One Bed

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

L ying here, naked, with Gib looking at her, was miles out of Bea’s zone of comfort.

He looked entranced, determined, excited, and she couldn’t believe a man like him – big, bold and, crucially, experienced – could look at her with heat and want and need blazing from his eyes. Just to make sure, she glanced down and saw his huge shaft, upright and proud, weeping a little from the crown. She knew enough to know that he was ready, possibly desperate, to be inside her, but he was willing to put off his orgasm to pleasure her.

He caught her looking and smiled. ‘Yeah, I want you, but I want to do this more,’ he told her, his voice deeper and darker, a growl in the night.

She wished she could be bold and breezy, and tell him to go for it, but only a small, timid ‘OK’ left her lips. What would he do, would he start slow, or just dive on in? Was she supposed to lift her legs, widen her knees … what? God, why hadn’t she read more books on sex? Or picked up Cosmo more often?

‘Stop thinking, Bea-darling,’ he told her, coming to lie down beside her on the bed. Despite being in the cottage, the temperature had dropped, and she was grateful for the heat rolling off Gib’s truly excellent body.

Then he kissed her again, hard and hot and demanding, and when he yanked her into him, she wasn’t sure where she started, and he stopped. It was a hot, drugging, kiss, one that lowered the last of her inhibitions and turned her into an aching void needing to be filled. God, she’d had more pleasure in fifteen minutes from him than she’d had from all her previous lovers combined. No, she was not going to spoil this with thoughts of the past or worries about the future. About whether she was doing it right and whether he approved. For once in her life, she was going to live in the moment … this moment.

Gib kissed her neck, nibbled her collarbone, stroked his hands down her sides and then his mouth latched onto her breast, sucking her nipple to the top of his mouth. A highway of sensation ran from her breast to her belly to that spot between her legs, until she was no longer built of muscle and bone, but of light, colours and sensations.

She opened her eyes when he moved, and she lifted her head to see him edging her knees wide so he could kneel between her calves. His clever mouth ran over her stomach, his tongue dipped into her belly button, and his teeth latched onto her hip. He blew into the hair on her mound, and even that soft movement inched her up a level.

Gib looked down and his fingers gently separated her folds, and she held her breath at the expression on his face … a little reverential, a lot appreciative. And in that moment, she was all the art muses in history, all the great courtesans, the models and the celebs, she was every hot woman who ever existed. Every woman who’d been loved by a man.

He wanted her.

Gib ducked his head, and she felt his words on her clit, rolling up her body. ‘My beautiful nymph.’

Nymph or nympho? What did he mean – oh, gawd . Her brain emptied of thought when his tongue lathed her, hitting her spot and causing her to arch her back. His hand clamped around her thighs, keeping her from scooting up the bed as he teased her, using his teeth and his tongue to decimate her control.

‘I’m going to put my fingers inside you, Bea, and you’re going to love it.’

Was she? Really? One broad finger slid into her channel, then another, and she stretched to accommodate him, her muscles welcoming him in by tightening around him. The pad of his finger tapped against a spot deep inside, and she left her body. She became sensation, flipped over into light, and morphed into sound. She was everything and nothing as she climbed higher, pleasure dancing through her veins.

She’d had orgasms before, weak beats easily forgotten, but this was uncharted territory, the pulsation deep within her was something she never knew she wanted, something she’d never imagined.

Bea threaded her fingers through Gib’s thick hair and held his head to her, scared he was going to leave her hanging, leave her out on a ledge with nowhere to go. ‘I’ve got you Bea-baby,’ he murmured.

He did something with his teeth and tongue, his fingers and his thumb, and then she fell, tumbling, spinning and gushing and keening in the dark, dark night.

It was heaven, it was hell, she wanted more. Her head thrashed from side to side and from a place far, far away, she felt Gib move up her body, his cock, heavy and hard and hot, between her thighs. Bea gripped his hip and she lifted hers, needing nothing but to feel him slide inside her. She waited, then waited some more.

‘We don’t have a condom,’ Gib told her, with a tortured groan.

‘Fuck,’ she muttered. ‘Fuck, fuck , fuck .’

He rested his head on her forehead. ‘Or, to be accurate, no fuck,’ he muttered.

‘Aren’t men supposed to carry condoms in their wallets or something?’

‘I came to the island to be alone, sex wasn’t on my mind,’ he told her. ‘Are you on birth control because I’m clean?’

She shook her head and heard his low groan. ‘But you can, you know, pull out,’ she told him, desperate for him to complete her.

‘If I get inside you, there’s no fucking way I’m pulling out,’ he told her. He cursed, fluently and loudly and rolled onto his side. He found her hand and wrapped it around his shaft, his eyes slamming shut as she squeezed. ‘This is just going to have to do. For now.’

He showed her how he liked her to touch him, and she rolled her fist up his shaft, closing in on the crown, and it wept over her hand. An impulse had her lifting her hand to her mouth, needing to taste him. His eyes widened as she licked her skin, then glinted.

‘Fuck, that’s hot,’ he muttered.

She wanted another rollicking orgasm, but she’d already had one, so she looked down at his cock. ‘I could, you know…’

‘Give me a blow job?’ he said, finishing her sentence. ‘As much as I would love that, we’ll save that until later. This will do for now.’

He slid his hand between her legs, placed his thumb on her clit and worked his fingers back inside her. His mouth hovered over hers. ‘Tug me harder, and faster.’

She obeyed his order, and his mouth slammed into hers, his tongue repeating the stabbing movement of his fingers down below. She rocked against him, and slid her hand up and down his cock, moving to two hands to give him the maximum amount of contact and pleasure.

She knew he was close, and so was she, and when he pulled his mouth off hers and looked deep into her eyes, she felt powerful and feminine and so damn sexy.

‘You, this … feels so good … fuck !’ Gib’s eyes slammed closed, and he jerked, then jerked again, spilling over her hands. Seeing his pleasure, she tipped over herself, her orgasm rolling over her in delicious waves.

When she was done, she slumped against his chest, conscious of his rapid heartbeat and his shallow pants. She felt him kiss her hair as he pulled his fingers out of her and when he squeezed the hand still holding him, she looked up at him. ‘As much as I like your hands on me, I think you can let go now, sweetheart.’

She jerked her hand away, heat flooding her cheeks. She turned her head into his neck so he wouldn’t see her mortification. Gib stroked her hair, kissed her temple and, with no embarrassment, stood up and walked into the bathroom. Through the open doorway, she watched him wet a flannel and wipe himself clean, before rinsing it and walking back over to her. Embarrassed, she tried to take the flannel from him, but he held it out of reach, shaking his head.

‘No, let me,’ he murmured. He gently stroked the fabric over her hands and then tossed the flannel through the open door to the bathroom where it landed in the freestanding tub.

Instead of picking up his phone, or rolling over and falling asleep, Gib slid in beside her and pulled the covers over them.

His fingers tunnelled into her hair above her ear, and he softly cursed. ‘Your hair is still wet.’

He rolled away again, and went back to the bathroom for a towel. He sat on the edge of the bed and gently rubbed her head with it, before scrubbing it over his.

‘Better?’ he asked.

‘Much,’ Bea replied, caught off guard by his actions. Since she’d always been the one to look after someone, not the other way around, it made her feel…

Weird. Admittedly, it was nice, but it was definitely weird.

The towel landed on the floor, and Bea resisted the urge to hang it up. He resettled them, her head on his shoulder, his leg between hers, his big arm holding her close.

When had she last been so loved, so well looked after, so cherished?

Uh … that would be never.

In his arms, nothing seemed to matter, and she could just be Bea. It was both liberating and lovely. She yawned and her eyes fluttered closed. She loved his body and this bed, it was the best of both worlds.

So much better than the fugly divan. She yawned again and snuggled closer to Gib. So much better than her vibrator. So much bet…

* * *

Gib was not a morning person. Generally, his blood didn’t start to circulate until he’d been for a run or to the gym, and he was unable to form words until he’d swallowed two cups of coffee. In his normal life, all that usually happened before seven a.m., and nobody knew he needed exercise and coffee to jumpstart him in the morning.

Waking up to someone singing along to a hiphop song, the sun in his eyes and morning wood the size of a Sequoia tree –and unable to do anything about it because he had no goddamn condoms –made him grumpier than usual. And that was saying something.

Gib rolled onto his back and lifted his head to look down at his aching cock. Jesus. Even he was impressed by the tent it made of the sheet. But there was fuck-all he could do about it, unless he jacked off in the shower.

He might just have to, because having Bea give him a handy wouldn’t work for him. He wanted to be balls deep inside her… OK, that wasn’t helping.

Irritated with himself, annoyed that she’d left the bed without him noticing, frustrated in general, he sat up and looked around the spotless bedroom. Bea’s side of the bed had been made, as well as it could be with him still in it. The shorts and towel he’d left on the floor last night were gone. On the whitewashed credenza sat his now closed laptop and a small vase holding what looked to be wildflowers. He didn’t remember them being there last night…

Worst of all, on the chair in the corner was a neatly folded pile of his laundry. What the hell? He knew room service wasn’t included in Golly’s rate, neither were meals, so who’d tossed his clothes in the washer?

The same person who was, he guessed by the delicious smells wafting into the bedroom from the kitchen, frying bacon and making coffee. Annoyed –he loathed being fussed over –Gib left the bed and stalked into the bathroom. He did what he needed to, grabbed a pair of shorts from the clean laundry pile, upending Bea’s carefully folded pile of clothes. Toppling the stack, he whipped out a T-shirt, pulled it over his head, and headed into the kitchen…

He stopped abruptly and lifted his eyebrows. Bea stood in the small kitchen, humming as she pushed bacon around a pan. She wore a bright aqua bikini under a loose, long sleeved orange cotton sweater. A black sarong was knotted on her left hip. Her hair was wet again, and finger-brushed off her forehead, and her sarong showed patches of wetness on her butt. It was obvious she’d taken an early morning swim.

She turned, saw him standing there and jumped half a foot in the air. ‘Jeez, you gave me a fright,’ she laughed, hand on her heart. She gestured to the pan. ‘I’m making breakfast. Do you want some coffee?’

Only as much as he wanted to keep breathing. And why did she have to be Sunshine Suzy so early in the morning? He walked over to the cupboard, planning on grabbing a mug to make his own coffee, but Bea beat him to it. She shoved a mug under the spout and hit the button. He noticed it was preset to dole out an espresso.

What if he wanted a latte for a change? He didn’t, but that wasn’t the point. Bea looked up at him, smiled and raised her chin, and Gib knew she was expecting a kiss. He’d yet to brush his teeth and was sure his breath could drop a lion at twenty yards. But that wasn’t the only reason he ignored her silent request.

This was all too domesticated for him. He never slept over, and if a woman spent a night at his place, he made sure she left at the same time he went for a run. And, funny, nobody appreciated being booted out of a warm bed at five in the morning. Not his problem because he always warned them what would happen, but none of his dates believed him. Every one of the women he took home suggested he ditch his routine and stay in bed for another round, then breakfast. He never said yes.

Sex was always good, he made sure of it –if a woman was gracious enough to share her body with him, it was his job to make it good for her –but it was still just sex. A brief physical connection.

The sound of the coffee gurgling and dripping into the cup and the bacon sizzling was the only sound in the room. Not wanting to see the confusion in Bea’s lovely eyes, he walked onto the deck and shook his head at what he saw.

Bea normally worked at the little table that stood directly in front of the view. Usually it was a mess of Post-it Notes, highlighters, at least three coffee cups and two notebooks full of her chicken-scratch scribbling. But this morning her stuff had been cleared away and she’d covered the table with a bright pink-and-yellow cloth, side plates and cutlery, and condiments. Another vase of flowers sat dead centre in the middle of the table.

What the fuck was this? Was she trying to make her own Hallmark moment? It screamed romance and he wasn’t into romance. Wouldn’t know what it was even if it bit him on the ass.

He sensed her behind him and whirled around to look at her. He took the mug she held out and gestured to the table. ‘And this?’

Shock skittered across her face. ‘Uh…’ She looked back at the kitchen as if she were looking for answers there. ‘I thought it would be nice for us to have breakfast out here.’

He lifted his coffee mug and took a big sip, his eyes widening as the hot liquid scorched his tongue. Maybe it was life’s payback for him being a bastard. But her making him breakfast, tidying up and doing his goddamn laundry was weird as shit.

What the hell did she think she was doing? She wasn’t his maid or cook.

He shook his head and banged the mug so hard on the table that the coffee splashed over the rim and stained the pretty pink tablecloth. ‘I don’t want breakfast.’ He really did but there was no way he was going to stay here for one more minute. ‘I’m going for a run.’

Bea frowned, her hand resting at the bottom of her neck, her index finger tapping her collarbone. She looked thoroughly confused and he didn’t blame her. He was acting like a prize dick but didn’t seem to be able to stop.

‘You don’t want breakfast?’

‘No.’

What he wanted was for her to act like she didn’t want to be here, like she had on the day they’d arrived. He needed her to have her claws out, throwing barbs at him, to look at him with scorn in her eyes. Not to look hurt, confused, sexy and so very fuckable.

And, crucially, not acting like they were in a relationship. They only met a few days ago … who did that? And it was 2024, why the hell was she picking up after his slobby self? That mindset belonged to the fifties and sixties! Hadn’t she heard about women’s lib?

‘I’ll grab something to eat in Oia if I get hungry.’

To her credit, she didn’t try and talk him out of going. She simply lifted her shoulder and quietly told him that she was going to have a bacon butty. Because he was a contradictory bastard, he immediately wanted that English favourite –white bread, fatty bacon and ketchup, or, as the English called it tow- mah -tow sauce.

Bea, her back ramrod straight, stacked the side plates, picked up the cutlery from the table, walked back into the kitchen and put the items back where they belonged. She returned, picked up the condiments, pushed his cup into his hand and whipped the cloth off the table, shoving it against his chest. ‘Put that into the laundry basket when you go back to the bedroom,’ she told him, ice coating her words.

Gib rubbed the back of his neck and silently cursed. Yes, he was being a dick and, yes, he was astute enough to realise he’d hurt her, but who went to all this effort the morning after a night when they did little more than heavy petting? Didn’t she know how flings worked? Even if this was the start of a relationship –and it most certainly was not! –everyone knew you handed out little pieces at a time, gave the minimum amount of information and effort and built your way up, over time, to something.

And her tidying up, making breakfast, and doing his laundry freaked him the fuck out. Next, she’d be asking his thoughts on religion and politics, or to tell her about his childhood. She’d want him to talk about the accident that took his parents, and how he coped after they were gone. How guilty he still felt for that initial, so selfish, spurt of relief.

He had to say something but he didn’t have the first clue what. He twisted the tablecloth into a tight ball. ‘Bea, I?—’

Bea half turned and her look nailed his feet to the floor. ‘You said you were going for a run, Gib. I suggest you do that. Before we both say, or do, something we can’t come back from.’

With that, Bea headed back inside, picked up a slice of bacon from the pan on the stove and walked out the front door.

* * *

Bea felt like she’d been punched in the gut.

Pride kept her shoulders back and her back straight as she quickly walked away from the cottage, but as soon as she was out of sight, hot tears rolled down her face. She looked at the piece of bacon between her fingers and lobbed it away. In an instant, she was ten again, listening to her father express his disappointment that his scrambled eggs were burned. Twelve, and his horror at her not receiving an A for a descriptive writing essay. Fourteen, and his resignation when she told him, as she did every summer, that she was leaving to spend the summer holidays with Golly.

‘If your mother doesn’t want you, then you can stay here with me.’

Back then she thought she didn’t know what was worse, missing out on six weeks of being a kid, or disappointing her father. As an adult, she understood that six weeks being a child, with no responsibilities, saved her sanity.

Bea swiped the tears off her cheeks, and reminded herself that she was a grown woman, and Gib’s criticism was unwarranted. She shouldn’t be reacting like this. But the sobs in her throat, her knotted stomach and her inability to regain her composure –all because some Neanderthal man took potshots at her –made her wonder if she’d made any progress in twenty years.

Maybe she’d always and forever be that lost and lonely, terrified to make a mistake, child.

She felt panic scour her throat and knew she needed to do some deep-breathing exercises before she lost it completely. She stomped past the pergola to sit on the wall, and placed her hand on her stomach, sucking in air, trying to get it to her toes. As her panic receded, she decided Gib’s shitty attitude was his problem, not hers.

Was he pissed off because she’d tidied up, made him breakfast and set the table? Could he be that petty? It wasn’t like she’d asked to move in with him or demanded a wedding ring. Maybe he was frustrated at them not being able to make love last night, but that wasn’t her fault. He’d had no right, the bastard , to act like a dick.

But, damn, she wished she’d learnt how to defend herself better, how to be an advocate for herself. Instead of fleeing, she should’ve given him a blasting, told him to take his bad mood and sullen face and fuck right off.

Anger swept over her, incinerating her self-doubt and her self-pity. She was not a child anymore, and she refused to let him treat her like dirt under his feet. Fury dried up her tears and sent adrenaline pumping through her veins.

She didn’t care who he was, or how big he was, she was going to verbally incinerate him. He’d awoken her inner dragon, and she was going to go scorched earth on his ass! And then she’d boot him off her godmother’s property.

She half sprinted back to the cottage, banging the front door open so hard the table rattled, and the blue dish moved a little closer to the edge of the table. She pushed it back into place, and looked around the cottage, not seeing the object of her rage.

She stomped into the bedroom and immediately noticed his big trainers, the ones that sat next to the door, were gone. Dammit, she’d missed him. Her anger faded as she sat down on the edge of the bed, her elbows on her knees.

Calmer now, Bea scooted back on the big bed and wrapped her arms around her bended knees. She looked at his messy side of the bed and remembered how wonderful it felt to lie in his arms, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

She wasn’t the type of woman who had casual sex, and she never thought she’d indulge in heavy petting in a pool her godma often used at night. She banged the heel of her palm against her forehead as she remembered Gib’s face between her thighs, the way he took her clit between his teeth…

She throbbed and she squirmed at the strange feeling. She was furious with him, so why was she thinking about how he made her feel?

She shouldn’t be thinking about sex at all .

But the images of what he’d done, and how he’d made her feel, and how much he seemed to enjoy what they did, rolled through her mind, an old-fashioned projector throwing slides onto her mental screen. She’d enjoyed what they did, she’d enjoyed him .

But she had to be sensible and see last night for what it was. She needed to be unemotional and clear-headed. Sex was a great stress reducer, an excellent way to get out of her head for a while. As a single, adult woman, she was entitled to pleasure and was allowed to have a fling. What she wasn’t allowed to do was to imagine this was more than what it was: they were just two people who were attracted to each other. No more, no less.

She had to be smart and stop this madness in its tracks. And that meant no more hand jobs and heavy petting. No sex at all.

Gib was a complication she didn’t need, and she didn’t like feeling out of control. And, dammit, she knew it would only take one look from his marvellous eyes and she’d remember his mouth on hers, his hand running over her butt to haul her into him. One lift of that sexy mouth and she’d recall his talented mouth on her breasts, between her legs…

She’d just have to get the hell over herself.

A long time ago, she’d accepted that she was much better at creating relationships between the characters in her books than she was in real life. At least when she got things wrong in her manuscript, she had a delete button she could use to erase mistakes, and no one –especially her –got hurt in the process. This morning’s suck-fest was a wake-up call that she wasn’t good at the man/woman dynamic and that she should stay clear and keep her distance. She’d looked for love and validation in the wrong places and with the wrong men before, and she didn’t want to repeat past mistakes. Couldn’t repeat them. Wouldn’t allow herself to.

No, this stopped. Today.

She just had to figure out how to get him out of this cottage.

Again.

This was starting to become a habit.

* * *

‘Asshole.’

Navy’s voice sounded as clear as it would if he were next to him. Gib wiped the sweat off his forehead and checked his watch. He’d left the cottage forty minutes ago and he’d been running at pace, and he was six miles in, way past Oia. Because he wasn’t paying attention, what he thought would be a five-mile run was likely going to end up being a twelve-mile-plus slog. It served him right for being a douchebag.

‘I know . But you know how I am in the mornings before I have coffee.’ It was a weak excuse and he despised himself for making it.

Navy, because he always called Gib on his bullshit, didn’t give him an out. ‘Actually, I called you an asshole for forgetting to pack condoms. Who does that?’

Yeah, not his finest moment.

‘But you are a dick for lashing out at her. Wait, is asshole worse than being called a dick? I can never remember,’ Navy said. ‘You’re an asshole-dick-bastard. There, all bases covered.’

Gib was just grateful Navy didn’t quote Shakespeare, telling him ‘ thou art a boil, a plague sore ’. In his teens, Navy’d been hooked on Shakespeare, Tolkien and Chaucer and had peppered his friends with quotes, story plots and seventeenth-century insults. It had been a testament to Navy’s good nature and popularity that he hadn’t had his head shoved into a toilet.

‘You aren’t a kid, Gibson, so you’re old enough to know you can’t take out your bad moods on the people around you,’ Navy told him, sounding just like Uncle Hugh, and to be honest, Gib’s dad. And, yeah, a part of Gib felt like he was eleven again.

He squinted at the bright Aegean sea –wishing he’d remembered to bring his sunglasses –feeling even worse than he did earlier. If that was even possible.

‘You owe her an apology, Gib.’

He’d figured that much out. ‘I know .’

‘Have you worked out why you lost your shit?’ Navy asked him. Normally a question like that would make him break out in hives, but it was from Navy, and therefore, tolerable. Just.

And yes, he wasn’t a total imbecilic or wholly unaware. A fraction of his sharp response was due to his normal early-morning surliness, the rest of it was a response to the flowers she’d picked and put into vases, her making breakfast and coffee, doing his laundry, fussing . His mom’d had hovering down to an art form and had been a bossy bee who wouldn’t leave him alone. On the cottage’s deck, he’d become reacquainted with his teenage frustration at being ‘mothered’.

Confusingly, he had also liked it. He’d liked that Bea’d gone to the effort to make him as comfortable as possible. He’d enjoyed her bright smile, hearing her humming, the soft expression on her face – part embarrassment, part attraction. He’d even liked her making him breakfast, something he’d never expected her to do.

The crash of him hating what she did and enjoying it, too, had sent his irritation levels soaring; the combination of annoyance, memories, appreciation and attraction tipping him over the edge into terror. And he’d responded, because he was a man (and an asshole-dick-bastard), by lashing out.

Fuck . Apologising was going to suck .

‘Gib? You still there?’

Gib touched his right ear pod in surprise. He’d forgotten he was talking to Navy. Reaching a crossroads, he turned around and started jogging back in the same direction he’d come from, breathing hard.

‘This… What did you say her name was again?’ Navy asked.

‘Bea.’

‘Tell me more about her. What does she look like, what does she do?’

These were questions he could answer. ‘Brown hair, eyes that can be either blue or grey, with hints of lavender?—’

Navy’s laughter rolled across the miles and into his ear and Gib stopped speaking. What was so funny?

‘Blue? Grey? Lavender? You’re fried , dude.’

Gib chose to ignore his comment and ploughed on. ‘She’s Golly’s assistant.’

‘You’re sleeping with a fifty-year-old single mom?’ Navy demanded, suddenly serious.

What the hell was he going on about? ‘Bea is in her late twenties, maybe early thirties, and she doesn’t have kids.’ He didn’t think.

‘Well, I know Golly’s assistant. She’s called Merle, she’s super-efficient and practically runs the G&T agency. She’s damn good at her job.’

Gib frowned, confused. ‘That’s what Bea told me. Though I think she might also dabble in writing.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Remember I asked you what the acronym meant? GNT?—’

‘GMC, for chrissake .’

Jeez, shoot him for not knowing the right acronym. He bet that if he asked Navy what ROI, CRM and KPI meant, he wouldn’t be able to answer. No, he would. Navy had a photogenic memory.

‘Goal, motivation, conflict,’ Navy corrected him. He really didn’t care.

‘Anyway, I saw that acronym on a page in her notebook.’ Gib went on to explain how she’d knocked over her coffee cup. ‘I also read something about a series arc, rapids, someone falling off, and Pip reacting. I think she saw my kayak and it sparked an idea.’

‘First thought? Maybe you should stop reading her personal shit.’

Fair point.

Navy stayed silent for so long that Gib thought he’d lost him. ‘Are you sure you saw the word “Pip”?’

Her handwriting was crap, but it was only a three-letter word. ‘Pretty sure. And Harriet, Henry, no–– Shit. It was a strange name.’

‘ Hettie? ’

‘Yeah, I think that’s what she wrote.’

‘Holy, holy shit,’ Navy said, excitement coating his words. ‘I know who she is, cousin.’

Gib did too. The woman who’d turned his life inside out. The woman he still wanted to make love to, fucking desperately . He needed to stop in Oia and buy a box of condoms. Granted, he had less than an ice-cube’s chance in hell of getting her naked, but millions believed miracles did happen.

If one came his way, he wanted to be prepared.

‘I think your Bea is Parker Kane, Gib.’