Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
W hy wasn’t the key going in? Sure, she’d had a few cocktails, and her vision was a bit all over the place, but the dang key should still fit.
She tried to push it in again. Same thing.
What the heck was going on?
She was about to try a third time when the door flew open.
Her jaw dropped. “Becket? What are you doing here?”
He lifted a brow, looking amused. “Peaches…this is my house.”
His house? She stepped back and looked up. No second story. Then she glanced at the house beside it. Her house.
Shit .
She really should have stopped at the second jug of mojitos. Damn Indie for continuing to order more when Sky had zero self-restraint.
Becket opened the door wider. “Come in, Peaches.”
“But it’s your house.”
“I’m aware.”
She looked over at her place. It was so far…and she was so tired. And maybe a teeny tiny part of her wanted to see what Becket’s place looked like.
She walked inside.
Interesting. Everything looked…normal. Well, normal for a man. A brown leather couch. A wooden coffee table. Black cabinetry in the kitchen, which she’d never been a fan of, but in his kitchen looked sleek.
The door closed behind her. “What are you thinking?”
“You have a nice place.”
“Surprised?”
“A little.” Why exactly, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she’d expected him to have a pinboard with her face on it.
“What happened to the pizza?”
“We picked it up, took one bite each and threw it out. Turns out even alcohol can’t make Burt’s pizza edible.” She looked longingly at the couch. And like her feet had a mind of their own, they just started making their way over there, and she collapsed onto the leather cushion.
Comfortable. Far too comfortable.
She closed her eyes. Immediately, her body relaxed and the room stopped swaying.
“Are you okay?”
His voice was close and deep.
Her eyes opened and, sure enough, he was sitting on the coffee table, right in front of her. She hadn’t even heard him move.
“I’m sorry.” The words were out before she could stop them.
“For what?”
“I’ve been angry, and I’ve been taking it out on you. Don’t get me wrong, you’re an arrogant dick sometimes, but I’ve probably been just as bad.”
He didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, his gaze was intense, almost like he was trying to figure her out. “Why have you been angry?”
He leaned forward and swept a lock of hair from her face. The warmth of his fingers against her skin had the words rolling out of her. “My life is the burnt toast theory.”
“What’s the burnt toast theory?”
“The theory that minor inconveniences or setbacks are blessings in disguise.”
He frowned. “What was your inconvenience or setback?”
“My dog got sick and I didn’t want to leave him, so I called one of the newer employees and asked if she could cover my shift at the dog café.”
“How was that a blessing for you?”
“There was a fire.” She closed her eyes, but nothing could really dull the pain from that day. “Eloise got trapped in the back room and died.”
Becket cursed under his breath.
“I was so angry.” That was an understatement. “Angry at how unfair it was, upset that she had died and so filled with guilt because she was there because of me. It should have been me.”
“Hey.”
She opened her eyes to see him leaning closer.
“It shouldn’t have been anyone . Sometimes really shitty things happen for reasons no one can explain.”
“This one could be explained. It was a sixteen-year-old kid who thought it would be funny to set a trash can on fire outside the café.”
“Is he in jail?”
“She. And last I heard, she was awaiting trial.”
His intense gaze burned into her. “That’s why you left.”
The alcohol started to burn in her belly. “Actually, no. I stayed for a while. I was stupid and thought I could move on.”
“Why couldn’t you?”
Her skin suddenly felt hot as the memory of the other flames danced in her mind. She closed her eyes again and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
A lie. The weight of how much it mattered almost choked her.
“Sky—”
“I’m sorry I tried to open your door with my key.”
He cocked his head, clearly wanting to keep talking about her life in Cheyenne, but thankfully, he didn’t push it. “If you hadn’t come here, I would have come to your place.”
After a moment, she frowned. “You called me Sky.”
“I did.”
One side of his mouth lifted. Was it possible a one-sided smile was sexier than a two-sided smile? Or was that the alcohol talking?
“I’m going to regret saying this in the morning…” she whispered. “But you’re nice to look at.”
The half smile turned into a full two-sided, dimples-and-everything smile.
Nope, she was wrong, this was better.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Peaches.”
Ugh, they were back to Peaches. Her eyes started to droop again. “I’m tired. I don’t usually drink this much.”
“Why did you tonight?”
“The smoke.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t want to know. Could you get me some water? Then I’ll go.”
Her eyes were now closed, and for a moment there was a heavy silence. Then the shuffle of his movement sounded.
She forced one eye open to see him entering the kitchen. His biceps flexed as he reached up for a glass. Why did he have to be so easy to look at? It made disliking him really hard.
Ha. It wasn’t just the way he looked that made disliking him hard. When she put aside the fence, the tree and the camera stuff, he was actually kind of a nice guy.
Oh jeez, had Drunk Sky really just called Becket nice? At least it wasn’t out loud.
Her eyes closed again, and suddenly her eyelids felt too heavy to lift. His couch was too comfortable, and somehow the leather smelled just like him.
Maybe she could stay just for a little bit.
* * *
Becket’s muscles were tense. All he could think was—it could have been her in the fire in Cheyenne. She could have lost her life and she wouldn’t be here right now.
Fuck, he hated that thought.
There was more to her story that she wasn’t sharing. How much more, he wasn’t sure. Did it explain her cryptic statement about the smoke making her drink?
He filled a glass with water. Maybe there’d come a time when she’d trust him enough to open up about her past.
He moved back to the couch…and chuckled.
She was asleep. He shouldn’t be surprised. She’d been struggling to keep her eyes open since the second she sat on his couch.
He set the water onto the coffee table and crouched in front of her. “Sky.”
Nothing. Not even a flicker of her eyelids. She was completely out.
Unable to stop himself, he grazed another lock of hair off her face. Just like earlier, his fingertips ran over her skin, and all he could think about was how damn soft it was.
He blew out a breath and looked at his front door. He could take her home, but no part of him felt comfortable leaving her alone in her house after she’d drunk so much.
She could take his bed, and he’d take the couch.
He eyed the sofa. It was too damn small to be comfortable, but fuck, he’d slept in worse places during his time as a SEAL.
He went into his bedroom and pulled the sheets back on his bed before returning to the living room. Gently, he slipped his arms behind her back and knees. The second her body was settled against his, his gut gave a fucking kick.
Jesus, why did she feel so good against him?
He carried her down the hall and lowered her to the mattress. Carefully, he removed her shoes before pulling the covers over her. Immediately, she rolled into a ball on her side.
He was about to walk away when she mumbled something.
He frowned and stopped, listening.
Then she whispered again, “ Charlie. ”
Who the fuck was Charlie? An ex?
The thought put a sour fucking taste in his mouth.
Back in the kitchen, he poured himself a shot of whiskey. The liquid burned his throat going down, and he grimaced.
He shouldn’t care if she was saying an ex’s name in her sleep. They weren’t really dating, and they’d only kissed once. One fucking time. It shouldn’t have had such an impact on him.
So why did he care?
He grabbed some blankets from the hall closet and moved back to the couch. Once the lights were off, he stripped to his briefs and lay down.
It would be a damn uncomfortable night. Not only because the couch was small, but because every part of him was hyperaware of Sky a dozen feet away. Sleeping in his bed. Her soft curves tangled in his sheets.
Shut it down, Becket . He closed his eyes.
He didn’t know how much time passed. An hour? Two? But he wasn’t even close to falling asleep when a rustling somewhere in the house sounded…then footsteps.
The fuck?
He threw off the blankets and was about to get up when a figure appeared from the hall.
“Sky?”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t even look at him.
What the hell was going on? Even though it was dark, he could see the blue of her eyes seemed glazed.
“Peaches? Are you okay?”
Without a word, she moved toward him. It took her getting halfway across the room for him to realize she was sleepwalking.
Shit . He’d had a friend in the military who was a sleepwalker, and Sky’s movements were eerily similar.
As he watched, she lowered beside him on the couch—then snuggled into his chest.
For a moment, he didn’t move.
What the fuck was he supposed to do? Wake her?
His friend always told them not to wake him if he walked in his sleep. Something about triggering a stress response.
But he couldn’t stay here. He had to get up…right?
She nuzzled her face into his shoulder before whispering three words.
“Don’t leave me.”
Even if he wanted to get up, her peachy scent pulled him in. And the way her soft curves melted into his hard edges—he didn’t want to separate from her.
A few minutes passed before he pulled the blanket up over their bodies. He’d probably regret this in the morning, but he didn’t care.
He closed his eyes, and finally, with her body pressed against his, Becket slept.