13. Elouise
Elouise
Beckett’s hands wrap around my wrist, and it’s like a live wire.
It’s only been minutes since he did this exact same thing to put the wrap on me, but suddenly this feels like a private moment.
Maybe it’s because this feels a lot like he’s undressing me. Or maybe it’s the fact that everyone else has turned away to look at Mr. Olson and we no longer have the audience we did before.
I keep my eyes lowered, watching his long fingers dance over my arm.
Beckett isn’t moving quickly, just precisely. Skillfully.
His experience is clear, and I can’t help but wonder what else he’s experienced at. I bet he’d know just how to touch me. Just how to get me off. I mean his fingers are just so long.
My lungs fill, suddenly starved for air.
God, I need to get laid!
Beckett is demonstrating first aid, and I’m a heartbeat away from humping his leg.
Say something, Lou. Anything.
“So…”
Fucking hell, I should’ve thought this through.
“So?” he echoes, still unwinding the long Ace Bandage.
“Wilderness stuff, huh? ”
“Yeah, wilderness stuff.” I can hear the smile in his voice, but I’m not brave enough to look up.
I wet my lips, “Not exactly what I thought you’d end up doing.”
He lets out this low humming sound that goes straight to my core, making me squeeze my legs together.
“What did you think I’d end up doing, Elouise?” His words are low and another tremor travels up my spine ashe calls me by name.
I clear my throat. “I don’t really know. I guess I thought you went to school for business. Or something like that.”
“I did.”
My eyes glance up and lock with Becketts. He’s so close. Inches away. “Oh.”
Great answer, Lou.
The corners of his eyes tighten, allowing me to sense the smile without looking at his mouth. “I spent my summers working in the Boundary Waters.”
My eyes widen. “Huh, well, that explains a lot.”
He lifts a brow, “It does?”
“I mean, yeah.” I shrug. “Makes sense that you’d learn all this crap - er, stuff – up there. And then you could still do your business stuff .” I wave my hand around on the last two words because I don’t really know what “business” means.
“And what about you? I seem to remember you wanting to be a teacher when we were kids.” His fingers brush against my bare skin, making my breath hitch, as he’s unwinding the final layer between us. “Did you always plan on working in an elementary school?”
He remembers that?
My head gives a shaky nod. “Pretty much always. I flip-flopped on which grade a few times but I’m happy with my choice.”
“And why’s that?”
“Well… 4 th graders are old enough to follow directions and work independently. But they’re still young enough to not be jaded little assholes.” I pause, “For the most part.”
The loud, deep laugh bursts out of Beckett, and it’s the sound wet dreams are made of. But it’s also so unexpected that I flinch. The movement throws off my balance and I reach out with my free hand to steady myself on the only thing within reach. Beckett.
My hand is flat against his body, placed firmly against his stomach. Just inches above the top of his jeans.
The muscles clench under my touch.
Ohmygod. Ohmyfuckinggod, he’s rock solid.
His laugh cuts off, and I don’t know what to do with the look in his eyes. But I can’t look away. Both of us trapped in this stasis.
Sensing an added stillness around us, I slowly turn my head and find the whole crowd of campers staring. At us. Beckett’s laugh apparently caught the attention of everyone in earshot.
I snatch my hand back from Beckett’s stomach, but he still has a hold of my other wrist, and he doesn’t let go.
His grip on me tightens for a heartbeat before he loosens it, slowly letting me go.
A shrill whistle has me jumping again.
“Time for dinner!” Mr. Olson addresses the group, shooting a narrowed look our way.
I think I hear Beckett mumble something about “making that asshole eat his whistle” but I can’t be sure, because I’m already fleeing across the campsite. Desperate for a few moments alone in my tent. To compose myself, not to rub one out. Definitely not.