Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Beckett
This holiday season can suck my left ball.
'Tis the season to be jolly? Whoever said that clearly hadn’t just walked in on their girlfriend on all fours getting fucked by the weird guy who installed their new cable box last month.
She wasn’t just a girlfriend, no, she was the woman I planned on proposing to; that was until I caught her with him.
Her excuse? I was married to my job and never paid her any attention, which wasn’t a complete lie, but that doesn’t excuse cheating.
No, it’s not the season to be jolly, 'tis the season to get fucked over.
I left the Marines for her, four years ago, and I have been busting my ass to build my security business ever since.
I still work for the military as a reserve soldier on security-related operations when they need me, but the past year, thanks to a contract working for a local business here in New York run by some guys I used to serve with, my business has been booming and I am about to sign a new contract working for the current Miss New York Darling.
I thought I was building a secure life for the both of us, but clearly not.
So now I’m stuck on a train to The Hamptons, because getting a flight out of New York was as difficult as getting my girlfriend to remain faithful.
I begged just about every airline at the airport to get me on a flight, but no luck with it being Christmas eve and New York is due to be hit with a snowstorm this afternoon.
Thanks to my now ex, I’m going to go spend Christmas with my brother, who has been begging me to visit for the past two years, and his family, and try to figure out what the fuck I am going to do now.
I continue to scroll, searching for a new apartment because my place is now tainted with her betrayal, when something hard hits the back of my head.
What the…
I look up to see who has hit me, but before I can say a word, something hits me again.
I rub the back of my head and look up and see a petite blonde with a large bag over her shoulder, fighting to lift a suitcase into the compartment above me while balancing a cup of coffee in her hand. I go to offer to help, but she turns and her bag slams into the side of my face.
“Are you kidding me,” I growl, rubbing my throbbing cheek.
“Excuse me, are you speaking to me?” the woman asks. Her voice screams wealth without even looking at her.
“Yes, you with the bag. You’ve hit me twice with it.”
“No, I haven’t,” she’s quick to reply.
“Yes, you did,” I say. “Most people would just apologize.”
“Why would I apologize for something I didn’t do?” She bites back.
“Because you did do it.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” she says, her tone full of sarcasm.
“Thank you for your heartfelt apology,” I reply as I lift my head to look at her, and fuck, I stop in my tracks.
She’s gorgeous. Big blue doll-like eyes, red puffy lips, long blonde hair hidden under a black beret-style hat.
My eyes drift down her body. She’s got this preppy posh girl look going on.
Cream sweater and plaid skirt with knee-high boots that match the color of her sweater. She’s hot and young.
“Oh my god, it’s you.” She gasps.
“Me?” I ask, my tone confused.
“You, you stole my cab.”
I scrunch my nose and shake my head. “I have never met you in my life,” I say, trying to remember if I have indeed met this woman before, but I feel like I’d remember.
“Earlier today, you slammed into me with your big muscles and ruined my purse.” She holds up a black purse, and I wince. Oh shit, I do remember her.
“I’m sorry about the purse, but I didn’t steal your cab.”
“You did,” she says sternly.
“I didn’t,” I answer back like a petulant child.
“Look, I’m having a day, please don’t add to it. Just admit you were wrong, and we can move on.” She slams her takeout cup on the table in front of me.
Oh, and she’s a brat.
Something about that excites me, and it shouldn’t, because it’s clear there is quite the age gap between us.
“We are all having a day, princess. Doesn’t give you the right to be an inconsiderate brat, and no, I won’t apologize. That cab was fair game,” I grumble.
I wince at my rudeness. I am better than this, but after today, my patience is thin.
She chokes out a laugh. “Excuse me. What did you just call me?” She folds her arms across her chest and pouts, proving my point further: this girl is a spoiled brat.
“Excuse me, miss, I need to get to my seat,” a male voice shouts from further down the carriage. The girl looks over and glares.
“I called you a brat because you’re being one. Now, go sit down. You are blocking the aisle.”
“I would if some jackass wasn’t sitting in my seat.”
“Who’s the jackass?” I ask, looking round the carriage.
“You,” she says, pointing at me. “I booked this seat, and you’re in it.
“You can’t book these seats,” I say with irritation in my voice.
“It’s first class. Yes, you can. Now move or be moved.”
“Are you threatening me,” I ask, giving her a challenging stare, and when she gives me one back, something ignites inside of me. I like the way this girl stands her ground, even if she is irritating the hell out of me.
“Maybe,” she says, straightening her spine.
“You’re the size of a Polly Pocket; what are you going to do?” I say humor lacing my tone.
“Girlie, move your ass. Some of us want to take a seat this side of Christmas,” the guy yells again.
She startles as the train pulls away from the station, her hot coffee splashing into my lap.
“Son of a bitch,” I yell. “Watch what you are doing, woman.” I swipe my hands over my now-wet black jeans. Yeah, she needs to go.
“Move,” she says, waving her hands, gesturing for me to shuffle over.
“Has no one taught you manners?” I mumble as I reluctantly move to the next seat, so I am now pressed against the window. At 6ft 5 with a broad chest, I am a big guy, which is why I picked an aisle seat.
“Has anyone taught you?” She’s quick to say back as she takes the seat next to me.
She lifts her coffee cup to her red painted lips, and it’s then I notice the diamond band on her ring finger.
“Wow, your husband is a lucky guy. Do you talk to him like that?”
She slams the coffee cup down on the table. “I’m not married.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Nope,” she bites back and then mumbles something incoherent under her breath. I don’t ask what she said. I’ve had enough of this girl's drama already.
We sit in silence for a moment, but I can’t help poking the bear. “Wow, I’m shocked. A delightful young woman like you with impeccable manners and a sunshine personality hasn’t been snatched up? I find that hard to believe.”
I know I am being a dick, but I can’t help it.
“You’re an ass,” she whispers.
“And you’re a brat.”
“And you’re a grumpy old man. It’s Christmas. Where’s your spirit?” she asks.
“Like I said, we’re all having a bad day.”
“Well, it can't be as bad as mine.” She says it with such confidence, almost drawing a victory line in the sand. Unfortunately for her, I need to release my frustrations. If she wants to enter a competition, I’ll give her one.
“So, enlighten me. Why has your day been so crap that it gives you the right to be a brat?”
She whips her head around, and there's a fire in her eyes. I retreat a little, realizing my error. She’s ready to explode.
“Oh, where do I begin?” She holds up her hand and begins counting on her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I was late for my hair appointment; I didn’t get the internship I applied for.
The barista messed up my order. The esthetician used the wrong wax for my bikini wax and couldn’t get it off, and I am pretty sure I have lost two layers of skin down there. ”
I press my lips together to suppress my laughter. She is having a shit day.
“Some jackass stole my cab and ruined my vintage purse.” She eyes me up and down, and I give her a not-so-subtle eye roll.
“And then, to top off my day, I come home and my boyfriend tells me he has been offered a job in LA, and he thinks we should take a break so he can go alone. Can you believe it?” Her chest heaves as he takes in a deep breath.
I suddenly empathize with this girl. I know how it feels to be dumped at Christmas, but it still doesn’t mean she can be bitchy to everyone.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t need to know any of that,” she says, smoothing down her hair.
She lifts her takeout cup again, taking a sip and then placing it back down. It's then I notice the name on the cup. “Kevin?” I say with a confused tone. “So not only do you steal seats, you steal people’s coffee?”
“Ha-ha, you’re so funny,” she says sarcastically. “No, this is my coffee.”
“Your name's Kevin?” I furrow my brows.
“No, the barista misheard me and wrote Kevin. Honestly, they have one job—make your order—how difficult is it?” She throws up her arms animatedly.
“So, what is your name? I ask, trying to fathom how the barista could fuck up so badly.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She gives me the side eye.
“Not really,” I say flatly.
“What an ass,” she mutters so quietly I almost miss it.
“What was that, Kevin?” I tease.
“Oh, suck a crusty dick.”
“Do you always walk around with this energy, or has the snowstorm made you extra bitchy?”
Her mouth falls open, and her eyes widen.
“No, actually, being forced to sit next to miserable assholes just brings out the worst in me.” She glances over at my hands, and smirks.
“No ring? Shocking, since you’re such a gentleman.
” Her words sting in a way I wasn’t expecting because there would have been a ring.
Had Casey not cheated. This Christmas was meant to be filled with plans for our future.
Instead, I am on a train alone, and instead of directing my anger to the person who deserves it, I am taking it all out on the stranger next to me.
I go to speak, to apologize, but her sharp tongue strikes again.
“Men like you are the reason women stay single.”
“Men, like me? You don’t know a thing about me, princess.”
“Exactly, but you made a judgment about me without knowing me. And stop calling me princess.”
Touche.
“I just call it as I see it,” I say through gritted teeth. This girl is getting under my skin, and I don’t know why. I should just shut up, stick in my air pods in and ignore her, but no, I keep going.
“Come on then, enlighten me,” she mocks, throwing my earlier words back at me. “Tell me what you think you know.” She turns in her seat as best she can and folds her arms across her chest.
Now would be my opportunity to take the high road, be the adult here but no, I go full steam ahead and sign my own death certificate, because from the way she's eyeing me, I should fear for my life.
“A spoilt rich, trust fund girl from the Upper East Side who has never worked a day in her life, lives off daddy's money, and expects everyone to do what she wants when she snaps her perfectly manicured fingers.” My eyes drift to her red nail polish, and I realize I have described my girlfriend—ex-girlfriend, Casey.
Maybe it's true what they say. Love is blind.
I gave Casey everything and got nothing in return.
The more I gave, the more she took. Nothing was ever good enough.
“How did I do?” I say with a fake smile.
She rolls her eyes and her silence says everything: I’d nailed this girl in one.
“You’re such an ass.”
I blink rapidly. “Excuse me, did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?” I ask narrowing my eyes at her.
“No, I finally woke up with a backbone, actually. I am so done with men like you.”
“Men like me?” I point to my chest, tone confused. Is this girl for real right now?
“Yeah, you, and now it’s my turn. You are an old grump who’s married to his job, had a girlfriend, maybe a wife that you ignored and no matter how much she gave, you took and took and she forgave you for your shortcomings but yet you continued treating her like shit, like a complete after thought even when she supported your dreams, moved away from her family, gave up her dream school for you, you threw it all in her face when a better offer came along. ”
She says the last part, making air quotations, and something about the way she talks tells me she's speaking from experience, from the heart, and it makes me feel like I may have misjudged this fiery blonde bombshell.
I hadn’t realized she was shouting until the old woman across the aisle from us scoffs. “You young ones, drama, drama, drama.”
The girl's head whips around so fast I won't be surprised if she's given herself whiplash. “Mind your business, Janet, some of us have shit going on.”
The old woman scrunches up her face in disgust. I hold up my hand, trying to calm the storm that’s brewing between them.
“I’m sorry. Don’t mind Kevin, here. She's having a rough day.”
The old woman looks at me like I have two heads and shakes her own before going back to reading her book.
“Can you quit it with the Kevin?” The girl says, shrugging my hand off her.
“Can you quit being a bitch? What did poor Janet over there do to you, and how do you know her?”
“Oh, we met at the ticket office. She cut in line, and I almost missed the train. I don’t know if her name is Janet, but she looks like a Janet.”
“How does she look like a Janet” I ask, gesturing to the woman in question.
“I can't explain it, she just does. Don’t you ever look at someone and think yes, they look like. Janet, a Steve or a Linda?”
“No, I can’t say that I have.” I stare at her with utter fascination; this girl is a whirlwind.
“Come on then. What’s my name?” I gesture with open arms. “Give it your best shot.”
She looks me up and down, and my eyes zone in on her pouty lips and the way she runs her tongue along her perfectly straight teeth, and I let my mind wonder how her tongue would feel on my—”
I am interrupted when she says, “Ben.”
“Ben?” I furrow my forehead.
“Yeah, Ben. Safe, dependable, boring, simple, predictable, a Ben. It’s a compliment. You’re welcome.” She gives me a wide smile, like she's really proud of herself.
I let out a laugh and lean toward her ear. She flinches a little but doesn’t pull back, so I whisper, “Oh princess, there's nothing boring and predictable about me.”