Chapter 3
BECKETT
I’D BEEN WATCHING my blind date flirt at the bar with another man for the last ten minutes.
He hadn’t realized I’d clocked him, of course, but I’d managed to squeeze a photo out of my instigating friends, and the man with the easy smile and a little too much confidence was definitely the “Ross” I was supposed to meet.
I sat back in one of the hotel lounge’s leather chairs and took a sip of my drink, letting the whiskey warm my chest as I scanned the room the way I always did.
The lounge was all dark, polished wood and dim lighting, the kind of place you met someone when you wanted a bit of privacy.
I’d been told it was a good choice for a blind date, and since I was a man of my word, I showed.
But the longer I sat there, the more I realized I should’ve trusted my first instinct and stayed home.
I glanced once more toward the bar, where my date was laughing a little too loud, his hand resting on the forearm of the attractive man in a blue tie beside him, and found myself feeling…
relieved. Now I wouldn’t feel any sort of guilt about having to gently turn down this friend of a friend, because he clearly wasn’t here for me.
Good. Now I could finish my drink and head home. I had an early session with our starting point guard tomorrow morning, and I had a feeling he’d come in limping like a man three times his age, all the while insisting his knee was “fine.”
Bullshit. It hadn’t been fine since he’d buckled his leg trying to avoid a hard screen at the top of the key. I could already hear myself telling him to cut the shit and get on the table.
I almost smirked as I took another sip of whiskey, letting my gaze travel around the room once more, though nothing of interest was catching my eye—
Until the door opened.
I noticed him immediately, not because he was trying to be noticed, but because he wasn’t.
The man stepped just inside the entrance and paused like it had suddenly hit him where he was, and it was clear as day by his expression that he was reconsidering the life choices that brought him here.
For a second, I thought he might turn around and bolt right back out the door.
But then he exhaled, squared his shoulders, and moved forward like he’d made a deal with himself to see it through.
That had me cocking my head to the side. Another blind date, perhaps?
Curiosity alone was enough to hold my attention, but the rest of him didn’t hurt.
Dark hair, a little disheveled in a way that said he’d worried his fingers through it more than a few times.
Cautious eyes that swept the room, searching for something or someone, and almost nervous that he would find it.
Tension strained his broad shoulders as he flexed his hands by his sides before shoving them in his pockets.
And yeah…he was attractive. Striking, actually. The sharp lines of his face showed just how expressive he was, his emotions openly on display and easy to read, something I doubted he realized.
My gaze dropped down his body. He’d left the collar of the fitted button-down he wore undone, and he’d matched it with a pair of dark jeans that looked tailored for his long legs.
It was clear he wanted to make an effort, but not overdo it with a suit-and-tie routine, which meant I could cross job interview off my list of why he was here.
He pulled his phone from his pocket to check it, and this time when he looked up, his eyes swept the room, where they caught—and stopped—on me.
More specifically, on…my tie?
Something shifted in his expression and then he was moving, heading in my direction.
Hmm. Interesting.
I took another sip of my drink as he made his way across the room, and it didn’t escape my notice that a couple of people did a double take when they saw him.
He gave me a smile that was more confident than his tense body betrayed as he stopped beside my table. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.”
Up close, his eyes were darker than I’d thought, but somehow warmer too, and I caught a faint scent of his cologne or body wash. Something clean and expensive. Delicious.
He hovered for a second, his fingers curling around the back of the chair across from me like he wasn’t sure whether he should sit or run. Then he took in a deep breath and let it out quickly.
“Okay,” he said, more to himself than to me. “Right.”
Amused, I watched him work through whatever internal debate he was clearly having, and when he finally looked up at me, there was a flicker of determination.
“So, you’re here for the, uh…” He trailed off, scrubbing a hand over his jaw as he glanced around us. A flush crept into his cheeks as he met my eyes again. “Sorry, this is… I’ve never actually done this before.”
Now, there were a few ways that sentence could go, but considering he had the whole should-I-stay-or-should-I-go vibe about him, I was hedging my bets that he was in the same blind-date boat as I was. Too bad he wasn’t mine.
Then again…finders keepers.
I held his gaze. “First time for everything.”
Relief flashed across his face. “Right. Yeah, you’re right.”
He continued to white-knuckle the chair, standing there awkwardly until I inclined my head and said, “Sit.”
Like he’d been waiting for my permission, he did just that, the chair scaping against the floor as he scooted in close. “Have you, uh, been here long?”
“Long enough.”
“Oh. Sorry. The train was late and I—”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
His mouth snapped shut and he nodded, but beneath the table I saw his leg bouncing up and down.
“Can I get you something?” one of the waitresses making her rounds asked.
“Sure, I’ll have”—his eyes flicked to my glass—“whatever he’s having.”
“Whiskey,” I said.
“Whiskey, then,” he repeated, giving the woman a quick smile. “And maybe another for him.”
I arched a brow but didn’t correct him. I hadn’t been planning to stay much longer, but now I was intrigued.
As the waitress walked off with our orders, he shrugged. “I figure you might need some more alcohol for this.”
“Will I?”
“Definitely.” He looked like he wanted to say more but settled for folding his hands on the table, his thumb tapping the other.
“Although I guess alcohol is the whole reason for this”—he motioned between us—“because I never, never do things like this. Well, not sober, anyway, and God, I was really drunk when I—” He stopped himself, shaking his head, and took a deep breath before focusing on me.
“Sorry, is this supposed to be more formal, or…?”
I sipped my drink and wondered where this was going. Obviously he’d mistaken me for someone else, and if I burst his bubble too quickly, he’d leave, embarrassed. That would be a shame, considering he was more than easy on the eyes, and the nervous energy rolling off him was kind of endearing.
So for now, I was content to let him fill in the blanks on who he thought I was and see where it went.
Setting my empty glass on the table, I said, “This is whatever you want it to be.”
There. That was vague enough, and it seemed to be the right answer, because another wave of relief crossed his handsome face.
The waitress returned with our drinks, and he didn’t waste time swallowing down a bit of liquid courage.
“Nervous?” I asked.
“Is it that obvious?”
I winked at him, thinking that would help set him at ease, but he swallowed hard, and that was when I had my first win.
He was attracted to me. I could work with that.
“Tell me why,” I said, sliding my new drink in front of me.
He needed another long sip before answering.
“Because this is a terrible idea. I mean, I don’t even know you, and I’m sitting here asking you to—” He shook his head, running his hand through his hair again.
“See, this is why I shouldn’t be allowed to make decisions when I’m stressed. Or drunk. Drunk and stressed.”
When he dropped his hand back on the table, I instinctively touched his wrist, wanting to help ground him so he could get out whatever it was he was struggling to say.
His eyes shot up to mine, flaring with heat.
“Tell me,” I said, my fingers still firm on his skin.
It seemed to be working, because he let out a long exhale, his shoulders visibly dropping, and nodded.
“My ex,” he said. “Seven weeks. That’s how long it took him. Well, seven weeks, six days, and”—he checked his watch—“fourteen hours. That’s how long it took him to go from ‘I love you’ to being with someone else. Um. Not that I’m counting or anything.”
Ah, there it was. Heartbreak was a cruel beast. And because I could sense there was more coming, I said nothing, just sat back, steepled my fingers, and let him talk instead of interrupting.
“And I know how that sounds, like, get over it already, people move on, life goes on. But I’m the idiot who actually thought—” He sucked in a deep breath, cutting himself off before finishing the thought. “Anyway. So that’s why I’m here. Sorry. I know it’s a lot.”
“No,” I said. “It was honest.”
He looked up shyly, giving me an almost embarrassed smile. “Yeah, apparently that’s my thing now. Hasn’t been too popular.”
Like he needed more liquid courage, he took another long drink, and I let my gaze rove over him again.
Underneath the nerves was clearly a sensitive soul, a guy who was hurting and made to be defensive about it. I didn’t know yet what it was he was looking for, but he’d obviously walked in here looking for a solution and thought I was the guy to help him.
He wasn’t wrong about that. What I wouldn’t do to ease all that tension, to have his body melting beneath my touch.
I told myself it was purely because of my profession, knowing I could help him loosen him up and relax, but that would be a lie.
He appealed to me far too much already to keep things strictly platonic.
“So, um, are we allowed to use our names?” he asked. “Or is that not part of the deal?”
I masked my confusion, not wanting to give away that I’d assumed he knew the person he was here to meet.
But then he continued, “I mean, I could just call you #9821, but that’s kind of a mouthful.”
Wait, did he know me…from a file? The man he wanted to meet was a number… He didn’t know a name… He was heartbroken…thinking he’d made a mistake in coming here…
The pieces were starting to fall together, but he was staring at me expectantly.
“Beckett,” I said.
A slow smile curved his mouth. “Beckett. I don’t think I’ve ever met a Beckett before. Does anyone call you Becks?”
“I thought you’d never met a Beckett before?”
“Easy guess.”
I smirked and lifted my glass to my lips. “And you are?”
“Oh, right. Sawyer. And before you ask, no, nobody calls me Saw. Well, just one of my brothers when he’s feeling bad for me, but no one else.”
He was cute, all right. Cute and the right amount of hot and engaging, though he’d obviously been kicked while he was down, given all the self-deprecating talk. I could fix that.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sawyer,” I said.
“Thanks for meeting me, Beckett.” He sipped on his whiskey. “And for making it easy to find you. I figured every guy would be wearing a blue tie, but that was the right call.”
I stopped short, my whiskey hovering in front of my mouth.
So Sawyer had been looking for a nameless, faceless guy in a blue tie…
Across the room, my actual date laughed loudly, and it had me looking in his direction.
To the guy he was completely absorbed in talking to.
The guy in the…blue tie.
Well, shit. There it was. I’d bet my savings that blue-tie guy was the man Sawyer was supposed to meet, but had gotten caught up talking to “Ross” instead.
I refocused on Sawyer, who was spinning his glass between his hands, and knew I needed to make a decision. Obviously he’d made a mistake in thinking I was who he thought I was…
Then again, that guy at the bar was all wrong for him. Not to mention currently occupied.
I could correct Sawyer. Tell him he had the wrong guy and walk away. That was the right thing to do, after all, and I’d already let this go on a little too long already.
Instead, I leaned forward and said, “Tell me what you need from me, Sawyer.”