Chapter 19 #2
I nearly choked on the mini quiche I’d popped into my mouth.
“What? Too soon?”
“Think you’re missing a few beats, yeah. And maybe screws in your head.”
Beckett’s eyes caught mine. “So there’s a checklist?”
“Oh, there’s absolutely a checklist,” Rome said, popping a cube of cheese into his mouth. “I’ll send it to you. The first two are ‘survive the family’ and ‘don’t be a Peter.’”
“We keep the bar low,” I told Beckett, who leaned back against the railing beside me, close enough that his arm brushed mine.
He nodded slowly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
For a moment, the three of us stood there in the cold, the noise inside muffled behind the glass, Rome and I munching on the snacks Beckett had brought. No one said anything, yet it felt so completely normal, like we’d done it a thousand times.
I stole a glance at Beckett, watching the way the wind blew his hair wild.
He was so damn good looking. I didn’t know how I’d gotten so lucky by coming across his listing out of the many out there, but I was glad that fate or whatever it was had sent him my way. Even if it was only for a little while.
Like he felt me watching him, he turned, catching my gaze, and I blushed. It was impossible not to with the intensity of his eye contact.
“Right, well.” Rome pushed off the railing. “I’ve done my brotherly duty, eaten your snacks, and blessed this union with my face, so I’ll leave you to it.” He stopped at the door and glanced at Beckett over his shoulder. “Take care of him, Tracksuit.”
“I will.”
He slipped back inside, sliding the door closed behind him, and then it was just me and Beckett. Without a human buffer, that connection between us was even more apparent, a physical thing I could feel along my skin.
Beckett didn’t say anything right away, just stole a chip off my plate and let the silence exist without trying to fill it.
Hell, I didn’t know how he did that, not when I was a professional silence-filler.
I’d made a whole career out of talking too much, but Beckett wasn’t that way at all.
And, weirdly enough, I was starting to feel like I didn’t have to ramble on about anything and everything just because.
I held my plate out to him, and he grabbed a pinwheel, while I made a cheese-and-cracker sandwich.
“Rome likes you,” I said, and took a bite.
Beckett’s mouth curved on one side, and he shook his head. “That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.”
“Despite anything you’ve heard, he actually does have good taste, and he never says anything he doesn’t mean.” I frowned. “Just don’t tell him I said that.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“For the record, neither do I.”
I looked up, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. I’m getting that.”
A gust of wind at my back cut through the thin layers I’d worn, and before I could pretend I wasn’t freezing, Beckett shifted closer. He was so warm, like his body ran ten degrees hotter than anyone else’s, warming me instantly.
“You got quiet in there,” he said. “I won’t pretend I don’t know why.”
“I don’t want him back.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
He nodded, his gaze roving over my face. “You look at him like he hurt you. Not like you want him.”
My lips parted. He’d nailed it. That was exactly what I hadn’t been able to say as eloquently as he had, and all I could do was nod.
I looked down at the remaining snacks and held out the plate to him. “Want this last cheese thing? Rome made a face like it changed his life, so it’s probably either amazing or actually butter. He doesn’t get much of that during shoots.”
Beckett’s mouth quirked. “You’re offering me the unknown cheese thing?”
“What can I say, I’m very generous.”
“I feel like this is a trick,” he said, but popped the square in his mouth anyway.
“And the verdict is…?”
“Yep, that’s butter.”
“Well, shit.”
“Want me to go get you one?” he teased, already starting toward the door.
He was joking, but for some reason the fact that he was willing to do something so silly made my throat tighten.
“No,” I said. “Stay here.”
He stopped moving and met my stare.
There it was again. That pull, that need to be closer to him.
Like he felt the same tether, he walked back to me. “I can do that,” he said.
I believed him.
He took my plate, set it aside, and then reached for my hands. His fingers curled around mine, warm and strong, and it wasn’t for show this time. No one else was watching.
I looked down at our joined hands, then back up at him. “You’re making it really hard to keep my head on straight, you know that?”
His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “I could say the same.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
My breath caught, and I was so very aware of how close he was. My eyes traced his mouth, down his neck, the hollow of his throat, and I felt an aching urge to kiss him.
I also wanted to ask him a dozen questions that I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear the answers to.
I stepped in toward him before I could talk myself out of it, letting go of his hands to wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek against his shoulder, just wanting to feel him and his warmth, to be close to him without complicating things any more by kissing him.
Beckett immediately wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight, and I closed my eyes, breathing deeply for the first time since I’d stepped onto the terrace.
He didn’t ask questions and he didn’t let go first, just continued to hold me as long as I needed him to. His hand rubbed over my back, slow and soothing, relaxing everything in me until my body was putty in his hands.
The door slid open and Drew yelled, “Game’s starting, move it or lose it, lovebirds,” before shutting it again.
I sighed, the sound coming out muffled against Beckett’s shirt. “Okay. We can go back in now.”
He continued to rub my back, making no effort to move away first. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Before Rome decides I have to wear the lacy lingerie after all.”
“Might be a good look for you.”
I pulled back and pointed at his chest. “Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am,” he said, his eyes warming as his hands slid down to my waist. “Always.”
The word hit a little harder than he probably meant it, because did that mean for tonight? Or this week? Longer?
I had no business thinking along those lines.
Clearing my throat, I stepped out of his arms, grabbed the empty plate, and started toward the door. “Come on, Tracksuit. We’ve got some asses to kick.”
Beckett’s hand rested on the small of my back as he followed me inside, and though nothing about the night had gotten simpler, I felt steadier than I had before.
Not fixed, not even close. But maybe steady was enough for now.