Chapter Seven #2
Before I said anything else, I wanted to ask him, once and for all, why he even hated me.
I had a list of reasons longer than my arm on why I disliked him.
They were written in my DNA. I could recite them alphabetically, chronologically, and ranked by the severity of the insult.
Since the very first time I entered this house and laid my eyes on Beckett Partridge, only to get a passing glance and a scoff of dismissal, I felt my distaste grow.
Since the very first time I had admitted to being a fan of his uncle, only to hear Beckett say: “How sweet. I will cherish that piece of information until my dying breath.” If such a thing had been possible, Beckett would have been an asshole to me before we met.
But what had I ever done to him to deserve it?
I didn’t get to spill any of these words out because a door opened and shut and Jordan walked along the gallery.
He paused at the top of the stairs and examined the scene.
His eyes moved from Beckett to me, then fell to the knife I was holding.
“Uh, am I about to get traumatized?” he asked after clearing his throat, then began walking down the stairs extra cautiously.
“If you could just let me grab a glass of water, you can continue murdering each other after I’m gone. ”
Beckett cracked a smile. “Right. You can’t compromise when it comes to your beauty sleep.”
I set the knife down when Beckett averted his gaze from Jordan to me. The same question was still there. And this was the moment to answer it. What was it going to be? Would we force this friendship and stay on the team? Or would I wrap my arms around Beckett’s body and pull us both into the abyss?
I wasn’t sure if my brain had made the decision by the time my body answered the question. I held the plate and offered Beckett my snack. My eyebrows arched both in surprise at my own actions and in feigning a pleasant expression.
The smug fucker stretched his lips into a coy smirk. “Breaking bread together. Can we get any closer?”
“Can’t let you starve,” I squeezed through clenched teeth. “Buddy.”
Beckett slipped around the kitchen island while picking one sandwich off the place. “Get a load of this guy.” His forced chuckle was for Jordan alone.
“You’re horrible at this,” I muttered.
He poked me in the ribs. I wanted to punch him, but I stretched my lips into a smile resembling a snarl.
Jordan stared at us blankly, rubbed his eyes, and pushed toward the faucet. He poured himself a glass of water while muttering to himself. “Stepped through a freaking portal…goddamn pixie dust in my beer...” He stalked away with the full glass, shaking his head in disbelief.
Beckett sank his teeth into my sandwich. “Delicious. Just like your friendship,” he said over a mouthful.
When Jordan reached the top of the stairs, he turned to us one last time.
He folded his lips, then nodded. “It’s good to know you’ll be staying with us.
” And that was it. He went back into his room.
When the door was shut, I turned to Beckett, who still wore that silly smirk, chewing the big bite of my sandwich.
“Gimme that,” I growled, tore the rest free of his hand, and then stuffed it in my mouth.
Beckett swallowed with exaggerated effort. “You’re doing me a favor, anyway. It’s dry as fuck.”
“It’s how I like it,” I said tersely.
“Oof. Are we still talking about your sandwich?” He grimaced.
Beckett hadn’t been kidding. He would probably use the private time to make up for all the taunting he could no longer do around the guys.
It was fine by me, except for one specific thing.
“I need you to know,” I said seriously. There was no room for kidding here.
Riley had been right all along. This was where I would draw the line.
And I would take one for the team. Either way, Beckett would be a shitty captain and Coach Murray would regret his decision.
“Yes?” His response was clipped. He knew his balls were in my hand. Or he believed it even if it wasn’t entirely true.
Our gazes locked and sparks flew as if our blades clashed. “If you ever make another homophobic comment to me or about me — or anyone for that matter — I will personally fuck you up. I’ll ruin this charade. I’ll come after you and everything you love.”
Beckett raised his hands in mocked surrender. “My boxers are trembling, Joffrey.”
“Beckett, I’m not fucking kidding,” I snapped.
I set the plate on the counter and tossed the cooling sandwich on top of the rest. In two short steps, my face was in his and I was fighting the urge to hold him by his T-shirt and shake him straight.
“I won’t hear one comment from you. You don’t look at me when I’m out.
You don’t see me. You don’t have a clue who I’m with. Understood?”
Beckett pressed his open hand against my bare chest. The heat of his body surprised me as he pushed me a few inches back.
“First of all, I never cared. I’m not a fucking bigot.
Second, I thought about this a lot. And you know what?
Surprise, surprise. I just don’t like you, Jones.
It’s got nothing to do with which genitals you prefer and everything to do with the fact that you’re a self-assured, righteous prick.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll end it on this high note.
Goodnight.” The pressure on my chest increased by a fraction and then Beckett moved his hand back and marched upstairs to his room.
I stood at the counter for a while longer, forcing the dry-as-hell sandwiches down my throat. Once done, I rinsed the plate and headed back to my room. For better or worse, we were stuck in this mess. It was the only way to move forward and not back.
As I lay in my bed, I rubbed the spot where Beckett had pressed against my chest. Though it was only a distant memory, I somehow convinced myself I could still feel the lingering heat.