Chapter 20
MAE
“You’re such an ass.”
I left the bathroom laughing. But also…
“We are not drinking wine from those,” Beck said, catching me as I picked up our glasses.
“What do you propose… Beck? Where did you get wine glasses?”
He proceeded to pour the wine that he’d opened with his sneaker into each glass.
“Ellie.”
“Um. Who’s Ellie?”
He handed me a glass.
“Your first client.”
Sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, I curled my legs under me, taking a sip of wine. For as hard as we worked, I should be more tired. And I was, but also… content.
“I feel like an idiot. I didn’t even ask her name. Some businesswoman I am. She won’t be a client for long.”
Beck lifted his filled wine glass to me, sitting on the bed, propped up against the headboard.
“Au contraire. I went down after my shower and asked for proper wine glasses. Made sure Ellie knew how grateful we were for getting us in here last minute and told her you were excited about working with her. All’s well. ”
Air toasting, I took another sip.
“You know, I get it.”
“Get what?”
“Why women fall at your feet, despite the fact that you’ve slept with half of Cedar Falls. You can be extremely charming, Beckham Claymont.”
“First of all, you know how much I love that name,” he said, clearly meaning just the opposite.
“I do. Which is why I use it. It’s a great name.”
“My parents don’t even pretend it’s anything other than pretentious. I swear they found it by looking at Yale attendance rosters. Beckham. Seriously.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Second,” he said, ignoring me, “I haven’t slept with more than a third of Cedar Falls, at most.”
“My bad,” I said, keeping my tone light despite the sudden, and unexpected, pang in my chest at the thought.
“Third,” he said, “I appreciate you’re finally getting my appeal.”
This was tricky territory. “I always have,” I admitted. “To a woman looking for a good time, I get it. You are good-looking, charming, etcetera, etcetera.”
He had that “look” about him. The one that drew in countless women.
“Let’s explore those etceteras.”
“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” I accused.
“Maybe.”
“Well, you’re not getting any more from me.”
“No?”
“No.”
Shrugging, he took a sip of wine, watching me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re looking at me weird.”
“Anytime I get serious, you think it’s weird.”
“True. What’s with the serious face all of a sudden?”
It was getting harder and harder not to notice Beck, now that I had, in that way.
“I can be more than a good time.”
The words didn’t penetrate, at first. They were so unlike anything Beck had ever said, I had to run the phrase through my head a few times. He needed to clarify.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I have real relationships. With you. With the guys. With my sister. I’m capable of them.”
“Of course you are. But we’re talking about something entirely different. Romantic relationships are a whole different beast, and that’s not something you’re into.”
“People change.” Beck downed his wine, hopped off the bed and went for more.
“You do realize wine is meant to be sipped, right?”
“You do realize I’ve been bartending since college? This is kinda my forte.” This time he sat on the edge of the bed with his full wine, closer to me.
“Just checking.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“So,” I ventured. “Have you changed? I thought the whole pact was about you never wanting to get married. Color me confused, but how do you get involved in a serious relationship if you have no intention of getting married?” Then realizing that wasn’t quite right, I added, “Unless you’re in a relationship with someone who also doesn’t want to get married, I guess. ”
“Mason and Parker took the pact too, and look at them.”
“True. But we’re not talking about Mason and Parker. We’re talking about you.”
I was surprised Beck hadn’t slipped into “just kidding” mode. He was rarely serious for this long. It was that fact, and something about his demeanor, that told me this wasn’t a throwaway conversation for him.
“All I’m saying is that with the right person, I could be more than a good time.”
“You’d consider getting married to someone?” I asked, shocked. More than shocked.
“Maybe.”
“What prompted the three-sixty?”
He didn’t answer. Instead Beck looked at me, like he wanted to respond but… hesitated. Took another sip of wine.
“Must be the wine talking,” he said finally. “Or maybe I hit my head in the bathtub.”
Beck was back to being Beck.
“I still can’t believe you got the cork out that way.”
“Like I said, I’m a man of many talents.”
A heady thought. What would Beck do if I climbed onto that bed and asked him to put his money where his mouth was? To show me one of those talents. I’d never know. The thought was ridiculous.
“My glass is empty,” I said, reaching out my hand toward the wine bottle.
He laughed. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to use the force to bring the bottle to me so I don’t have to get up. I’m cozy.”
“By ‘the force’ do you mean me?” Putting his wine on the nightstand, he hopped off the bed again, got the wine bottle and brought it to my uplifted glass.
“Maybe,” I admitted.
“Maybe my ass. Definitely.”
I looked up at him as he poured, but despite the teasing, Beck wasn’t smiling. Instead, he was looking at me, not turning his gaze away.
I stared back, the stirrings of something I promised myself not to go near again bubbling to the surface. It was like when we’d texted while I was in Kitchi Falls. Except this time, we weren’t in two separate towns but right next to each other.
In the same bedroom.
He finished the pour but didn’t move away.