Chapter 8 #2
A flashback of him flirting with me at Jackson’s wedding is closely followed by the vision of him standing behind me as we dissected his photograph a few nights ago, and I wonder at the truth of my words.
Yes, it would absolutely be uncomfortable to have that conversation with him.
But part of me knows that in saying something to him, he’d know that part of the issue is that I’m trying hard not to be attracted to him.
It’s a physical response I can’t really help, it’s not a choice I’m making—the choice very much has been to keep my distance because he’s my best friend’s little brother.
Not to mention that Beau is a classic bad boy—the kind of guy my mother could never resist. He’ll give you everything you need for a couple days, just long enough for you to hope it’ll last, then he’ll be off on his next adventure and in the bed of a different woman.
I’m looking for someone responsible to settle down with, someone who’ll make a good husband and a good father.
“I mean, obviously he wants you to check him out or he wouldn’t be sending you pictures like this. If you don’t want to receive them, you need to speak up.”
“Good point,” I agree as I hold my hand out for my phone.
“I have to leave or I’ll be late for my next meeting. Let me know how the conversation goes with him, okay?” she says as she backs away toward the door.
“Sure thing,” I say, but I regret it instantly.
Because this is not a conversation I’m going to have with Beau.
I don’t care why he walks around without a shirt on or why he sent me that picture.
He’s here for a couple more weeks and that’s it.
I’m going to keep my head down and ignore him as best I can.
I have every intention of doing just that as I shove my phone back in my pocket and sit down at my desk to bang out this last project so I can get home, take Winston out for a walk, and get ready for dinner with my girlfriends.
Beau’s not there when I get home, and wherever he is, he must have Winston with him.
I stop in the kitchen to grab a drink before I get ready to meet my friends.
As I stand at the counter pouring myself a glass of wine from a bottle I bought this week, I eye the bottles of Peter’s wine still sitting on the counter.
I haven’t heard a word from him since I moved out.
I’m not sure that I expected to, but I guess I hoped he’d at least send me an angry text about taking every last item of food and drink, and everything you could use to eat or drink with.
But it’s been radio silence, which I’ve taken to mean that even if I riled up some emotion in him, he didn’t care enough to tell me he was mad.
It was a childish, petty thing to do—I know that. I wanted to piss him off even if it didn’t compare to what he did to me. But there’s no glory in it unless I know it had the desired effect, and I will never know.
I glance down at my glass, which I filled far more than I intended as I stood there looking at Peter’s wine bottles. I take a sip, wondering what he’s doing now. Are he and Jane fucking in his office every chance they get?
I shake my head to get those visuals out of my mind. When I start imaging my ex having sex with his admin, I have to acknowledge that Petra’s probably right, I need to have some amazing sex of my own. The kind that will help me forget the very disappointing sexual relationship I had with Peter.
Petra’s voice fills my head as I remind myself: At least you’re not committed to mediocre sex for the rest of your life.
I take my wineglass into the bathroom and enjoy the extra time I have to get ready for dinner with my friends.
I’d planned on taking Winston out for a quick walk when I got home, playing with him for a bit, then rushing to get dressed to go out.
I never appreciated how luxurious it was to get ready without having to be responsible for another living being until right now.
I’ve only been a dog mom for twenty-four hours, and most of that time Winston has been with Beau—who insisted he wanted nothing to do with the puppy, and yet they are off somewhere after spending the whole afternoon together.
He swaddled the puppy like a freaking baby and if it wasn’t the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, I’m not sure what is.
Once I’ve curled my hair and refreshed my makeup, I send Beau a text.
Sierra
Where are you guys? I’ve been home for almost an hour. I thought at least Winston would be here.
Beau
So cute that you’re missing us. We’re almost home.
I don’t correct him, because why bother?
Instead, I head to my bedroom, change into an ivory turtleneck sweater dress, pull a pair of matching sweater socks up over my knees, and then pull on a pair of thigh high rust colored suede boots that I love and will find any occasion to wear.
I’m tightening up the laces along the back of the boots when I hear Beau and Winston return.
It sounds like there’s a tussle in the entryway, and I hear Beau’s firm voice telling Winston to sit, so I head out there to see them.
As soon as I enter the living room, Beau glances up and Winston bolts toward me, but Beau’s still holding his collar and is literally pulled over by the effort of holding him back.
“Shit, Sierra!”
Now that he’s laying sideways on the ground holding onto Winston, all I can see is his beanie covering his head and his jacket.
“Go back to your room,” he growls as Winston continues running in place, with Beau’s vice grip around his collar.
What the fuck?
“Excuse me?” I say, taking on a haughty tone I reserve for men who boss women around like that.
“Can you—” He pauses with a deep exhale. “—give me a second with him? Just go back to your room so he can’t see you.”
“Fine.” Though it’s anything but fine that he’s here in my space, telling me what to do like he’s in charge of me.
I’ve paced around my room for a few minutes when he knocks.
“What?” I spit out as I swing open the door and glare at him. Why do you let him piss you off? I ask myself. He makes me feel like an irrational toddler—angry one minute and overly excited the next. I’m more mad at myself than at him about that, but it’s easier to take it out on him.
“Sorry,” he says, looking at the ground as he runs his large hand through his unruly dark hair.
It’s both matted down and sticking up, clearly just freed from the confines of a winter hat.
“I didn’t mean to snap to you like that.
But Winston was muddy from being outside in the sidewalk snow and slush, and you’re all .
. .” He pauses and gestures his hand up and down toward my body while looking at me with his lips pursed together.
“And I didn’t want him to come jump all over you and get you filthy.
He has zero self-control. He’ll learn eventually. ”
I soften a tiny bit because I would have been really upset if I had to change, or if Winston ruined my dress or suede boots by smearing his muddy paw prints all over them. And the fact that Beau’s first reaction was to protect me from that . . . I’ll have to think about what that means later.
“Thanks for explaining,” I say. “Is he clean now?”
“I wiped him down with a wet towel and dried him off as best I could. He’s clean, and he’s in his crate calming down. You want to come see him? Or are you on your way out?”
“I’m just going to dinner with Petra and Lauren, I’m not leaving for another half hour or so. Where were you, anyway?”
“I needed to pick up a few things at the store, so we walked over to the market together.”
“They let dogs in there?”
“No one said anything to me about him being there. I kept him on a very short leash,” Beau says with one of his half smiles, “literally.”
“Thanks for taking him out,” I say and take a step forward to slip past him into the hallway.
He barely moves out of the way in time, and my shoulder and arm drag along his chest and I imagine that my hand barely misses brushing against a very important part of his anatomy.
The thought has my stomach tumbling over itself and a longing sensation—the need to fill the hollow area in me—pulses through my core.
I can feel him behind me as we walk down the hall toward the living room.
His presence has its own energy, and I am pulled toward it like a magnet.
Part of me wants to stop, so he runs into me, just to see what he’d do with that full body contact.
But then I remember it’s Beau, and I think about all the adjectives Jackson has used to describe him: wanderer, womanizer, selfish, partier, lost. So even if he wasn’t my best friend’s younger brother, even if I hadn’t known him since he was a child, he’d still be the wrong guy for me.
He doesn’t have to be the perfect guy to settle down with. Sex doesn’t have to be a relationship. It’s like my inner voice keeps getting co-opted by Petra’s.
I am not, under any circumstances, having sex with Beau, I insist to myself because apparently I need the reminder. If I’m this starved for sex, there’s always tomorrow night’s date with Jared.
The second I step into the living room, Winston starts jumping around ecstatically, his tail thwacking the metal edges of the crate in a rhythmic pattern. I approach slowly so as to not get him even more excited, but it doesn’t seem to work. He’s now running in circles in the small, confined space.
“Do you want some unsolicited advice?” Beau asks gently as he steps up beside me.
“About Winston?” I clarify, because I’m all for advice about this dog if it’s going to help me get him trained and adopted.
He chuckles as he glances over at me. The heat in his gaze has warmth flowing through me. “Yeah, about Winston.”
I glance down and Winston is still running in circles in his crate. “If you know what you’re talking about, then yes.”