Chapter 16 – Alise #2
The phone vibrates again, angrier this time and somehow louder, causing my heart to stutter.
I have to get out of here. I manage to locate my phone sitting on the nightstand beside me.
I move slowly, careful not to wake Beau, and reach for the phone.
I nearly knock it off the nightstand as I grab it, and my fingers swipe across the screen without looking.
“Hello?” I rasp.
There’s a pause on the other end, then a voice—Ramona. “Uh… good morning? Did I wake you?”
“No, I—” My throat is dry, causing my voice to break halfway through. “I’m fine.”
Beau shifts behind me, muttering something incoherent into the pillow, and I suck in a sharp breath. His arm tightens around me instinctively, his body heat pressing into my back. The smell of him wraps around me like a trap I walked into willingly. Unfortunately, Ramona hears everything.
“You okay?” she asks, suspicion creeping in. “Where are you?”
“I-I’m at Beau’s,” I whisper, clamping a hand over the phone and my mouth like I can shove the words back in before they settle.
“Oh,” Ramona says slowly. “But why are you whispering? Beau’s guest room is on the other side of the condo. If he is anything like his brother, a bomb could go off in the middle of the apartment and he wouldn’t wake up.”
“That’s an exaggeration, don’t you think?” I respond, turning slightly to ensure Beau is, in fact, still asleep.
“Okay, maybe so, but he sleeps like the dead. So again, why are you whispering?”
Normally, I love how inquisitive my friend is; we both come by it honestly, but right now, I really just want to know why she is calling me.
I can’t very well tell her anything about what happened last night.
The last thing I need right now is our entire makeshift family making this out to be more than it really is.
Not that I really know what this is myself, but that is a problem for another day because I have no idea what happened after that kiss, how I ended up in his bed, and no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do now that I’m here.
Beau shifts again, this time with a low groan that rumbles through my spine. His hand slides instinctively over my hip, like we’ve done this a thousand times. Panic claws at my chest, and I hiss the first thing that pops into my head.
“I’m whispering because I’m in bed with Beau.”
Fuck. I could have said anything else, but I chose this moment to be completely honest with my best friend.
I would love to blame the lack of coffee for my inability to think of anything besides the truth, but there is no turning back now.
It’s only silent for a moment before Ramona squeals so loudly I have to pull the phone away from my ear.
“Oh, my God!” She drops her voice to a frantic whisper. “You’re in his bed? With him? Alise, did he finally—wait, are you naked? Is he naked? Are you guys naked together?”
“Ramona,” I hiss, cheeks flaming.
“I’m sorry, but this is monumental. Historic, even. I need all the details. Start with the kiss, and do not leave out any of the slow-burn angst—”
“You called me, remember?” I say, clutching the phone like a lifeline. “What did you call for?”
There’s a pause, like she’s mentally flipping through her brain’s file cabinet but keeps pulling out glittery fantasies instead of information.
“I… I don’t remember,” she says, finally. “I think it was something about Cooper? Or maybe the wedding? No, forget that. Alise, what the hell happened last night?”
Beau stirs again, but this time, his breathing changes. His body tenses slightly, and I panic.
“Gotta go,” I whisper. “He’s waking up.”
“Wait, wait, wait—Alise!”
I hang up and toss the phone face down on the nightstand like it just caught fire.
Beau groans softly behind me, shifting closer, and I swear my heartbeat is echoing in the room. I’m not ready to talk about this. Not with Ramona. And definitely not with Beau.
For a moment, I freeze. His arm is still heaving across my waist, but his fingers run back and forth softly against my skin beneath the hem of the T-shirt I borrowed. The mattress creaks softly as I feel a soft, familiar inhale against my shoulder.
“Lisey.” Beau’s voice is low, still rough with sleep but clearly awake.
I turn slowly, my eyes locking with his, but he doesn’t move.
I can feel him watching me. His eyes scan every inch of my body.
I try to breathe quietly as I shift, slowly sliding his arm off my waist and sitting up on the edge of the bed.
The air is chilly against my skin, biting at the backs of my thighs.
I tug his henley lower and rake a trembling hand through my hair.
I still feel him everywhere, and I’m not ready for what that means.
I should stay and talk to him or at least say something, but I stand, careful not to jostle the mattress, and grab his hoodie draped over the chair in the corner.
I pull it over my head with hands that won’t stop shaking before turning toward the door, every part of me buzzing like a live wire.
I make it three steps, my fingers inches from the doorknob, when he says it again.
“Alise.”
I stop, spinning around on my heels and attempting to look anywhere but at him. I fail miserably. My eyes lock on him lying on his back, the sheets low on his hips. His hair’s a mess, and somehow, even half-wrecked and barely awake, he looks at me like he sees everything.
“Where are you going?” he asks quietly.
I swallow hard. “I’m sorry I woke you. I-I just needed to—” I stutter, motioning over my shoulder toward the door.
“To leave?” he says, and there’s no accusation in it. Just quiet understanding.
My mouth opens and then shuts again. I’m unable to form a complete sentence. The silence stretches between us, thick and fragile.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep in here,” I whisper, voice thin. “I didn’t even remember getting into bed. I just woke up and—”
“Panicked.”
His eyes don’t leave mine, but he says it like he knows the feeling personally.
I nod. My throat is tight, and I’m unable to convince my hand to stop curling and uncurling into a fist. This is Beau.
My best friend. The one who has always been there for me.
The man I’ve been in love with since I was a kid.
The man who told me I was the best little sister instead of kissing me.
None of this is happening. I’ve finally broken from all the stress.
That’s all this is. I just need to go back to sleep and wake up.
That’s all. I clench my eyes tightly shut and begin counting backward from ten, but Beau’s voice cuts through my musings.
“I kissed you. That wasn’t a dream.”
No. No, it wasn’t. I know it wasn’t because I can still taste him.
I can still feel the warmth of his mouth pressed against mine, the way he kissed me like it mattered.
Like I mattered. But the question running through my mind is why, but I’m too afraid to ask.
Unsure if I want him to answer or not, so I settle for the safer thing to say.
“No,” I breathe. “It wasn’t.”
He shifts slowly, pushing himself upright with a soft grunt of pain, one hand braced behind him on the mattress. His muscles flex as he moves, skin pale and marked with bruised tension, but his eyes stay soft.
“You can go if you need to, but you don’t have to.”
The way he says it makes my stomach twist like it’s trying to wring out my heart. My pulse feels too loud as my heart hammers in my chest. “I don’t know how to do this,” I admit, voice barely audible. “Whatever this is with you.”
“I don’t either,” he says, lips twitching in a faint, sad smile. “But I know I don’t want to pretend last night didn’t happen.”
The truth of that hits too hard, causing me to flinch before I can stop myself. Of course, he sees it because Beau sees everything.
“But if you’re not ready,” he says, gentler now, “I’ll wait.”
I stand there as if I’ve forgotten how to move.
It’s as if every part of me is a contradiction.
I want to bolt. I want to crawl back under the covers and snuggle into his side.
I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
Regardless of those things, I still move slowly toward the bed, stopping just short of climbing in.
The silence between us stretches long enough to become something else entirely.
Beau leans cautiously toward me like he’s afraid one wrong move will send me running again.
He scoots forward on the bed, lifting his hand toward my face, fingertips brushing against my cheek almost reverently, and my whole body goes still.
“I don’t want to push,” he says, voice rough. “But I’d really like to kiss you again.”
My heart stutters as my lips part without thinking.
My breath catches in my throat because I want that, too.
Even with all the confusion and my heart crawling up my throat, I want to remember what it felt like when his mouth was on mine.
I shift slightly toward him, my knees brushing the edge of the bed.
Beau leans in close enough to close the space between us, his breath warm against my mouth, the scent of him curling around my senses.
My eyes flutter shut as I feel the soft pressure of his lips before he comes back again, pressing his lips firmly to mine, but then the bedroom door slams open.
“Okay, Uncle Beau, I brought muffins. Mona woke me up and said to come save the day or something?” Darius’s voice barrels in like a goddamn freight train, all booming cheer and unaware teenage chaos.
My eyes fly open in panic. I jerk back, forgetting I’m kneeling on a mattress. My balance gives way immediately.
“Shit!”
My hands scramble for something, anything, but I go tumbling forward, smacking directly into Beau’s bare chest with a stunned oof.
One of my knees wedges between his thighs.
The other lands awkwardly across his stomach.
My face is inches from his collarbone, and I plant my hands flat on either side of his ribs.
He grunts in surprise, arms instinctively wrapping around me to keep me from rolling off the bed completely.
That’s the exact moment Darius’s brain catches up with his eyes.
His gaze sweeps the scene in one long, slow-motion pass: rumpled sheets, a very shirtless and sleep-rumpled Beau flat on his back with me fully sprawled on top of him in his T-shirt, my legs tangled in his, one strap of my bra visible under the collar.
My face is flushed scarlet, and Beau’s eyes widen in startled disbelief.
His hand twitches like he might reach for the sheet to cover himself, to cover the monitor strapped to his chest, but there’s no time.
The flash of panic in his eyes is so brief Darius probably misses it, but I don’t.
I see it. I feel it. Even now, when we’re both humiliated out of our minds, he’s still trying to shield everyone from the truth stamped against his skin.
Darius blinks once before his expression shifts in real time. His brows lift in slow horror, mouth parting like the punchline of a poor joke just landed squarely in his lap.
“Oh—oh, shit!”
He spins on his heel so fast he nearly drops the paper bag in his hand and smacks the doorframe with his shoulder.
“Sorry, my bad! You two, please carry on. Oh, my God—”
He yanks the door shut behind him so hard the frame rattles.
The air whooshes out of the room as if someone vacuum-sealed it with pure humiliation.
Silence slams into place like a dropped curtain, and I don’t move because I’m still on top of Beau.
His hand is still on my waist. His chest rises and falls beneath me, warm and solid and totally not helping me pull myself together.
My face feels like it’s on fire as I scramble off him like I’ve been electrocuted, rolling sideways onto the mattress and almost falling off the edge. My heart’s jackhammering. My hands fly to my face, covering my mouth with both hands, trying not to scream.
“He saw everything.”
Beau groans and flops back against the pillows, throwing an arm over his eyes. “That’s the secondhand embarrassment of the decade. I’m embarrassed for myself, for you, and hell for him, too. Nobody’s walking away from that with their dignity intact.”
I let out a strangled noise and bury my face in the nearest pillow. The scent of him clings to the fabric, warm and faintly citrusy, like soap and sleep and heat. I make a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
“He saw us not kissing, technically,” Beau mutters under his breath. “So… silver lining?”
“I want to disappear.” I groan into the pillow.
From the other side of the door, Darius shouts, voice shrill with traumatized teenage energy. “Y’all decent now, or do I need to rinse my eyes out with bleach?”
Beau exhales dramatically. “Definitely not the morning I planned.”
A startled bubble of laughter bursts out of me, my head tipping back as air rushes in too fast. The ridiculousness of it all only winds me tighter, until I’m shaking with the kind of helpless giggles that feel half hysterical, half relief.
I mean, what else can you do when you nearly kiss the man who wrecks you in the best way and then get busted by a fifteen-year-old bearing muffins?
Absolutely fucking nothing.