Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Beckett
“I had the best day,” Daisy says, sounding happy and drowsy.
The last of the sun has dipped into the horizon, and we’re sitting in a field next to the live music venue—a wooden stage in front of an old red barn.
The music pours from the speakers. Bluegrass, folk rock, and Americana carried on the warm breeze scented with barbecue and weed from a group of teens vaping.
I glance down at Daisy. She stretches out, using her backpack as a pillow. I draw my knees to my chest and rest my forearms on them. “Did the fortune teller predict that you would?”
“I don’t care what you say. Zelda was legit.”
Zelda was a scam artist. “You should have asked her to conjure up Elvis.”
“If anyone could do it, I have faith that she could.”
Despite my skepticism, Daisy insisted on getting her fortune told by a woman in a turban who shuffled through a deck of tarot cards and fed Daisy a bunch of crap. No doubt, she regurgitated the same spiel for everyone who entered her tent.
But Daisy bought into it hook, line, and sinker and spent a good twenty minutes pondering the deeper meaning.
Newsflash : There wasn’t one.
“I’m still thinking about the Death card,” she says. “And the Wand. Zelda said that Death doesn’t literally mean I’m going to die. I mean, everyone is going to die eventually. But it can mean a metamorphosis. A rebirth, you know.”
My eyes roll so far back in my head they might stay there permanently.
“I know you don’t believe in any of this. But I asked her why I was here. I’m still trying to figure it out. Not here, as in here in this world. But in Sutton Ridge. And she said that Wands are attributed to fire…” She chews on her lip, brow furrowed in concentration. “I just think there are a lot of clues in there, and eventually it will all become clear.”
I shake my head. For such a smart girl, I’m surprised Daisy would buy into all that bullshit. “It was just a deck of cards.”
“You’re thinking with the logical part of your brain. Zelda was tapping into the spiritual world.”
“Zelda has an invisible sign on her tent that only a few of us can read. It says: I Saw You Coming.”
Daisy laughs and folds her hands over her stomach. “I can’t even imagine going through life as cynical as you are. It must be a real drag.”
“I see the world as it is, not how I wish it would be. It’s a talent.”
“Let’s see what other talents you have.” Daisy gets to her feet and holds out her hand. “Dance with me.”
“You want to dance?” I scan the field where couples, families, and friend groups are sitting on picnic blankets or folding chairs. Kids zigzag through the patchwork of blankets, playing a game of Tag with neon LED bracelets and necklaces glowing in the dark. And Daisy wants to dance right in the middle of it all. “Right here?”
“What’s wrong, Beck? Scared someone will see your lack of skills? No one is watching us anyway.”
Why the hell not. It’s just about the only thing that we haven’t done today.
When I stand, the music changes to a slow song, a cover version of “If We Were Vampires” according to the singer, and I pull Daisy into my arms. Can’t back down now.
I’m still trying to keep her at arm’s length. Literally. Which means I’m holding her like we’re at a junior high dance with enough space between us to drive a semi through.
Daisy moves closer. Bridging the distance. Invading my personal space. Knocking down fucking walls like a wrecking ball.
Her body is flush with mine, her soft breath fanning my neck, and she says, her voice sweet and low, “It’s so beautiful.”
With a soft sigh, she leans her head against my chest, one hand in mine, the other cupping the nape of my neck as I lead us around a makeshift dance floor in Petaluma while a man and woman sing a love song about death and mortality and how nothing can last forever.
I’m not surprised that Daisy would find a sad song beautiful. But she probably views it differently than I do. Daisy can find hope in things that others wouldn’t. Sometimes to her own detriment.
I keep thinking about the story she told me about Finn. He stole a car. She bailed him out. He cheated on her. She took him back. Again. And again.
Why would she ever take him back or give him the time of day?
That douche never deserved her.
The song ends. Another slow song plays. We keep dancing.
And when that song ends, she pulls back and tips her face up to mine.
My gaze dips to her mouth as her lips part like an invitation and I don’t even stop to think.
My lips crash against hers.
I cup the back of her head and draw her to me. Her soft curves yield to my hard angles and our tongues dance.
It’s different from the last kiss. Sweeter, more gentle, and therefore, more dangerous.
She tastes like lemonade and sunshine and a treasure trove of happy memories.
She’s like summertime and a long-forgotten dream.
As tempting as forbidden fruit.
Daisy is everything I shouldn’t want but reality ceases to exist, and I’m only focused on her. Her soft lips. Her warm mouth. Her silky hair. Her little moans as my tongue strokes hers with intent.
If this were the Garden of Eden and she offered me a poison apple, I’d say fuck the consequences, and take a bite.
She fists my T-shirt, like she’s scared I’ll run away if she doesn’t hold on tight. I’m not going anywhere.
I want to take her home and fuck her senseless. Throw her down in the field and dry-hump her like a teenager. Proof that I’ve lost my goddamn mind.
My hands are in her hair, my thumbs pressing into her cheekbones as I deepen the kiss, and if you could get drunk on someone’s kisses, I’d be well past the legal driving limit.
Unwanted temptation or not, I need to screw her out of my system. That’s all there is to it.
“Get a room, man.” The voice and peals of laughter pierce through the hazy veil of lust, and Daisy rips her mouth away and shoves my chest. I stumble back, caught by surprise but regain my balance quickly.
Breathless, she stabs her finger at me. “No.” She’s panting, chest heaving, eyes blazing, and I don’t know if it’s from the kiss or anger but either way it only makes me want her more.
But since I don’t want to be accused of being a predator, I take a step back. “You kissed me back,” I remind her.
Her eyes narrow. “I mean, no, you don’t get to do this to me again. You don’t get to run hot and cold and take what you want only to turn around and call me a mistake.”
She spins on her heel and strides away, leaving me with her bag and the unwanted attention of some curious bystanders.
“Dude,” one of the teen vapers says. “She smoked you.”
“You called her a mistake?” a girl chimes in. “That’s really low.”
“Pretty harsh, man.”
Jesus. I’m devolving. Now I’ve got a group of teens commentating.
I collect her backpack from the ground and bulldoze my way through the crowd, keeping her in my sights as she makes a beeline for the parking lot.
This shit has to stop.
I’ve never been ruled by my libido. Have never let my dick call the shots. Have never once tormented myself over a woman.
Until Daisy. The exception to all my rules. The person most likely to throw my orderly world into chaos.
This is what happens when you’re forced to live with someone you’re attracted to. Before you know it, you’ve become so infatuated with them that you can’t even think straight.
A few minutes later, I find her leaning against the side of my BMW in her little booty shorts and a hoodie. Arms crossed. Foot tapping on the gravel. A pissed-off look on her face as if I was the one who pushed her away instead of the other way around.
If anyone should be pissed off, it’s me.
She’s been teasing and taunting and tempting me for weeks.
Who am I kidding? It’s been like that from the start. Even when I hated her, I still wanted her.
And now I want to kiss her again.
I want to spread her out on the hood of my car, push her thighs apart and fuck her with my tongue and fingers and then bury myself balls deep inside her.
Instead, I beep the locks and round the hood. She yanks open the passenger door and dives into the seat, slamming the door shut.
I slide behind the wheel and turn the key in the ignition but don’t back out of my spot right away. When I open my mouth to speak, she cuts me off before I even get a single word out.
“Just save it. Whatever you’re going to say, please don’t,” she says. “It was a perfect day. Let’s just forget the last part, okay? I already have.”
“Whatever you say, princess.”
She pushes her seat back and plants her booted feet on the dash—probably just to piss me off—and we drive home in complete silence.
Except that (shocker) Daisy’s silence is loud . I can practically hear the gears turning in her head.
Whatever she’s thinking, I can almost guarantee that she’s got it all wrong.
But since she didn’t even give me a chance to explain myself, I’ll let her stew over it a while longer.