by Inda Herwood
“Nana, just this once, I’m asking you to stay out of it,” she says, giving her grandmother a look I don’t think I’ve ever seen from her before. It could cut glass with how sharp it is. “I mean it. Let it go.”
Her grandmother harrumphs, looking upset about being put in a corner. But eventually she relents, saying, “Fine. I’ll keep my opinions to myself. But I’m watching you, boy. Mess with my only granddaughter, and I won’t hesitate to show you why I’m still a blackbelt at eighty years old.”
Walking over to Blaire, she kisses her on the cheek with a smile, pretending like she didn’t just threaten me. Without another word, she steps out of the kitchen and onto the patio, and I watch as she introduces herself to my family, looking like the sweetest of grandmothers.
A chill runs down my spine.
“Don’t listen to her. She’s never taken karate in her life,” Blaire says, cheeks still pink from embarrassment.
“That was…scary. Is she always like that?”
“Not usually. But with me, she’s very protective.” Turning to me, an emotion passes over her eyes that I can’t put a finger on. “She just doesn’t want me to get hurt again.”
“I don’t blame her then,” I say, feeling my heart stutter the longer she looks at me like that. “I know I said I’m sorry about how I treated you when you first moved here, but I feel like I should say it again.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t. Once is enough. As long as you really meant it.”
“I did.” Absolutely.
She smiles, all sweet and pure and everything I’m starting to crave. “Then we’re fine.”
“Good.”
CHAPTER 12
Blaire
My heart is still pounding as we join the others outside, all seated around the dining table my mother took extra special care in decorating. I wish I could say it’s because of my mortification courtesy of my overly protective grandmother, but deep down, I know it’s because she was right. I pretended not to notice, but Beckham playing with my hair and flirting with me felt like the equivalent of me feeling his forehead when he had a fever. It was familiar, intimate, as if we get that close to one another all the time. It was done with an ease we shouldn’t have. But even still, I admit that I enjoyed it. I liked that he called my hair beautiful. I like that his arm brushed up against mine while I chopped oranges. And worse, I liked that he forgot himself when he touched me.
All of it spells disaster. At least for me. But tell that to my damned heart.
Leaning over the table, I place the bowl of fruit next to a tray of hamburgers and hotdogs, smiling in thanks when Leigha compliments on how nice it looks.
We all sit down to lunch, Leigha on my right and Theo on my left. I help out Little Lyons when he points to something he wants, handing him a roll and dishing out his hotdog. I can feel a pair of ice blue eyes watching me the entire time we eat, but not once do I look his way. It would just send my stomach into a knot, and I don’t feel like getting sick in front of everyone. That’s how nervous this boy makes me. And it’s not because I’m afraid of what he’ll say. I’m afraid that once our eyes connect, he and everyone else at the table will know that things are changing between us. How, I’m not sure. But I can feel it despite my better judgement.
Once lunch is over, Leigha and I do the dishes so my mom and her aunt can chat on the patio. Dad took Mr. Lyons out to the garage to show him his vintage Chevy, the two men having a surprising amount in common though they have severely different backgrounds. But it’s not like Mr. Lyons knows that.
“So, I saw my cousin staring holes into you over the table like a lovesick puppy. Want to tell me what that was all about?” Leigha asks casually while handing me a plate to dry. It nearly slips out of my fingers, and she chuckles.
“He wasn’t staring like that,” I argue, but really, I don’t know if he was or not. I didn’t look to see.
She raises her eyebrows at me in an expression that says I shouldn’t even try.
Whatever. “Okay, so he was staring, but it’s not like I know why,” I mutter, putting the dish back in the cabinet.
“I do. And it has something to do with what happened that day with the soup, and the staring at each other through your windows that followed it.”
“I told you. All we did was sit in his room and listen to music until my dad got back.” I already dished this to her the day she got back from the city with her aunt and Theo. She came over to thank me for the soup, as well as checking in on Beckham, and apparently, my poker face was terrible, causing her to ask questions until she was blue in the face.
I didn’t tell her that he called me gorgeous, though.
“I still think that in itself is weird. I don’t even think he let Jenna in there.”
I try to hide my curiosity while taking a dripping wet cup from her. “Who’s Jenna?”
She shakes her head, looking disgusted at the mere mention of the name. “She was the girl that Beckham dated last year. A real piece of gold digging trash.”
Even though I know a part of this story, I still ask, “What do you mean?”
She shrugs her shoulders, her hands cleaning another plate while she explains, “She went to a neighboring private school. Not as exclusive as Horton, but still fancy. I think that’s why he took a chance on dating her. He figured that she’d be rich enough on her own to not want to drag money out of him. But that was before he found out the truth, which was that she was actually a scholarship kid.”
She made that last part sound like a disease. As if getting into school without money is a deplorable thing to do. It sours my stomach, the unease showing on my face enough for her to say, “Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with that. But it’s the fact that she kept it from him is what became the issue. She tried to make it look like she had money so everyone else would like her better. And she set her sights on Beckham because, well, he was the richest, most popular guy at our school. Word about him got to her, and at the next beach party she spotted him at, she pounced.”
Jeez. “How long were they together?”
“About six months. I’m surprised it lasted that long, honestly. It all went down when she asked him for a hundred bucks to go get her nails done. He had bought her little things here and there before, nothing extravagant. But he thought it was weird considering this came out of nowhere, and she just kind of expected him to hand it over.
“When he told her no, she had a fit, and the next thing he knew, he found her making out with his best friend when he went over to his house after school. It wasn’t until later that he found out the truth of her background.” Sighing, she says a few minutes later, “That girl broke more than just his heart. She made him into the miserable, trustless guy he is today.” She shakes her head, biting her lip while she stares at the dish water. “The accident was only two weeks later. She never even came to visit him in the hospital.”
Oh, my gosh.
Letting out a breath of air, I wrap my head around the story she just told me, one so much worse than I had originally pictured when Beckham had called her a wolf. She wasn’t just a wolf, but a pack of them that was blood thirsty. I’d be devasted, too.
“I’ve seen her a few times at some parties, draping herself over whatever rich boy she can find. It’s pathetic, and I know it would kill Beckham if he ever saw.”
Looking out the window, I see Beckham, Catcher, and Theo in the yard, throwing a football between the three of them, smiling easily and laughing every once in a while. They look like a perfectly normal set of brothers. It makes me sad to think that it isn’t really the truth.
“I’m sorry he had to go through that. It’s an awful feeling,” I tell her, my words but a whisper as I focus my eyes on the eldest Lyons brother. He looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world, grinning as he chucks the ball at Catcher’s head. But I remember the pain on his face when he gave a brief description of his past. He still isn’t over it. And he may never be.
***
Joining the guys in the yard a little while later after we finish dishes, the consensus is that everyone is tired of football. They now want to go swimming in that big old terrifying ocean.
Yeah, I don’t think so.
I’m backing myself closer to the house before anyone can notice when suddenly Beckham is there, looking down at me with a smirk on his perfect lips. “Are you really trying to run from us, Kahlo?”
“Of course I am,” I say with a huff, deciding that lying would be a waste of time. “I barely managed the kiddy end of the pool, and you want to throw me and your brother out into the ocean? Seriously?”
“Yes, you guessed correctly. I intend on literally throwing my baby brother out into the waves and seeing how long it takes until he resurfaces.” He gives me an exasperated look, and before I can even send him a proper retort on how I didn’t mean it literally, he’s scooping me under his arms, onto his back, and over his shoulder, hauling me back over to the group.
“Beckham, put me down now!” I yell at him with a gasp, smacking his broad back and shoulders with my hands, though it hurts when they connect with his hard muscles. Jeez, is he made of steel or something? Either way, it doesn’t stop me from trying to get free.
“You know this isn’t what they mean when they say to reel in a woman, right?” Catcher asks him, crossing his arms with a grin. The traitor winks at me when he catches my eye.
“Leigha, help me out here,” I growl at her. Seeing everyone upside down is giving me a headache, and if anyone would honor girl code, I’d think it’d be her.
“Sorry, B,” she says with a shake of her head. “You’re on your own. Real life experience in the ocean will do you some good.”
Are you kidding me?
With a triumphant chuckle, Beckham bypasses the yard and starts dragging me down the path to the beach. No, no, no…
“I don’t even have a swimsuit on,” I hiss at him, deciding if I swing my legs hard enough the momentum should throw him off balance. Flailing like a fish out of water, I give it my best shot before he’s wrapping a warm, toned arm around them, keeping them still. I try again, only to feel complete resistance.
“A T-shirt and shorts will do just fine,” he answers, not even breathless with having carried my weight around for the last five minutes.
“Ugh!” I yell, giving up. I go completely limp on him, handing over my full weight, and decide that I’ll just have to get back at him later. This just gives me the time to plan my revenge.
“Took you long enough,” he drawls, and I don’t even have to look to know he just rolled his eyes at me.
I give his back one final slap, though I know it’s pointless.
He just laughs.
A minute later, he’s dropping me back on my feet in the wet sand, and I feel the head rush I was anticipating, making me lose my balance. Before I can fall, Beckham is there, catching me in his arms once again. At least this time I don’t mind it. Face planting in inch-high water doesn’t sound very pleasant.
Still trying to find my balance against him, I complain, “This is all your fault.”
He chuckles, his chest rumbling against mine. “Technically it’s yours. If you had just come willingly, none of this would have happened.”
“Technically,” I mirror him, my hands pushing him away from me, “if you weren’t such an ass and had talked me into it instead of manhandling me, none of this would have happened.”
“She has a point,” Catcher agrees, ripping his shirt off his body in one fluid motion, the piece of fabric falling in the sand at his feet. The sun practically glistens off his pretty six pack, making me feel lightheaded again. I can’t help it, none of the guys at my old school came even close to looking like that. A hot male my age is almost foreign to me. Every time I see him or his brother, it’s like a beautiful slap to the face.
With a final grin, he runs into the ocean and dives through a wave like a fish.
Mmm-mmm.
Beckham’s growl forces my attention back to him. That’s twice now that he’s done that in his brother’s presence.
Interesting.
Quirking an eyebrow up at him, I feel my boldness (or maybe it’s just irritation) grow when I ask him, “What? Are you jealous that he had my attention and not yours?” I’ll just save the embarrassment of asking that question until I get home. Because right now, I want to be the girl that stands up to him, the one that calls him out on his BS.
The one that can flirt back.
“A little,” he says, making my eyes widen at his honesty.
“And what are you going to do about it?” I ask, my whisper nearly getting swept away by the waves.
“Holy hell, just kiss and get it over with already,” Leigha grumbles, having turned her sundress into a green bathing suit since her cousin and I started our stare down. Taking Theo’s hand, they start to make their way towards the shallows, but not before she calls over her shoulder, “The suffocating sexual tension is annoying, you know!”
Sucking in a breath, I feel my face catch on fire.
Beckham shrugs next to me like it isn’t a half bad idea.
I ask myself for the hundredth time why I opened the door the day they knocked on it.
Pretending the last few minutes never happened, I turn back to him and say, “I’m not going out there.”
Without responding, he rips off his Yankees T-shirt, and I’m suddenly staring at a chest that’s even more impressive than his brother’s. Gold, toned, and oh so close to my face. I know I should take a step back, but my body has other ideas.
Man, he smells good.
So good that I almost don’t register that he’s picking me up again.
Crap.
“Is this a new fetish of yours?” Because it really seems like it.
His feet make large splashes in the water as he takes us out further to where Leigha and Theo are. I’m sure Catcher is halfway to Europe by now, so I don’t even look for him. “Just shut up and enjoy the ride.”
“What I’m going to enjoy is shoving my knee into your colon,” I tell him, a grin stretching on my lips.
“What –?” Just then I jab my knee into his lower abdomen, making him groan and drop me.
I’m smiling victoriously in front of him until I see the very real grimace on his face. Shoot, did I really hurt him? I didn’t think I’d hit him that hard. Placing a hand on his arm, I ask, my voice full of regret, “Are you okay?”
The pained look doesn’t disappear, and he says with a groan, “I probably deserved that.”
“Oh, you definitely did, but still, I didn’t mean to get you that bad. Sorry.”
He nods his head, looking down at me with a trying smile. “Want to make it up to me?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “No.”
He bites his lip, staring down at where I still have my hand on him. He wiggles his dark brows at me, looking far too pleased that I forgot where it was.
I take it away like I was electrocuted, clearing my throat.
“Go out at least waist deep with me,” he says, taking a step closer, putting his chest in my face again. I’m not complaining, it’s a great view, but it makes my throat dry.
“I don’t think so.”
“Pretty please?”
Again, “No, Beck.”
He pauses in his attempt to get closer to me, his eyes narrowing to icy slits. “What’d you just call me?”
Uh, “Nothing.” I didn’t even realize I had said it until he pointed it out.
“No, it was definitely something.” He restarts his campaign to be close enough to me to stop my breathing. To avoid falling backwards into the water, I have to use my hands on his impressive sternum to keep me upright. His skin is warmed over from the sun, heating through my palms.
“You have a nickname for me. I can’t have one for you?” I ask, not bothering to look up into his eyes. I don’t want to see them be angry with me. What I want is to let my cheek rest against his shoulder and
just stay there for a while.
Another dangerous thought.
“You can. I just want to hear you say it again.”
I do look up this time, feeling wave after wave splash against my shins, the coolness of the water doing nothing to take away the heat in my cheeks. He watches me so closely, waiting for his request to be granted.
“Beck,” I say again, my lips curling in a smile when his do the same.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, voice low but serious. Where did that question come from?
Shaking it off, I say with a slight laugh, “Not really. You were the one who brought me down here against my will, remember?”
He shakes his head. “We already established that wasn’t my fault.” Holding up a hand to stop me before I can argue, he says, “Your well-being. Do you trust me with your well-being? To keep you safe, to make sure nothing happens to you? Do you trust me?”
“I don’t like where this is going…”
Bending down so that his hot lips brush against my ear, I feel my breath catch when he whispers, “Yes or no, Kahlo.”
He doesn’t move away, but keeps his mouth on my skin, making my toes tingle in the sand. I’m not really sure what he asked me anymore, that’s how out of it he’s making me feel. He’s so, so, so close that my body doesn’t seem to remember what to do. Even moving my tongue is proving to be a hard task.
Since I don’t know what I’m answering to, and don’t really care, I simply get out, “Yes,” while my fingers curl against his skin.
Beckham
Her warm breath ghosts across my bare chest, and it takes everything within me not to move an inch to the right and drag my lips across hers. It surprises me just how strong the desire is. But I don’t want to scare her, or move too fast. Things are changing, but they don’t all need to change at once, as much as my lips would like to disagree.
Long before myself, she finds the willpower to pull away, her eyes looking down at the water cascading over our legs. It’s most likely to hide that massive blush she’s got going on, the one I like the best. She looks like a little tomato, making me want to kiss her again.
