The Kiss Lottery

Chapter 13 Beckett

Chapter 13

Beckett

I step out of the shower, feeling slightly more human. The scent of Everly’s coconut bodywash clings to my skin. When I come out, she is lounging on the couch as she looks at her phone. She’s picked up the leftover food and wiped down the coffee table. She even fluffed the pillows on the couch. Murder is perched on one, watching me with an eyeball that knows everything. She clearly recalls every detail from last night and is judging us.

Everly looks relaxed, her hair up in a messy bun, her face bare, wearing nerdy black glasses. Her lips twitch as she takes in my outfit.

“Adorable,” she says.

The hoodie hem stops midchest. She probably had something else more suitable, but she’s wanting to poke at me, so I let her.

Back in school, she had a way of convincing me to do wild shit. I recall the time she talked me into wearing her cheer outfit to a pep rally. Coach was pissed and made me run bleachers for two hours, and when I came out of the gym, she and Carson were waiting for me with grins on their faces. We hopped into my truck and got beer and went to the lake. Those were the days I tried to stay away from her, but inevitably I’d be pulled into her orbit.

God, how I wanted her.

I want her still.

That’s never stopped.

My eyes catch on a framed photo on the side table, of Everly and her mom with their arms around each other, grinning at the camera.

I step closer to the photo, my throat tightening as memories flood back. All the nights I sat outside her window after the affair blew up in my face, knowing I couldn’t be there for her in her loneliness. The betrayal ran too deep, but it wasn’t her fault. And yet, I made it feel like it was.

She shifts on the couch, stretching her legs out. “You good?”

I nod, swallowing thickly, but my gaze remains on the photo. My mind races, knowing that I still haven’t told her. I will but not today. I still have time.

I see my belt on the armrest and snatch it up triumphantly. “At least something was saved.”

“I found it under the couch.”

“Maybe we played bondage last night.”

She leans back, crossing her arms. “Last night you did a little chopping-wood dance in your boxers. I want an explanation. I was going to look it up but decided to wait for you.”

I groan, running a hand through my damp hair.

She tilts her head, pretending to think. “I remember you said something about how the woodcutter found a fairy’s wings and hid them so she couldn’t fly back to fairyland. She ended up marrying him and having kids, but she was always sad because she wanted her wings to fly home.”

“Hmm.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You said you were the lumberjack and I was the fairy.”

I hesitate. I was definitely trashed to bring up that folklore. I guess in my subconscious that story must have surfaced. It’s a tale about a woodcutter who keeps the fairy with him because he falls in love with her. She loves him back but longs to fly away at the same time. In my head, I must have compared us to the story, me wanting her but letting her go. I clear my throat. “It was drunken nonsense, so let it go. Anyway, I promised Carson I’d play a game of basketball with him at the gym. I should head out.”

Her face falls slightly, but she nods. “Right. Do you want some breakfast before you go?”

I shake my head. “Thanks, but I should get going. I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

I start to leave but turn back. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”