Chapter 11 Beckett #2
“Clearly you do, or you wouldn’t be making such a big deal out of it.”
“I’m not making a big deal of it, Briar. I’m simply asking you a question, and you’re getting defensive about it.”
“I’m not getting defensive about it.” I give him a look, and he glares at me. “I’m not. I just don’t need to talk about my daughter when we’re right in the middle of looking at paperwork.”
I shake my head, an amused noise coming out of my mouth.
“What?” he asks, setting his papers down.
“Nothing, just forget I asked. What were you saying about the evidence?” I mumble, shrugging it off and trying to ignore the feeling inside my gut that’s saying that I should keep pushing him.
When I get home, Sloane isn’t anywhere to be seen. But I know she’s here, since her car is out front.
I don’t think anything of it, and I don’t go looking for her. I need space from her as much as she needs it from me. I do know that we will need to talk at some point. I don’t want us to have to avoid each other forever, but a few days won’t hurt.
After my shower, I wander back out into the main part of the house, and she’s still nowhere to be found.
I’m not sure why I’m disappointed, but part of me is. I shake off the feeling and decide on something a little stronger than beer to drink tonight.
It’s not often that I break open the liquor cabinet, but today feels like a good day for just one drink.
I pour a little bit of amber liquid into a glass before capping it and putting it back into the case. I stare at the drink for a long time, just thinking.
“Oh, sorry, I figured you would be in your office,” Sloane mumbles.
I turn around and look at her. “Not tonight. I got plenty of work done today with your dad,” I say, clearing my throat slightly.
“Right, my dad, yeah…” She steps into the kitchen and heads over to the stove to start making herself the tea that she makes every night. “How is he? My dad.”
She doesn’t look at me as she says it, but I can see the tightness in her shoulders as she says the word dad, like it pains her to think of that man in any kind of way.
“Good, he asked about you,” I lie, looking back down at my drink, which I still haven’t touched.
She lets out a small scoff, and I can almost see her rolling her eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know. I’m aware that he doesn’t care about me. He probably didn’t even remember the fact that I’m in your house,” She says dryly.
I can feel her pain, hear it in her tone. She’s really good at pretending that his absence doesn’t bother her, but I can tell that it does.
She turns and looks at me, her eyes darting to my glass on the table, then back up to me. A curious look crosses her face. “Do you usually just stare at your drinks before you consume them?” she asks, changing the subject, and it makes me smile.
“Not normally.”
“What’s the occasion?” she probes, placing the kettle full of water onto the stove before moving about the kitchen, collecting the things that she needs to prepare her drink.
“Just have a lot on my mind.” She nods absentmindedly.
Moving back over to the stove, she places her things down on the counter. After a second, she turns back to me.
I’m not sure what she’s thinking. She looks at me, then down at my drink. She stares at it for a few seconds before her eyes find mine, but not before stopping on my lips for a moment.
Her cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink when she catches me watching her. But she doesn’t let it stop her; she just pretends like it doesn’t have any effect on her.
“I’ve never really drank before. Well, other than cheap beer that they have at frat houses.”
“I didn’t take you as a frat house girl?”
“I’m not. I’ve only been to a few parties in my life, and I will most likely never go back. It was awful, and I’d much rather just stay in my apartment and do something else.”
I crack a smile before looking down at my glass and then up to her. I push the glass over to her. She’s put the island between us, but I don’t mind as she stands on one end, and I stand on the other.
She pulls the glass to herself and picks it up before she stares at it for a few moments.
“You’re a bad influence,” she teases, and I see a hint of a smile on her face.
It makes me feel a little better, like maybe we’ll be ok. This isn’t as awkward as I thought it was going to be, which is good.
She hesitantly places the glass to her lips and tips her head back. As soon as the liquid hits her tongue, she recoils in disgust.
“Oh my God,” she hisses, pushing the glass away, not even trying to hide her reaction, and coughing lightly.
I shouldn’t find it cute. But I do. I don’t remember the last time I found anything cute.
Maybe she’s a lot more innocent than I originally thought.
When I think about it, that would explain the freeze-up when my hands slipped under her shirt last night.
The realization slams into me.
I pushed her. I made her uncomfortable. And that makes me feel fucking horrible.
“That is gross,” she says, her face scrunched up in disgust.
“Why do you think people have to drink several?” I tease, and she just glares at the glass.
“No thanks, that was more than enough for me,” she says, turning back towards the stove to focus on her tea.
I stand here staring at her before I break the silence.
“I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have kissed you.
I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable; that was never my intention.
” I place the glass to my lips and down the rest of what she didn’t.
She stays quiet for a minute before she turns and leans against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I’m just not…I don’t like people touching my stomach. I’m still very insecure about it, and I froze when your hand slipped under my shirt.”
She doesn’t look at me as she says it, her arms unconsciously tightening around her as she speaks.
“I’m sorry for pushing your boundaries. I didn’t know.”
She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. I shouldn’t have asked for more of you than you were willing to give.”
“You didn’t know, I swear it’s ok.”
“You know, you don’t have to let people walk over you, right?”
“What are you talking about? You had no idea. How is me accepting your apology letting you walk all over me?” she snaps, rolling her eyes at me.
Fuck, I shouldn’t find her brattiness attractive, but I do.
“I pushed your boundaries; you are allowed to not be ok with it.” I’m not sure why I am making a big deal of this; I shouldn’t be. She forgave me, but why can’t I just let it go?
“What do you want me to say? That I never want you to kiss me again, or touch me…Because that would be a lie,” she says, except I don’t think she meant to say it, because she snaps her jaw closed and her cheeks flush pink.
“Would it?” I whisper, all authority dropping from my tone as I round the counter, putting just a few feet between us.
She nods, her throat bobbing slightly as I step closer to her. “Yeah,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I cage her against the counter, my arms coming down on either side of her. She holds her ground, looking up at me, her arms still crossed over her chest.
I brush her hair over her shoulder, dip my head, and start gently kissing her neck. She folds almost immediately, her head falling back as her eyes close.
“Tell me to stop, Sloane,” I whisper against her neck.
“I don’t want you to.”
“Then tell me what you want,” I whisper, nipping her earlobe softly. When I pull away, her eyes are wide, her pupils dilated.
She pulls her bottom lip into her teeth as she looks up at me, our faces an inch or so apart.
I find myself leaning in, unable to resist the pull she has on me. Right before I’m about to kiss her again, the tea kettle fucking goes off, interrupting us for a second time. I growl, going to move, but she stops me.
“I want you to kiss me, Beckett.”
When she doesn’t pull away, I capture her lips in mine for a second time. And fuck, she feels just as good as she did yesterday.
My hands stay planted on the counter at her sides. I don’t want to fuck this up again. Her hands tangle into my tee, and I growl against her lips, using my tongue to nudge her lips open. Our tongues are finally brushing against each other.
She pulls away first, gasping for air. I rest my forehead against hers, her fingers tightening their grip.
“You’re dangerous,” she whispers.
“Why’s that?” I whisper with a small smile.
“Because you make me want things I’m not sure I can have.”
“What kinds of things?” I whisper, my nose brushing along her neck.
“Maybe one day I’ll tell you.” And with that, she turns and makes her tea.
I let her go, shaking my head at her as she pours two mugs, dropping a few tea bags into each.
“Goodnight, Beckett.”
“Goodnight, Sloane.” I echo, as she takes her mug and disappears up the stairs, leaving the one for me untouched.
I’m totally fucked.