Chapter 16 #3
“Oh, I don’t know about that. This guy was living on stale pizza and sugary cereal, so anything is a step up from that.” Bea gives me wide eyes and mouths, Oh my God .
“She’s being modest,” I say.
“I’m not—oh!” Bea comes to an abrupt halt when we reach the entrance to the kitchen. It’s set up with ingredients laid out on the metal work surfaces. “Are we cooking? With you?” she asks Eliza.
“She’s teaching us how to make her famous stuffed ravioli.”
Bea’s mouth drops open, and she brings her hand up to cover it. “You set this up for us?”
“I thought you might like it.”
She waves her hands in front of her face. “I get to cook with Eliza Van Horn! Like, what?”
“And me. Don’t forget that part.”
She shoves my shoulder and wraps her arms around my waist. I give her a squeeze and kiss the top of her head. Yeah, it’s totally worth the guilt and sneaking around to see her this happy.
“You two are so cute.” Eliza hands us aprons and shows us around the kitchen.
Bea keeps squeezing my hand and grinning. She’s giddy, and it’s fucking adorable.
Bea is naturally gifted when it comes to cooking pretty much anything.
It turns out, I’m not. Which I already knew since the only thing I’m proficient at are boxed frozen food from the grocery store, grilled cheese, and egg sandwiches.
I kind of like the way we work as a team, though, and how patient she is when I don’t get something right the first time.
When I was a kid, my mom would freak out if I made mistakes.
But you can’t get it wrong if you don’t try at all.
Bea slides between me and the prep table so she can show me how to knead pasta dough properly. “Gently, but firmly, Tristan. You don’t have to pound everything into submission.”
Eliza’s in the back getting more fresh Parmesan. I wrap my arm around her waist and whisper, “Should I take notes for later?”
“Even I appreciate a gentle touch on occasion. Especially when I’m getting railed every night of the week.”
The fridge door closes. I release her and step to the side before Eliza appears.
Bea gives me a sidelong glance.
“Duly noted on the gentle touch,” I murmur.
We make three types of ravioli, marinara and vodka sauce, a salad, and chocolate lava cake for dessert.
Bea and Eliza chat like old friends, and I love how animated they are.
This is her passion, like hockey is mine.
They talk about the science of feeding athletes.
When our diets need more protein, when simple fuels and complex carbohydrates are best. Why loading up on cereal meant to entice small children is terrible before a game.
This explains why, even when I was being a giant asshole, she still made meals for me and Flip.
She loves doing it more than she hated me.
When we sit down to eat, Eliza brings us a bottle of wine and disappears into the kitchen, saying she’ll keep an eye on dessert and bring it out once it’s ready.
Bea’s smile fills her entire face. I can’t get enough of it.
“I can’t believe you set this up,” she says. “No one has ever done anything this thoughtful for me before.”
“No one?” Hasn’t anyone else ever paid attention to what makes Bea tick?
“Not really. I mean, I’ve gone out for nice dinners, but this is…it’s really sweet.”
“I had some help,” I admit.
“From who?” Bea cuts into her ravioli and drags it through the sauce. She pops the bite in her mouth, and her eyes flutter closed on a soft moan. “Oh, this is fantastic. I’ll never eat store-bought stuff again.” Her eyes open, and she looks at me expectantly. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Keep moaning and we’ll be visiting the bathroom together,” I warn.
She rolls her eyes. “You have me all night.”
“I know. My plans for you later are extensive.”
“No doubt. So, who helped you plan this?”
“Roman has worked with Eliza in the past, and Hemi has connections, so I called in a favor.”
She pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth.
“Do you think Roman would say something to Flip?” She worries her bottom lip.
“It’s not his business to tell. And I trust him.”
She nods slowly. “Okay.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if we can amend the pact, but Eliza comes out with sparkling water. When she leaves us alone again, the moment and my nerve have passed.
“You should really rethink the whole dietician thing. I think you’d be great at it,” I say.
“I’d have to go back to school for four more years, though. And come up with the money for that. Besides, I have a perfectly good degree that makes me a solid salary. It would be a waste of money to walk away from that.”
“What if you didn’t have to walk away entirely? You can still manage Flip’s portfolio. You could use your accounting degree and work in nutrition with sports teams. There has to be a way to pair those two things.”
“I can’t afford another four years in school.” She cuts her last ravioli into four small bites and spears one. It must be cold by now. “It’s too hard financially.”
“Money shouldn’t be the thing that prevents you from achieving your dreams,” I argue.
Flip could put her through school, and so could I, but explaining that would be hard.
And she wouldn’t accept it from me. “Eliza teaches some courses. What if you started with just one? Or a night course? Not too expensive and then at least you could see if it’s something you wanted to pursue? ”
“Maybe something to consider in the future. Some people spend their lives chasing dreams. I’ve spent mine chasing financial stability,” she says softly.
“It’s okay to change your mind and decide you want to chase something else,” I counter.
“What else do you want, aside from an illustrious career as a professional hockey player?” She pops the last bite of her ravioli into her mouth.
You , I want to say. For this not to end. For the things I’m afraid of not to ruin this. To give you the things you want. To make you smile like this every day .
But I don’t say any of that. “To win the Cup before my career is over.” I don’t want to talk about hockey right now, though, not when things feel unsteady there.
I glance toward the kitchen to make sure Eliza isn’t around and drop my voice, changing gears.
“And to hear you scream my name when we’re alone later. ”
“Well, I can definitely guarantee you the second if I don’t end up in a food coma.”
“Should we take dessert with us? Save it for later?” I want to be alone with her. If there’s one thing I’m skilled at, it’s making her feel good in bed.
She bites her lip. “Might be a nice midnight snack.”
We thank Eliza, and she invites Bea to come back any time for a free cooking class. She sends us off with leftover ravioli, sauces, and our desserts. I don’t know that the whipped cream with the cakes will make it, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.
I drive us to the house I rented for the night—another favor I called in. Hotels are great, but we’d have neighbors, and I don’t want Bea to hold back. I want those moans, and sighs, and shrieks, and giggles.
“Whose house is this?” Bea asks when I pull into the garage.
“A friend.”
“What kind of friend?” She side-eyes me.
“A guy I used to play hockey with in New York.”
“You went to a lot of trouble to set this up, didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t trouble, and it was totally worth it.” I grab our leftovers from the back seat and extend my hand.
She slips her palm into mine. I like this kind of easy contact. I wish I could do it more often.
I lead her through the house, put the food in the fridge, and grab the bottle of champagne I had in there. “Let me show you the rest of the place.”
“You mean the bedroom, right?”
“If that’s what you want to see first.”
I stop at the second door and flip on the light.
“This is like something out of a freaking fairy tale.” She bites her lip and hugs my arm. “You better be careful, or I’ll start thinking maybe you actually like me.”
I skim her cheek with my fingers. “I do like you, Bea.”
“You like my vagina.” She nudges my arm with her shoulder. “The rest of me annoys the shit out of you.”
“I am a big fan of your pussy, but”—I curve a hand around the back of her neck, brushing my lips across her cheek—“the rest of you is pretty great too.”
Before I can claim her lips, she spins out of my grip and grabs her bag from the end of the bed. “Hold that thought for like two minutes.”
“What?” I move toward her.
She holds up a finger as she races across the room. “Two minutes. I need two minutes.” She disappears into the bathroom and slams the door. The lock flips as my fingers wrap around the knob.
I knock a few times. Gently. “Don’t make me break this door down, Bea.”
“Two minutes. I promise it’ll be worth the wait!” she calls.
I brace a hand on either side of the door. I want to spend all night worshiping every inch of her. No worrying about Flip. No going back to her own bed. I want to wake up beside her. I need to amend this pact we’ve made. Two minutes later, the door swings open.
“Sweet fuck.” She looks like my favorite sin. She’s dressed in black, strappy, lacy lingerie.
“Worth it?” She bites her lip and ducks her head, looking up at me from under her lashes.
“More than worth it.” I take her hand and lead her to the bed. I tap the edge, then wrap my hands around her waist. “Up you go.”
She folds her legs under her and kneels at the edge of the bed in front of me.
I drink her in as she raises a hand, trailing her fingers down my arm.
When she reaches my hand, she moves it to skim her waist, lifting it so my fingers graze the swell of her breast. She drags it higher, over her collarbones until my palm rests against her throat.
Her eyes flutter shut for a moment as she adjusts the position, and then her fingers rest over mine, pressing them into her delicate flesh.
“Fuck, Bea.” I curve the other hand around the back of her neck and brush my lips over hers. “I’m sorry if this lingerie doesn’t make it through the night, but I will definitely replace it if I ruin it.”
I move my mouth over hers but remember what she said about being gentle. I should probably start off easy if I don’t want to wear her out in the first hour.
So I’m soft with her. I kiss her like I’m not in a rush, like she’s my favorite ice cream and I’m savoring her.
When I stretch out between her thighs, I’m all soft strokes of tongue and teasing nips, and when I push inside her, I fuck her with long, lazy strokes.
She comes on whimpers and sighs, and I find I want her soft pleas for more.
I want her wrapped around me when she unravels.
I like how gentle feels with her. I want to stay here, in this bubble where the guilt doesn’t eat at me and there doesn’t have to be an end.
When we’re both spent, I gather her up and arrange her so I can breathe in her shampoo. I kiss the back of her neck. “Stop looking for an apartment for a while.”
Her fingers drift over the backs of mine. I lace them together. “We start traveling soon. Just stay until the end of October at least.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I kiss the back of her neck. “I promise I’ll make it worth it.”
Her breath evens out a few minutes later.
“I wish I could keep you happy like this forever,” I murmur. “I wish I deserved to.” But I don’t know if I’m capable of making anyone happy long term. So I’ll keep her as long as she’ll let me.
I wake up at six in the morning and pat the mattress, but all I find are cold, tangled sheets. “Bea? Come back to bed!” I call.
But I get no response. I sit up and scrub a hand over my face. My phone is on the nightstand. I have a text from Bea. A long one.
She said she would stay, and she’s gone. She fucking left me. Memories surface, the kind that make me want to punch things. To rip the whole house apart.
My stomach twists, and panic makes my throat tight. My hands shake. I hate this weakness. Hate that I’m suddenly sweaty and nauseated. I grit my teeth as I scan the first few lines.
#1
I’m sorry you’re waking up alone. I didn’t want to leave, but I worried if neither of us was home in the morning, Flip might realize something is up. And if I’m sticking around until the end of October, I don’t want to give him a reason to be suspicious.
Last night was amazing. It was fun and thoughtful and completely unexpected. Thank you for doing that for me. I wish I could have stayed. I wanted to, but I didn’t want to take that kind of risk. There’s a thank you blow job with your name on it the next time you get me alone. (????)? ?
I read the message over three times. For a few seconds, it felt like someone had put my heart in a vise.
I rub my chest, trying to relieve the ache.
I get her reason for leaving, but the secrecy is harder to deal with.
I’d rather have more last nights and waking up with her beside me than the promise of a BJ.
Maybe Roman is right. Maybe these feelings for Bea are real. I guess I bought myself some more time to figure shit out.