chapter FOUR
Beckett
T he Griddle is Friday -morning packed when I arrive, deliberately two minutes late. I never show up first – it reeks of desperation. And Beckett Monroe doesn't do desperate.
I scan the restaurant, locating my teammates at our usual corner booth near the window.
My gaze catches on a dark-haired figure in their midst. Reese Callahan, freshly showered, her wet hair pulled back in a simple ponytail.
She wears a faded Sable Ridge Rowing hoodie that looks suspiciously like one of the men's team extras.
She's tiny next to Bo's bulk, who sits protectively beside her.
Interesting.
I thread between packed tables, flashing a smile at a blonde who stares a little too long. She blushes, exactly as expected. Predictable. Boring.
"Look who finally graced us with his presence," Zane announces as I slide into the booth beside him. "Finally showered the lake off you?"
"Clean as a whistle," I respond, running a hand through my still-damp hair. "Hence why the ladies can't stay away."
I wink at Reese, who rolls her eyes so hard I worry she might strain something.
"Don't waste your energy, Monroe," she says. "I'm immune to dimples."
"Everyone says that." I prop my elbows on the table, leaning forward. "Until they don't."
Gray, sitting across from me, glares with the exact expression that earned him the nickname "Glacier" freshman year. "Stop hitting on our coxswain."
"I'm not hitting on her," I protest. "I'm being friendly."
"That's what you call it?" Tyler mutters, not looking up from his phone.
I ignore them, focusing on Reese. There's something different about her now that she's off the water. Her command presence remains, but there's a wariness in her eyes. She keeps a careful distance from everyone, especially Jackson, who looks particularly twitchy this morning.
"So, Callahan," I begin, signaling for coffee, "Georgia, right? What part?"
She meets my gaze directly. "Atlanta suburbs."
"Fancy side or regular?"
Something flashes in her eyes. "Fancy side."
"Trust fund baby?"
"Beck," Bo warns, his Southern drawl thickening.
Reese holds up a hand. "It's fine. Yes, my family has money. No, I don't want to talk about them."
"Fair enough." I accept a mug of coffee from the waitress, giving her my standard smile. She, too, blushes. Two for two this morning. But when I look back at Reese, she's watching me with clinical detachment, like I'm a specimen under glass.
"Does that usually work for you?" she asks quietly.
"What?"
"The smile. The hair flip. The whole..." she waves her hand vaguely, "golden retriever act."
I nearly choke on my coffee. Beside me, Zane snorts into his orange juice.
"She's got your number, Romeo," he laughs.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, but there's a strange feeling in my chest. Like being caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
Gray watches our exchange with narrowed eyes. Calculating, always calculating. The man never relaxes.
"So," I redirect, "Callahan. Single?"
"That's enough," Gray cuts in.
"What? Team bonding, right? Getting to know our new cox."
"My relationship status isn't relevant to my ability to steer a boat," Reese says coolly.
"It is if you're dating another rower," Cameron speaks up for the first time, his quiet voice carrying unexpected weight. "Conflicts of interest."
Reese's spine straightens. "I'm not dating a rower. Or anyone. And I won't be."
"Tragic waste," I say, flashing another smile.
She looks at me, really looks at me, and for a moment I feel stripped bare. "You know, beneath all that charm, you're actually watching everything, aren't you?"
The table goes quiet. Even Gray looks surprised.
I recover quickly. "Sweetheart, beneath all this charm is just more charm. All the way down."
But her words hit closer than I'd like. Beckett Monroe, party boy and professional flirt, is what everyone sees. Beckett who notices everything, who catalogs reactions, who reads people like books—that guy stays hidden.
"Food's here," Eli announces as plates arrive.
Conversation shifts to safer topics – upcoming races, classes, campus gossip. I catch fragments from nearby tables: students complaining about midterm schedules, a couple of lacrosse players debating weekend party plans. The usual Friday morning chatter that fills The Griddle.
I watch Reese pick at her food, answering questions with minimal detail. She's guarded. Hiding something.
"You transferred from Westlake, right?" I ask when there's a lull. "Their women's program is top-ranked. Why leave?"
Her fork pauses halfway to her mouth. "Better opportunities here."
"Bullshit," I say, using Gray's favorite word. "Nobody leaves a championship team mid-season for 'opportunities.'"
Reese's eyes flash. "Maybe I got tired of toxicity."
"What kind of toxicity?" Tyler asks, finally looking up from his phone.
"The kind that makes someone change schools," she says curtly. "Can we drop it?"
"Sure," I say easily. Too easily. I can practically feel Gray's suspicion radiating across the table. "So then, Cox, who's your favorite?"
"Favorite what?"
"Rower," I grin. "On the team. Rank us."
Zane groans. "Don't feed his ego, please."
Reese looks around the table, her expression unreadable. "Currently ranking at number one: no one. You're all equally annoying."
"Harsh," Bo chuckles.
"But fair," Eli adds.
I place a hand over my heart in mock hurt. "After I shared my hash browns and everything."
"You didn't share," Reese points out. "I took them."
"And I let you," I counter, winking again.
This time, there's the barest hint of amusement in her eyes before she shutters it. Progress.
The rest of breakfast passes in comfortable team banter.
I keep trying to draw Reese out, but she deflects with careful deftness. It's frustrating. Women usually warm to me quickly. Very quickly. But she remains cool, collected, and utterly immune to what Zane calls my "tragic attempts at seduction."
When the check comes, Gray grabs it before anyone can argue. Control freak.
"Wait here," he says, stabbing his finger on the table as he looks down at Reese, "Tyler and I have Sports Psychology, too. We'll walk with you."
Her eyes narrow slightly. "I can find my way."
"I know you can," Gray says, his tone brooking no argument. "We're still walking you."
As we file out of the restaurant, I pull up alongside Reese. "He's always like that, by the way. It's not personal."
"Like what?"
"Controlling. Watchful. Like he's sizing up prey."
She glances at Gray, who's paying the bill. "I don't need protection from Gray Lockwood."
"Didn't say you did." I shrug. "Just giving you the team dynamic. Gray leads. Bo enforces. I charm. Tyler calculates. Zane unites. Jackson broods. Eli analyzes. Cameron watches."
"And where does that leave me?" she asks.
"That's what we're all trying to figure out."
Outside, the morning has warmed considerably.
Students mill about campus, rushing between Friday morning classes.
A group of what look like novice rowers jogs past in Sable Ridge black and gold, probably heading to the gym for their land training session.
I notice how Reese tracks their movement – she's cataloging the broader program, figuring out how all the pieces fit.
"So what's your story, Callahan?" I ask quietly, dropping the flirtation. "The real one."
She looks surprised at my tone change. Good. Let her see there's more to me than dimples.
"My story is that I'm here to cox, not make friends or find dates."
"Harsh. What if I want to be friends?"
"Do you?" she challenges. "Or do you just want to figure me out because I didn't immediately fall for your routine?"
I whistle low. "Direct hit. You're good."
She shrugs. "I have brothers."
"Ah. That explains the immunity to male bullshit."
The corners of her mouth twitch upward. Another tiny victory.
"Look, Callahan," I say as we near the quad, "I know I come on strong. Force of habit. But this team? We're solid. Even Gray, ice king that he is. Give us a chance."
She studies me for a long moment. "Why do you care if I integrate? You barely know me."
It's a good question. One I'm not entirely sure how to answer.
"Team works better when everyone's connected," I say finally. "And you're good. Really good. I want to win, and you can help us do that."
For the first time, she gives me a genuine smile. Small, but real. "That might be the most honest thing you've said all morning."
"You wound me. I'm always honest."
"Sure you are." She glances at her watch. "I need to grab my books before class."
I nod. "See you at afternoon practice?"
"Where else would I be?"
As she walks away, Bo sidles up beside me. "Strike out again, Romeo?"
"I wasn't hitting on her," I protest.
"Sure looked like it from where I was sitting," he says, his tone light but his eyes serious. "Word of advice? Back off."
"Why? You interested?"
Bo's expression remains neutral. "Just saying she's not like your usual targets."
"I noticed." I watch her disappear into the crowd. "That's what makes her interesting."
"Leave it alone, Beck." His voice has that edge now, the one that reminds everyone that despite his easygoing nature, Bo Strickland is the enforcer for a reason.
I hold up my hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. No pursuit of the untouchable coxswain."
But as I head toward my dorm, I can't shake the image of those calculating blue-green eyes seeing right through me. Reese Callahan is hiding something. And despite Bo's warning, despite Gray's obvious territorial bullshit, despite her own clear boundaries, I want to know what it is.
Not because I'm interested in her that way. I mean, she's attractive, sure, but that's not it.
It's because for the first time in a long time, someone looked at Beckett Monroe and saw past the golden boy act.
And that's both terrifying and exhilarating.