25. Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“She’s got that dangerous kind of pretty,” Kai says, his voice smooth and casual. “You know the type. Big eyes, too smart, mouth like a weapon. You’ve got a thing for danger, obviously.”
Beau scoffs at him, “She isn’t dangerous, idiot. She’s just different. She’s obviously more reserved like me.”
Oh my god, is he talking about me? Or worse, someone else.
I freeze mid-step, fingers still curling around the strap of my tote bag.
Kai doesn’t respond right away. Beau’s head tilts slightly, but his hands stay exactly where they are, behind his back, resting on the edge of the counter like he’s grounding himself.
Kai huffs. “Don’t act like you’re not thinking about her 25/8.
And don’t think I didn’t see the sketch in your loft.
When I went to grab the extra set of keys, it was right there for me to find-“
My throat tightens. Sketch?
Beau says something then. Quiet, but clear. “That belongs to me. Not for prying eyes. I’ll be sure to leave the extra keys somewhere else next time. Preferably not in a drawer for you to snoop around in.”
Kai laughs. “That’s rich. Now all of a sudden you don’t want anyone in your room?” He lives up there in the loft. Aw, I love that.
Beau turns slightly, just enough that I catch the profile of his jaw. His expression is unreadable, voice even. “She’s mine, Kai. Once you understand how divine clarity works, you’ll find someone for you. Not this one though.”
Kai blinks and begins to slow clap. “Well, damn, pretty boy. That was poetic as hell.”
“Don’t mock me—,” Beau is cut off by my cough.
I finally remember how to move. I clear my throat gently, just enough to announce myself, because why the fuck did my body choose to cough during the worst possible time?
Although, it still isn’t enough to break whatever invisible thing has been hanging in the air between us.
“Hi.” I can’t muster anything else.
Kai turns first, wide-eyed. “Speak of the pixie cut mystery herself!” So he was talking about me. Beau wants me, but still won’t do anything about it. Yet, he’s sketching me in his free time? Am I doing something wrong?
Beau shakes his head before slowly turning around the rest of the way, eyes locking with mine like he’d already known I was there. Then, there’s a faint flicker of confusion.
“Good morning, Elowen.” He smiles, allowing his eyes to crease. The flicker of confusion quickly dissipates.
The way he speaks causes a visceral reaction. In person, he talks to me like he’s waited his whole life for me. Over text, he’s just a sweet guy who produces meaningful and fruitful conversation.
“Hope I’m not interrupting,” I say, trying to sound breezy despite the increasingly loud pain in my chest. “Just came for a book.” I tap the nearest shelf.
Kai gives Beau a knowing look. “You’re screwed.
” And I honestly don’t think he’s wrong, but how?
“Try not to combust,” he says to Beau under his breath, but just loud enough for me to hear.
He throws a wink over his shoulder as he walks out the back door.
His cologne nearly knocks me out. Nothing about Kai is subtle.
All that was left now was customer chatter and that faint smell of whiskey and desire from Beau. A few get up to leave, only leaving the two girls from earlier. Both are probably in their early twenties. Once they notice how vacant the store has become, they gather their things as well to go.
The world gets suddenly quieter. Just the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.
Beau stands behind the counter, just staring at me with eyes that I’ve looked for my whole life.
All three times I’ve laid eyes on this man, he looks like that.
His jacket sleeves are pushed up again, revealing strong forearms with tattoo tendrils.
His jaw ticks slightly as he watches the latch of the door connect.
I can tell he’s trying to shake off whatever Kai has just stirred up. I don’t blame him.
I start toward the counter slowly, pretending I’m not hyper-aware of every inch of his frame.
I know I shouldn’t be looking at him like that.
But it’s hard not to. God, he’s handsome.
Tall, broad, but quiet in a way that feels deliberate.
Whoever made him, definitely took their time.
He doesn’t take up space, but you feel every part of him.
And what about me? I’m deeply considering what it might be like to climb him like a tree. Grab onto those shoulders, plant a flag at the top, and call it a victory. Or maybe a very pleasant surrender.
“I thought I’d give you a riddle today, in person,” I say finally, trying not to sound breathless in the afterthought of my wet daydream. I tuck my hands into the back pockets of my jeans to keep from fidgeting.
That almost-smile touches his lips. “Should I be nervous, Ms. Briar?”
“No,” I say, lifting a brow. “I’d prefer to hear you’re impressed by my determination.”
He waits as I take a step closer, slowly bridging the large gap between us. “What has a spine, but no bones?” I ask.
There’s a pause. His eyes narrow just enough to make it feel like he’s studying me more than the riddle. “A book?” Now he smiles.
I nod, hoping that my glance down will cover the blush rushing over my cheeks. “Correct.” He tilts his head, a move he often pulls when thinking, from what I can tell.
“And you decided against texting that? I could’ve sworn you said you were here for a book. Not to hand-deliver a riddle. Which is a little different than your daily dad-joke.” he says quietly, but the want in his eyes is very evident.
“I could’ve texted it, but I do need a new book,” I admit. The silence now hangs between us, taut and golden. He isn’t moving, and I’m not either. It’s never been more clear that we are both waiting for the other to say something first.
As much as I want to say something, I can’t find the words. Instead, I turn and wander down one of the aisles. Not looking for anything specific, just something to distract me, give him time to make his next move.
The shelves here are bound to be of help.
Until I feel his eyes follow me. The weight of his stare prickles at my neck.
I choose not to look back. I stop in front of the mystery section.
How fitting. I let my gaze drift across the titles.
Some are old friends. Some I don’t recognize.
One catches my eye near the bottom shelf.
I don’t squat. I bend, slow and careful, leaning down with the pretense of reading the spine, hips in the air.
My shirt shifts with the motion, riding up just a little as the fabric pulls.
I can feel the heat of his gaze slide lower.
To give off such a gentleman vibe, he isn’t subtle, not right now.
It makes my skin hum. I straighten, just as slowly, brushing a piece of my short hair behind my ear like none of that meant anything.
It absolutely does. I want him to break first. I want him to chase.
Figuratively and literally. Hell, I would fully consent to him barreling behind me as I dart up those stairs.
I keep browsing, pretending, because turning around too fast might give me away. Something neither of us are bold enough to try to say. But I’m hiding the biggest smile.
I don’t take more than a few steps down the row when I hear him.
Each step is a soft touch, thought out and unhurried.
My pulse begins to stutter. Then, his presence is all over me and behind me closely, all at the same time.
I don’t need to see him because I can feel him, the energy of his body, the way the air shifts.
My breath catches as his firm hand lands on my arm and turns my body around to face him.
His dominant hand holds on to my bicep, spinning me around in one motion.
I gasp, more from surprise than anything else.
My back bumps against the bookshelf, the frame solid behind me, cold and steady compared to the way I am absolutely unraveling inside.
Beau stands in front of me now. His eyes are darker than I remember, searching mine like he’d been waiting years to read what was there.
Then, gently, almost reverently, he places a finger beneath my chin. The pad is cool. Just a slight touch. Enough to tip my face upward so I had no choice but to look at him. And oh, the look he is giving me.
"You make it incredibly hard to work,” he growls, removing his hand to sit on a shelf next to me instead.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. His finger drops from my chin, but his gaze doesn’t budge.
“I can read through every move you’re debating,” he continues.
“The way your breath hitches. The way you pretend not to notice me watching. You’re taunting me.
” His jaw tightens. I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out.
“Why are you taunting me, Elowen?” The way he says my name sends a tremor down my spine.
Is that what I’m doing? Taunting him. I don’t even know anymore.
All I know is that my heart is an under-contained rumble, and I can feel every inch of the lack of distance between us.
I blink up at him, trying to gather some piece of sanity, some clever response that won’t sound like yes, please kiss me right here against the mystery section.
“Is that what I’m doing? Taunting you? You said you can read through my every move. Why am I then? What am I waiting on?” I ask, breathlessly.
Beau takes a deep breath through his nostrils and bites his bottom lip.
And for the first time, he looks frayed at the edges.
Slightly undone. Like maybe he just said more than he ever planned to out loud.
Like maybe this tension wasn’t part of his plan either. But he doesn’t move. And neither do I.