by Marie York
“Let me see that,” he said and snatched it from my hands. “Sociology, Statistics, English 101, Art History and Western Civ. I forgot how awful the first semester is. You’ll be lucky if you can stay awake in any of them.”
I took my schedule back, stuffing it into my bag, and shrugged. “Art history sounds interesting.”
He pointed his finger at me, and nodded. “You might actually like that class. Though, personally I liked Art History II better. Everything before that is all kind of boring.”
“Oh, good. So, what you’re telling me is, I’m going to be living off of this.” I held my coffee cup up then took a sip.”
We walked up to the building, and Beckham held the door for me. “You should look into getting an IV drip. You might need it.”
“Great,” I sighed.
“Your class is this way.” He pointed to the right, and I followed behind him, taking a second to watch as he walked away. His jeans still sat perfectly on his hips, and his simple t-shirt still looked amazing as it strained against his muscles.
I needed to get away from him before I foolishly threw myself at him again.
“Here it is,” he said, pivoting back around to face me.
“Thanks for showing me to class. I’ll see you around,” I said, and went to walk past him, but he moved with me, blocking my way.
“You’re dismissing me so soon?”
“I have class.”
He grabbed his chest in an over dramatic gesture. “You break my heart.”
Two girls walked toward us, giggling and ogling him.
“Hi Becks,” the brunette with too much makeup on, cooed as she paraded between us. She winked her over-mascaraed lashes at him before disappearing into the class.
His hand was still on his chest, and I rolled my eyes. “You’ll survive.” If he wanted to talk about breaking hearts, I was pretty sure I beat him in that department. Getting left practically naked and alone at sixteen was like someone reached into my chest and ripped my heart out.
“See you after class, then.”
“I think I got it from here. You don’t need to show me around.”
“But I want to,” he said, and I had to bite back the smile.
If Beckham wanted to spend time with me, then sure, what the hell. “I’ll see you after class then,” I said with a wink, and strutted into class.
My phone vibrated in my bag as soon as I took my seat. I reached for it, and a new text from Nixon flashed across the screen. I swiped my phone.
Nixon: Did your chaperone find you okay?
My heart sunk at the words. Beckham wasn’t showing me around because he wanted to show me around. No. He was doing it because of my damn brother. Of course. How stupid could I be?
Frustration seeped in as I stared at the text. Nixon was always in my business. He could never just leave me alone, and let me do my own thing. Even when he went away to school, he still managed to get Mom and Dad to not let me do things. He acted like my goddamn father, and it pissed me off. I should’ve known that going away to college meant he’d still try to find a way to control my life.
Kennedy: I’m an adult. I don’t need a chaperone.
I hit send, and tried not to grind my teeth. My friends thought it was so cute that Nix was so overprotective of me…if they only knew how seriously inconvenient it really was.
Nixon: Says the girl who passed out drunk in the bushes
Ugh! It was the night of graduation. I was celebrating with my friends. It’s not like he never got drunk. I remembered the night I lured Beckham in my room, and finally got to kiss him. The slight taste of beer on his perfect mouth. And he was coming from Nix’s room. I wasn’t stupid. The two of them got drunk in there all the time. My brother was a fucking hypocrite.
Kennedy: Like you never did anything stupid. Give me a break.
Nixon: I never got caught. No proof. It might as well have never happened.
The professor walked in and I watched as he walked behind his desk and placed his suitcase on top. This was my first college class. I needed to pay attention and not be arguing with my brother who was halfway across the freaking country.
Kennedy: Class is starting and I’m done with this conversation. Goodbye.
Nixon: Tell Becks I say hi.
Kennedy: You can tell him right when you tell him I don’t need a chaperone.
Nixon: Sure…Now go learn something.
It was official. I wanted to kill my brother.
***
Class let out, and I raced for the door, hoping if Beckham was serious about showing me to my next class, I’d be able to make a getaway before he got here. Now that I knew my brother was once again medaling in my life, I was pissed. I should’ve known. Why would I think Beckham would want to spend time with me? In his eyes, I was probably still that sixteen year old kid. I was an idiot to think he finally saw me as a desirable woman. I should’ve known better.
I barely had a foot out the door before I heard my name float across the hallway in that beautiful sexy voice. It was like a lasso, tying around me, and pulling me back to him. I knew he was only pretending to take an interest in me as a favor to my brother, but unfortunately it didn’t change anything. I still had a hard time resisting him.
He had this magic over me that I couldn’t explain. Which is the reason why after the incident, I made sure I wasn’t home when I knew he would be around, and if I was, I hid safely in my room. He was like a walking poster of my worst rejection. Over time, the pain and humiliation of my failed seduction faded, but the memory was still shining bright in my mind. I was amazed that earlier I was able to ignore it. But now, with him walking toward me with that gorgeous smile and confident stride, it all came flooding back in.
“How was your first class?” he asked, with a sugar-coated smile that I was done falling for.
I was sick of hiding. Tired of feeling like a pitiful little girl every time he was around. I wasn’t her anymore. She was left back home.
I stood tall, squaring my shoulders. “Why do you care? I wouldn’t think caring or even talking to me is a part of the arrangement you and my brother have made.”
Beckham ran a hand over his chin, and winced. “Nix told you.”
“Yes, Nix told me. And I’m going to tell you exactly what I told him. I don’t need a goddamn chaperone. So fuck off.” I stormed away from him, wanting, needing to put as much distance between us as I could.
A large hand wrapped around my wrist and the warmth spread through me like a cozy campfire. Beckham was the only person who could affect me with a single touch. “Kennedy, hang on.”
I took a deep breath, and swallowed down the lovesick little girl who wanted to cower to his every demand. I wasn’t going to do it. Not anymore. So, I didn’t stop. I kept walking. The only problem was, he didn’t stop either. His hand tightened on my wrist as he kept pace with me.
“You know you can’t outrun me, right?” he said, with a stupid twinkle in his eye.
“No, but I can sure as hell try.” As soon as the words were out, I ran, ripping myself from his grip.
“So, this is how you want to play. Fine,” he yelled after me. I expected him to lay off, and go find some other poor sap to tagalong with. Instead, he jogged up beside me as if he was out for a Sunday stroll while I swore I was breaking records.
“Leave me alone,” I demanded, surprised that more people weren’t stopping and staring at us.
“Not until you talk to me.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Too bad for you.” His arm snaked around my stomach, and he pushed his weight into me, knocking me off balance. He held me close, as we tumbled to a grassy knoll, me landing on top of him while he took the brunt of the fall. “I’m not done talking,” he breathed out.
He grabbed my waist, and rolled me under him, his arms taut on either side of my head as he held his weight off of me. Green and gold specks shimmered in his amused eyes, and I was a goner. I laid there, a prisoner to his pe
rfection.
His finger grazed my forehead, and he pushed my blonde hair out of my face. Goosebumps prickled my skin at the gentleness of his touch. We stayed like that for a long moment.
“You’re adorable when you get mad.”
I inhaled a shocked, ragged breath. His finger moved, tracing the contour of my face. My tongue dabbed at my bottom lip, and his eyes lingered on that spot.
A debate raged in his irises, and I wanted to settle it. I lifted my head, closing the gap between us. His jaw ticked as he moved his head toward me. Our lips were a whisper away when he rolled off of me.
He rejected me again.
He ran a hand over his face. “Sorry.”
“Why? At least you didn’t actually kiss me this time,” I snapped, standing up as I wiped the grass from my jeans.
“Kenny,” he said, so softly I barely heard him.
I held my hand up. “Don’t.” I picked my books up off the ground from where they fell out of my bag, and shoved them back in. “Just leave me alone, okay?” I turned back to him, hand on hip, trying my best not to fall victim to the tender way he looked at me.
He didn’t try to argue. Didn’t say a word. He just nodded.
I walked away, and didn’t look back.
Chapter 4
Erica pulled on a sweater as she gave herself a once over in the mirror. “You sure you don’t want to come with me?” she asked.
“I’m sure.” The idea of sitting in a coffee house for open mic night didn’t exactly thrill me. Not to mention, the mood I was in, listening to sappy music and depressing poetry sounded like a form of torture. I’d rather stay cuddled up in my bed and watch Netflix.
“You’re missing out. There’s going to be a lot of hot guys there. I hear they all hang around to pick up girls.”
It was tempting. Maybe another guy was exactly what I needed to get over Beckham. I just wasn’t ready to. I’d give myself one night to wallow in self-pity, and then next time Erica went out, I’d happily tag along.
“Next time. Promise.”
She made a slow show of leaving. “Last chance,” she said, stepping over the threshold, and pulling the door with her.
“Have fun!” I laughed as she disappeared behind the door.
I snuggled into my comforter, and turned my laptop on. Before it fully booted up, there was a knock at the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I assumed Erica had forgotten something, and couldn’t find her keys in her bag.
I jumped up and flung the door open, not expecting to be staring into Beckham’s gorgeous eyes. A sheepish smile spread across his face as he held up a bottle of orange soda, and Baked Lays potato chips, my favorites. He remembered.
He nodded toward my room. “Are you going to invite me in?” His dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a messy bun and looked wet. My mind betrayed me as it envisioned him in the shower, water and soap suds dripping down the hard ridges of his body.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, focusing on the things in his hands and not the pictures running around in my head.
He shrugged. “Didn’t like how things went down earlier. Thought I’d make up for it. I know how you can’t say no to orange soda and chips.”
“So you’re trying to buy me?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
I placed my hand on my hip and arched an amused eyebrow.
“Okay fine. Maybe I am. Did it work?” He pouted out his luscious bottom lip and I was a goner. I stepped aside to let him in.
He stopped before fully entering my room and smiled down at me. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.”
I closed the door and took a deep breath. The last time Beckham Fox was in my room things went terribly wrong. But as long as I didn’t throw myself at him, it should be okay.
I turned around and found him lounged on my bed looking sexier than ever. Crap. This was going to be harder than I thought.
He grabbed my laptop and put it on his lap. “What are we watching?” he asked as he cleared my screensaver. “Grease? Really?” He curled his lip, and I snatched my computer out of his hands.
“Have you ever watched it?”
“I don’t need to. There’s singing. Enough said.”
I sat down on the bed next to him, placed the computer between us, and hit play. “Get ready to be wowed,” I said, and leaned back against the wall.
“You’re really going to make me watch this? I brought you your favorite snacks.”
I smiled big. “Speaking of, can you pass the chips?”
“I’ll remember this,” he warned as he handed me the bag.
I held my finger over my lips. “Shh, the movie’s starting.”
He rolled his eyes and dramatically fell back, laying his head on my lap. He glanced up at me, and, my God, he looked adorable with his lopsided smile.
I tapped his forehead, and then pointed to my laptop. “The screen’s over here.”
He mumbled and turned his head toward the movie. It took ten minutes before I found myself running my fingers through his hair.
“Told you,” he moaned.
“Told me what?” I asked, continuing to stroke the top of his head.
“Chicks dig the man bun.”
My hand dropped away from his head, and he reached up and wrapped his fingers around my wrist. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded.
Unable to resist his request, I continued dragging my fingers through his hair. His pocket vibrated, and he took out his phone, sending a quick text message. A pang of jealousy hit low in my gut as I wondered if he was texting another girl while he was with me.
I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to know. All I cared about was this moment. Together. It reminded me of all those nights we stayed up watching TV together and talking. I didn’t realize how much I missed it, him, us, until this very moment.
We watched the rest of the movie just as we were. When he laughed, I laughed. It was contagious, and the best sound I had ever heard. Every now and again, he would reach for his phone and send a text, but I tried not to notice.
The final credits appeared, and Beckham rolled over, smiling up at me.
“So?” I asked.
“It was okay.”
“Okay my ass!” I poked his side, and he curled up in a ball. “You loved it. Admit it,” I demanded as I tickled his sides and he squirmed beneath me.
“Alright. It was better than okay.”
I continued poking and tickling his sides. “That’s not good enough.”
He grabbed my wrists and held me above him. “Have you forgotten? I’m stronger than you.”
I growled and tried to force my hands away from his hold, but it was impossible. “You never play fair.”
“Fair is boring. No fun. And for the record, the movie was pretty good.”
A smile spread straight across my face, and I bounced a little on the mattress. “I knew it!”
He released his grip on me and the loss was instant. I already missed his touch as he scooched up against the wall. “So, how are your classes going?”
I shrugged. “It’s only been a few days, but so far so good. You were right though. Most of them are total snooze-fests.”
“I wish I could say they get better, but those classes are the worst. Though once you get through those, it’s downhill from there.”
“Something to look forward to.”
We both reached for the chips at the same time, and our hands grazed. It was the slightest of touches, but the contact was unexpected. Hot bursts of pleasure ignited my skin.
Our eyes collided in one charged moment. I noticed then how his shirt brought out the green in his irises. Suddenly nervous, I cleared my throat.
He pulled his hand back and got up from the bed. “I’ll be right back. Too much orange soda.”
He disappeared out the door, and every second of the past two minutes replayed in my mind. I leaned back into my pillows, and noticed his phone sitting on the mattress. I told myself to not even think about
it, but curiosity beat out rational thought. I scooped up the phone and unlocked it, surprised he didn’t have it password protected.
A new text flashed on the screen, and I was relieved when I saw it was only Nixon. Beckham hadn’t been texting a girl. He was texting my brother. I was about to place the phone back where it was when the words caught my eye.
Nixon: Hey bro. How’s Ken doing?
Beckham: She seems fine. Was going to drop in on her and make sure she’s not doing anything stupid
Nixon: Like passing out drunk in a bush.
Oh my God was he ever going to let that go? And what the fuck did Beckham mean by making sure I wasn’t doing anything stupid?
Beckham: Exactly.
Nixon: Thanks for watching out for her. I know she can be a pain in your ass. And I know you have better things to be doing than babysitting my little sis.
Beckham: Tell me about it.
Nixon: Well I appreciate it.
Beckham: I know.
Pain in the ass. Babysitting. How foolish could I be to think Beckham actually came here to hang out with me? That he actually wanted to apologize because he felt bad and not because of some promise he made to my brother.
The door creaked open, and I glanced up from Beckham’s phone. He stood there with an amused smile, but as soon as he spotted his cell in my hands, the look of disgust on my face, his smile vanished.
“Did my brother offer to pay you by the hour or are you babysitting pro bono?” I asked.
He held his hands up. “Ken, it’s not what you think.”
Anger erupted inside of me, but I forced it down enough to speak. “Really? So you don’t think I’m a pain in the ass? You don’t have anything better to be doing tonight? You don’t think I’m capable of not doing something stupid?”
“That’s not…”
I shook my head. “Save it. I don’t want to hear any of it. Just leave.”
Beckham stood there, mouth parted, but no words came out.
I threw his phone at him. “I said get out. Now!”
He tossed his hands in the air and closed his eyes, accepting defeat. “I’m sorry, Ken.”
“Do me a favor and stop apologizing, because, clearly, you don’t know the meaning of sorry. Now, I’m not asking you again.” I walked over to the door and held it wide open. “Get out.”
