12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Lola
I knew there were far too many coincidences.
Granted, I did also see a stock slip in the back that said something about "Beckie dropping off a box of BL books," which pretty much sealed the deal, but how many women sit around thinking their new boyfriend might be a super fucking phenomenal smutty author? I mean, you can dream, but for it to be true?
Jackpot!
If I regularly enjoyed getting brain fucked by the man, damn was my body beyond ready. And the look of shock on his face when I finally got the nerve to say something made my already damp panties beyond saving. This was so fucking hot.
However, as I took his card and he began to worry his lip, my excitement deflated a little. Did he not want me to know? Was he afraid I would judge him or something? Oh Gods, I hope I didn't just fuck everything up now. I open my mouth to say something as I hand him back the small rectangle of plastic, but he blows out a big breath and barrels forward before I get a chance.
"I know you have lots of questions. I promise I will answer everything, but would it be ok if we chatted about it all over dinner? If you still want to go to dinner with me, that is."
Oh, my heart. This man was worried I wouldn't want to go out with him now. How can he not see that he is magnificent? And I don't just mean his physique. His playful attitude. The fire in his eyes when he looks at me. The engaging conversations we have.
My heart beats hard, and a fluttering sensation fills my stomach as I watch him sign the receipt before closing the shop.
This feeling is new to me. I should be scared—in fact, I should be terrified—but I know what it is. I'm just not ready yet to actually tell Beckett Langford that I've fallen in love with him.
My self-doubt creeps in, and as always, it has his voice. "Why the fuck would someone like him give two shits about someone like you ? You're trash. Not even worth that loose hole between your legs."
My face blushes as I turn my gaze to the floor, absent-mindedly crossing my legs. Maybe I should pull back? Maybe Beckett isn't interested in me like that. Only looking for some inspiration for his next book.
My self-consciousness begins to swirl hard, and I bite my tongue as I pull my sleeves down to cover the old scars that somehow ache, regardless of the fact that they've long since healed. Even though my scarred abdomen is fully covered, I tug a little on my top. Anxiety and panic start to take root as I feel so very, very exposed.
Suddenly, a face appears in front of me. Beckett yells my name, but his voice sounds muffled. He disappears, and a wave of nausea hits me. I snatch the trashcan from under the cashier's desk just in time. I try to ignore the embarrassment as I heave into the tiny can and feel Beckett's hands gather my hair to hold it out of my way. A few moments pass without incident when his other hand begins to dab a damp cloth on the back of my neck.
I sit on the floor, pushing the can away from me for a moment so that I can catch my breath. Beckett comes with me, still holding the cloth to my neck but letting my hair fall to my back. Real smooth, Lola. So fucking sexy.
"Fiona's father—my grandfather—died in front of her. She was only seven. She won't talk about the details, but she still has panic attacks from time to time. Most of the time, there is no trigger for them. She does great when the store is busy, but there have been a few slow times when she's needed to flip the open sign. Are you feeling better?" Beckett's voice is low and calming. I feel my heartbeat regulating again. I didn't even know what was happening to me. I never know when it's going to strike. One minute, I will be fine, and the next, his intrusive voice is the only thing I can hear. The defeating sound overwhelms me until... I'm puking in a trash can.
Well, it's not always a trash can, but you get the idea.
"I'm fine." I smile, but I know it's pointless when he just raises his eyebrow. I sigh and bury my face in my hands. "Can we get some take-out? We can chat about... well, both of our stuff somewhere a little more private than a restaurant."
Smiling softly, he nods. "Absolutely. I have just the thing." He stands up and snags the trash can. I attempt to protest, but he just points at me and tells me to sit.
How the hell could he want anything to do with me after cleaning my puke? Like seriously.
He comes back with a tiny bottle of water and my purse. "I've already locked up in the back and set the alarm. I will set the one for the front when we leave. I also called ahead and scored some potato leek soup from Sammy's. How does that sound?"
All of the gentle understanding and immense care is too much. Before I can stop myself, I begin to sob. Beckett plucks me off the floor and sits me on the counter so that we are face to face. "I didn't realize you felt so strongly about potato leek soup."
The absurdity of his statement hits the target, and my crying is cut short by a fit of laughter. "The soup is fine, I just... I'm sorry I am such a mess."
I must have begun tugging on my sleeves again because he snatches my hands and brings them to his lips.
"You aren't a mess. You are human. You were hurt and betrayed by someone you trusted. Someone who should have cherished you for the treasure you are. You are so many things that I truly admire. If you are still interested, I would love to get dinner and go back to my place. Since my secret is out, there really isn't any harm in bringing you to my home."
A few more tears fall down my cheeks, but they aren't all sad. Some are happy. A few may be in awe.
I don't know what layers Beckett has, but it's clear he is able to peel mine back with ease.
Maybe our little Netflix and chill night is just what I need to dive in deeper. Or would it be supper and small talk? Nah, it's more of a big talk. Although I hope it turns into like... soup and chill? Soup and sex?
Oh, fucking hell, I hope so.
After this emotional rollercoaster of a day, soup and a good deep-dicking are just what my soul craves.