringing the game to a standstill. “Anyone I know?”
I lifted the hem of my shirt and wiped the sweat from my brow, made more profuse by this line of questioning. The nature of my relationship with Venetia weighed heavier on my conscience every day. We wouldn’t be able to keep the secret much longer. Sooner or later, Sam needed to know, and the longer we waited to tell him, the more jarring the revelation would be. The idea of lying to Sam caused acid to flood my stomach. I wanted to tell him, but not yet, not until I had Venetia’s permission.
“Yeah, anyone we know?” Tucker echoed Sam’s inquiry. By the enormous grin on his face, he was enjoying my predicament entirely too much.
“Drop it, Tucker,” I growled.
“Must be serious.” Sam studied me. I avoided his gaze, choosing instead to h
ead toward the locker room.
“I’m done,” I said. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Well, I’m in love,” Tucker said. His admission brought my feet to a halt. Sam’s jaw dropped. “And I don’t care who the fuck knows.”
I closed my eyes. While I preferred a more cautious approach, Tucker plunged into love like it was one of his extreme sports, with enthusiasm and a complete disregard for his personal safety. I drew in a deep breath, once again finding myself in an ethical and personal dilemma. Sydney was going to marry Alex in what her network termed a publicity coup. I’d personally handled the premarital agreement and preliminary terms for divorce. Of course, confidentiality agreements ensured my silence on the matter. The growing number of secrets threatened to drag me down into the quicksand of hell.
“I bought a ring,” Tucker added. “I’m just waiting for the right time to ask her.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” I turned to face him, feeling powerless. I looked to Sam for assistance. “I mean, you don’t really know Sydney that well.”
“Becks has a point,” Sam concurred. “Take it from me, marriage is a big deal.”
Sam’s advice echoed in my head, as much for my own sake as Tucker’s. I nodded. “Divorce is a big deal. I see it every day. Marry in haste, repent in leisure.”
“That’s no shit,” Sam said. He dropped the basketball into the equipment bin.
“I’ve got no doubts,” Tucker said, his jaw set stubbornly. “She’s the one. The only one.”
In unison, we moved toward the locker room again. I was beginning to feel sick from the stress of holding my tongue. One dilemma followed another. My life seemed to be spiraling toward disaster at breakneck speed, out of my control. Inside the locker room, Sam went straight to the showers, but I paused next to Tucker.
“Be careful, man,” I said. “And if you decide to do this, be sure to get a premarital agreement. You’ve both got a lot of assets to protect. Don’t rush into anything.”
Pretty Dirty Secrets: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 3) Page 16
