Chapter 16 #2
“We’re going to work on getting things ready for dinner. Get some clothes on and meet us out there,” I said.
My hands lingered on the towel, reluctant to break contact. There was so much more I wanted—to trace every inch of him with my fingertips, to feel his weight against me as we sank into bed together. But Theo was waiting, and dinner wouldn’t make itself.
I ducked into my bedroom for a shirt, then found Theo in the kitchen, already positioning his beloved air fryer at the center of the counter.
The thing had practically become an extension of him—his go-to solution for transforming anything frozen into something he’d proudly devour, all with the push of a button.
“This is going to be the easiest meal I’ll ever teach you both to cook,” I said once Beckett entered the room, his bare chest a deliberate provocation as he sauntered in wearing nothing but shorts. The sight of him half-dressed in our apartment sent heat crawling up my neck.
“I don’t know. Cereal was pretty easy,” Theo remarked with a sly grin.
I shook my head, chuckling. “Doesn’t count as cooking. Now, let’s get all of our ingredients on the counter first.”
From the fridge, I pulled out the container of pre-made mashed potatoes, a block of cheddar, a half-empty package of bacon, and the tub of sour cream that had been hiding behind the milk. The freezer yielded a box of golden-battered fish fillets, frost clinging to the bag.
“This dish is easy because we set the fish in for ten minutes, flip them halfway through, then microwave the potatoes. In the end, they won’t taste microwaved.”
Theo and Beckett hovered over my shoulders as I placed the fish fillets in the air fryer basket, their reflections visible in the glossy black surface of the appliance.
I punched in the temperature and time, stealing a glance at Beckett’s face.
His brow furrowed slightly, eyes tracking my movements with the concentration of someone memorizing steps he’d never performed.
In his world of polished marble countertops and personal chefs, I doubted he’d ever had to fend for himself.
The thought of him alone in his expensive apartment, surrounded by delivery containers from high-end restaurants, made me press my lips together to hide a smile.
One day, I’d have to ask him how he survived in the apartment with his brothers. The question was burning in the back of my mind.
“These are the temperature arrows,” I said, pointing. “And these are the time buttons. I think you know what the up and down buttons mean.” I raised an eyebrow at Beckett, my lips curving into a challenging smirk.
“Believe it or not, I have used an air fryer,” he huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. His gaze darted to the ceiling, then to the counter, to the floor—anywhere but my face. The lie was obvious, but I let it slide.
“Anyway, most foods that can go into an air fryer have instructions on the back. Ones that can’t, might have instructions online, like chicken,” I explained, deciding to focus on Theo this time.
After the fish was flipped, I showed them how to mix the ingredients for the potatoes and throw them in the microwave.
It was a simple side that even someone like Beckett could make.
It would be hard to fail. Instructions were on the back, and toppings could be mixed in and judged based on how they looked.
“These look so good,” Theo said, practically salivating over the potatoes.
Beckett dipped his finger into the bowl of potatoes, stealing a taste. I swatted at his hand. “At least wait until they’re done, you untamed beast.”
He smirked, dragging his finger through the mixture again.
Before I could stop him, he swiped the creamy potatoes across my lower lip.
Our eyes locked as I reluctantly licked them away, the rich flavor spreading across my tongue.
If I hadn’t been so hungry, that bowl would’ve ended up decorating his smug face.
Theo’s laughter broke the tension between us.
I rescued the potatoes, shoving them into the microwave before anyone could sabotage dinner further. Minutes later, the three of us gathered around the island, plates loaded with steaming food.
Dinner went by quickly, sips of wine being drunk between delectable bites.
When Theo suggested we unwind, I expected him to pull up Netflix. Instead, he flashed that mischievous grin of his and announced, “Let’s play Never Have I Ever.”
The infamous drinking game. I’d seen it in movies—circles of laughing college students with red cups, confessing their wildest secrets.
But those scenes had always played out on screens, not in my actual life.
Hell, I’d never even experienced the awkward teenage fumbling of Spin the Bottle while other guys were getting their first kisses.
I groaned at the idea of unintentionally spilling secrets about myself.
In the living room, Theo positioned himself between Beckett and me on the couch. We angled our bodies toward each other, wine glasses balanced in our hands. Theo looked eager. This kind of game seemed right up his alley. Beckett looked nervous, like me.
“I’ll go first,” Theo announced. “Never have I ever had sex with a woman.”
That was the problem with playing with Theo. He knew too much about all of us. Beckett took a drink. I didn’t.
“Not fair,” Beckett muttered, glaring at Theo. “Never have I ever had my ass eaten by Asher.”
I choked trying to laugh, coughing while Theo calmly took a sip. He shrugged. Sex talk never rattled him.
“Never have I ever had a nanny,” I said, aiming to even the score.
They both drank, glaring at me over their glasses. I had a thousand more like that, each one a reminder of how different our lives had been.
Theo set his glass down. “Never have I ever had feelings for someone in this room.”
Then he drank.
Beckett and I followed, eyes locking over the rims of our glasses while Theo watched us both. I wondered if we were thinking the same thing. If we were both thinking of him. I wouldn’t say it out loud, but my feelings for Beckett had started to grow into something quieter, heavier than hate.
“Never have I ever almost burned down a house with a toaster,” I said.
Theo groaned and drank. “It was one time.”
Beckett chuckled, then yawned, the sound slow and tired. “Never have I ever fucked Theo.”
Easy shot at me. I drank, along with Theo.
“Technically, I’ve fucked myself,” he said lightly. “Never have I ever had my bank account frozen for illegal activity.”
Beckett sighed and drank, but there was no bite in Theo’s tone. Just teasing. He could get away with it in a way I never could.
“I’m heading to bed,” Beckett said, standing and carrying his empty glass to the sink. “I’m exhausted. See you guys in the morning,” he called out, heading toward the hallway.
“Wait,” I called out, still feeling guilty over my early interactions with Beckett, and wondering if he was running away because Theo upset him.
His face remained stoic, refusing to betray his feelings underneath.
“Normally, I’d cuddle after pounding someone into a mattress, but I didn’t get to.
I’d like to now,” I offered. “We can use my room. For now. Then you can return to your couch.”
Beckett’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, uh. I mean…if you don’t try to strangle me.” A flush crept up his neck like spilled wine.
Without another word, he headed toward my bedroom, and I followed closely behind.
Inside, he froze in the center of the room like a deer caught in headlights.
His fingers found the back of his neck, rubbing the spot where his hairline met skin.
I’d come to recognize his anxiety signals—the way his hand found that spot on his neck, how his laugh would emerge soft and uncertain, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile that never reached his eyes, the telltale flush creeping up from his collar when something truly mortified him.
I’d cataloged each one without meaning to.
“I…sleep in boxers. I’ve been using sweats on the couch to be respectable, but I’m more comfortable in boxers,” he admitted.
“Me too,” was all I said before chucking off the clothes I had thrown on and jumping into my bed, leaving space on the side near the door so he could run out whenever he wanted. I was fucked out, but I was sure I wasn’t going to fall asleep.
I settled on my side, facing the door, while Beckett stripped down and slid under the covers.
He positioned himself with his back against my chest, fitting himself into the curve of my body.
The warmth of him seeped through my skin as his breathing slowed, each exhale somehow pulling my own lungs into rhythm with his.
Of all the people I might have imagined holding like this, Beckett Harrington would have been dead last on that list.
We fit together. Literally.
“We should probably talk about things,” Beckett whispered.
It was easier to face him when he lay facing away from me. It was almost as if we weren’t talking to each other. At any moment, if I wanted, I could pretend to be asleep.
“Probably,” I murmured.
Neither of us broke the silence. The conversation could wait.
My fingers found their way to his scalp, threading through his hair the way I’d wanted to earlier in the bath.
His breathing deepened against my arm as he surrendered to sleep within minutes.
I should have carried him back to the couch, should have rejoined Theo in the living room, but my eyelids grew heavy.
For someone who usually battled insomnia, I slipped under with surprising ease, Beckett’s warmth anchoring me to the mattress.
Screaming woke Beckett and me around one in the morning.
I had lived with Theo long enough to know his sounds in sleep, the small restless shifts, the occasional muttered word, the quiet breathing that filled the apartment at night.
I had never heard him like this.
“No. Stop. No—”