Chapter 46
EVERETT
My need to throw caution to the wind and pull Bea into my arms and drop my lips to hers to prove to myself that that night wasn’t as electric as I remember never lessens.
Even after she disappears and discovers that my sister has added her to a group chat with Casey and Freya, it continues to bubble under the surface.
I hear her giggling from her room as I pace back and forth.
I want to storm back there and demand to know what’s so funny.
Something tells me they’re laughing at my expense.
And let’s be honest, I probably deserve it.
But damn…I want to see that smile on Bea’s face.
I don’t want to hear her laughter from a different room. I want it right next to me.
My own cell buzzes not that long later to tell me that our brunch is on route, and I try to keep myself busy by pouring us some juice and getting plates and cutlery out.
It feels weird as fuck, being so domesticated. I’d usually eat it out of the containers it comes in on the couch. But something tells me Bea wouldn’t be up for that.
She’s still hiding in her room, although the giggling has stopped, when I get an alert that we have a delivery.
“Bea,” I call. “Food is here.”
By the time I get back into the living area with the bag clutched to my chest, she’s emerged and is walking toward the kitchen island, still wearing that T-shirt that sits high on her thighs, showing off her toned legs and pretty pink toenails.
I can’t help but wonder what she might have beneath. Shorts? Panties? Nothing.
I swallow thickly as the latter makes blood surge toward my cock.
Damn it, even when she’s not trying, she’s entirely too tempting.
And that doesn’t change when she gets her first whiff of the food and her stomach grumbles obnoxiously loud.
I’m pretty sure it would have put me off any other woman, just like holding their hair while they're vomiting. But my only concern earlier was trying to help, to do anything that might make her feel better.
There wasn’t a single part of me that was grossed out.
And I guess that’s a good thing, considering she’s going to birth a child in the coming months.
Despite how much the thought of that might terrify me, I already know that I want to be there.
I want to experience every part of this pregnancy with Bea. Or at least as much as I can.
“Why have you got plates out?” Bea asks as she pulls the chair out.
“Uh…to eat off of.”
Bea screws her nose up in the most adorable way before she pushes the plate before her aside. “If you want extra to wash, then that’s up to you, but I’m pretty sure they send that food in containers for a reason.”
My chin drops.
“What?” she asks. “You didn’t think, after everything I just told you, that I’m some pretentious princess who must eat at a table with the very best china and crystal glasses?”
“Um…I dunno,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I guess I just…you have a little more class than I do.”
“If you want to eat this on the couch, I’m more than happy.”
I glance over into my living room and then down at the amount of food in my arms.
“Probably safer to stay here.”
She shrugs before making grabby hands for her dishes.
I lay it all out and watch as she dives in.
“Oh my god,” she mumbles, biting off a bit of bacon.
I can’t help myself; I just stand there and watch as she uncovers each dish, her eyes getting wider with each one.
“What are you waiting for? Come and eat so I don’t look like such a pig.”
“You couldn’t if you tried.”
She glances at me with one eyebrow raised.
With a chuckle, I pull out the stool next to her and dive in.
As per usual, it’s incredible, and I devour everything I ordered in record time.
But when I glance over at Bea, I find her poking at her scrambled eggs with a fork, a look of longing on her face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, leaning closer as if I’m missing something. “I can call them and complain if—”
“N-no,” she whimpers. “It’s not that. You don’t need to—” A sniffle cuts off her words.
Goddamn it, she’s crying again. How am I screwing this up so badly?
“Bea, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“It’s so good,” she whispers, her voice cracked with emotion.
“Okay, so…”
“I want to eat more. I just can’t.”
I startle as she drops her head into her hands and cries.
“I don’t want to waste it, it’s so good, and there are children out there with n-no f-food, a-and—”
“Okay,” I say, tugging her bar stool out before gently pulling her to her feet.
Her eyes are red, tears slowly dripping onto her cheeks.
“It’s okay. We can save it and warm it up again later,” I suggest, hoping it’ll pacify her. But it doesn’t help; if anything, it makes it worse. She wails before falling forward into me.
I gather her in my arms and hold her tight as her sweet scent floods my senses and her soft curves press against the hard planes of my body.
The last time we were pinned together this tightly…no, don’t go there, Rett. Now is not the time for your dick to join the party because you’ve got him excited with filthy memories.
Her arms wrap around my waist, and she clings to me like I’m going to be able to fix any of her problems. The sooner she learns that I’m only going to screw everything up worse for her, the better. If she wants a man to make life easier, she really needs to go and look for another.
Just thinking that hurts.
I don’t want another man holding her hair back when she vomits, holding her when she’s feeling vulnerable and emotional, rubbing her feet at the end of a long—
Holy shit. I’d rub this woman’s feet.
I close my eyes, trying to calm myself down as the realization that I’d pretty much do anything Bea asks of me hits harder than I thought possible.
It’s true, though. I would do anything. She doesn’t even need to ask.
Look at us right now—I’ve practically moved her into my apartment, and she certainly didn’t ask for that.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers against my chest—my now tear-soaked chest. “I lost it for a moment there.”
“It’s okay,” I soothe, rubbing her back all over again.
She pulls back, and when she glances up at me, I find her cheeks are flushed, although I’m not sure if it’s from her outburst or embarrassment because of it.
“I…um…” she says, twisting out of my hold. “I know I’m being irrational, I just, I can’t control it,” she explains as she backs away from me.
“I never asked you to. It was cute.”
“It wasn’t, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Bea, can we—”
“I think it’s probably best if I go and take a nap. I’m tired and…and…”
She’s gone before managing to finish her sentence, leaving me standing there with the need to talk to her about what we’re doing here.
I guess that’ll have to wait until later.
“Sleep well,” I call after her. “If you need anything, I’ll be here.”
The second her door closes, I let out a heavy sigh.
I look around, unsure of what to do or where to put myself.
Everything looks the same. My furniture is all in the same place, my kitchen is as unused as ever with just mugs in the sink. But despite all of that, something is very different, and not in a bad way.
It…it feels warmer, somehow. More homey. Which is fucking weird, because all I’ve done is bring another person here. Her stuff isn’t out here, but something has shifted, and I’m not sure I want it to go away again.
As quietly as I can, I clean up. I debate what to do about the food she hasn’t eaten. Will she still be as emotional over wasting it when she wakes up, will she have a craving for it, or will it be long forgotten?
After deciding the risk of her wanting it is high enough, I put it all into containers and place it in the fridge. It seems like the safest option. Anything I can do to stop her from crying again, the better.
Unable to sit still while she’s sleeping in the other room, I change into my gym clothes, stopping for a moment outside her bedroom door and listening to make sure she’s okay before I make my way to the other side of the apartment and my home gym.
The rest of the day passes without a sign of Bea. I work out until my arms and legs are like jelly, my muscles burning for release.
We might be in the off-season, but the work never really stops.
Our bodies are depleted after a long season, even more so after going all the way to game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals. Now is the time to bulk back up, to get ourselves in peak condition, ready for training camp to start in two months’ time.
I had two weeks without seeing my personal trainer, but sessions are starting back up again, and before training camp starts, I’ll be having daily sessions to ensure I’m ready.
I spend almost two hours on a call with Parker, which of course, Linc insists on joining.
She wants to know all about my new roommate and demands to know why I still haven’t told our parents.
When I run out of excuses, I make the mistake of asking about wedding plans.
Parker wasn’t kidding when they said they were going to make it happen before the season starts.
They’ve already booked their venue, she’s got dress fittings lined up, and a whole heap of other things I wouldn’t have even considered.
I end up back on CoD with Killer and Monroe, and I even manage to shoot a few people this time. Killer, thankfully, doesn’t say anything or let my secret slip to Monroe, which I appreciate. That kid has enough on his plate right now, although we’re all clueless as to what it might be.
As the sun sets outside the windows, there is still no sign of Bea. I know she was exhausted, but she’s been gone for hours.
I feel a bit like a kid who’s had his favorite toy taken from him, and nothing else quite hits the spot.
The number of times I’ve walked past her door for no reason other than to listen and see if she’s moving around is bordering on obsessive.
But I can’t help myself. I’ve also caught myself standing there with my fingers wrapped around the door handle, desperate to just crack it open so I can see her.
I’ve got real fucking problems.
I’ve spent my entire life sending women away as soon as I’ve gotten what I wanted, and here I am, obsessing over not getting enough attention from one.
Eventually, I force myself to head to my own bedroom. I take another shower in an attempt to distract myself, but the second I look down and find my semi taunting me, thoughts of Bea and just how fucking incredible she was that night come flooding back to me.
Holding her earlier, feeling her pressed up against me…fuck.
Before I know what I’m doing, my hand wraps around my shaft, and I stroke slowly up and down, my other hand planted on the tiles before me.
I think of her twisted up in my sheets. What if she’s not asleep right now? What if she’s got her legs spread, her fingers on her pussy and thoughts of me in her head?
“Fuuuuuck,” I groan a few minutes later as thoughts of slipping across the hall and finding her wet and ready for me push me over the edge and have me coming on my own feet.
Goddamn, how my life has changed.