12. Sawyer #2
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping like hell that the sickening urge to flirt with him would go the fuck away. I had three good reasons why it was a horrible idea.
Because you weren’t supposed to see him again.
Because it was only meant to be a one-night thing.
Because you’re pregnant with his baby and have been hiding it for nearly six months.
“Sawyer?” he asked, softening his tone. “It was a joke.”
“I’m fine,” I mumbled. Mortified, but fine.
“Olivia said you hadn’t been feeling well earlier, and that was why you left. I thought it might’ve just been because you didn’t want me to catch you falling for me.”
I snorted. “There’s no chance of that happening.”
He wasn’t deterred by my sass. “Do you need anything? Ginger ale? A shoulder rub? Cuddles?” The hope at the end of his stream of questions was hard to ignore.
Especially knowing how badly I wanted all of those things as well, but Beckett couldn’t come here.
He couldn’t see me or where I lived. Not now. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine. You don’t owe me anything, and we’re definitely not going to play doctor. My ankle is slightly swollen, but that’s it.” Even though I hadn’t chewed on my nails in years, I brought my thumb up to my lips. “Appreciate your concern, though.”
“I could still come over. The cuddles weren’t conditional on you being sick.”
My hand fell away as I sighed. He was making this far harder than it needed to be. “Beckett, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Why not? Was he dumb? Even if we tossed out the reasons he didn’t know, I still had to guard my heart where this man was concerned. There was more on the line than my silly little crush. “Why would it be?”
Beckett huffed a laugh. “Because we were good together.” His voice dropped lower, a sinful whisper full of heated promises. I had to squeeze my thighs together just to keep myself out of trouble. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Of course, I did. That night played on my mind whenever I slipped my hand between my thighs, which, admittedly, had been a ridiculous number of times over the past few months.
The second trimester was no joke. I’d damn near laughed out loud at my doctor’s appointment when he talked about my sex drive increasing, certain that would never happen to me.
Unfortunately, he was right.
“It doesn’t matter, Beckett. It was a one-night stand. Emphasis on the one-night bit. It doesn’t matter how good it may have been. We can’t do it again.”
I heard the rustle of sheets and imagined him sitting up in bed. “Why not?”
“Because—”
“Did you, uh… Did you not enjoy yourself?”
His question caught me off guard. Was that a hint of insecurity I heard? Or was he just not used to women turning him down? “Of course, I did. Don’t be stupid.”
“Was it something I did, then? Or something I said? Whatever it was, I’m sorry.”
This man was going to be the death of me. He needed to stop talking and take the hint.
“No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just…” I tried to think of what to say that could toe the line somewhere between the truth and a lie.
“I’m not really a one-night stand kind of girl.
That was the first time I’d ever done anything like that, and I don’t want either of us to get the wrong idea here.
” Then I stopped, an important question slipping free before I could stop it.
“Besides, I don’t even know why you’re here.
You said you hate small towns, and then you come waltzing back into the bar I work at? ”
“First of all, I never said anything about hooking up tonight. Get your mind out of the gutter.” I choked back a laugh as he pushed forward. “As for why I’m here… I could tell you over dinner.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why can’t you tell me now?”
“I need something to entice you to say yes, don’t I?”
Dinner could be good. It would be a good way to figure out why he was here and how—or if—I had to tell him the truth. Did that make me a horrible person? Because even thinking about keeping it from him now that he was here felt all kinds of wrong.
Not to mention that dinner was also a short fall down a slippery slope. It would obliterate the lines and boundaries we set six months ago. One flash of his smile, those dimples, the flirtatious twinkle in his eye, and I’d be done for.
I groaned. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Beckett.”
“What if I promise to be on my best behavior? I won’t even try to make you fall in love with me.”
At that, I laughed. “What makes you so sure I’m at risk of that happening?”
“You won’t be now. My charm will be non-existent. I won’t even go in for a kiss at the end of the night. How does a friendly handshake sound?”
It sounded like my worst fucking nightmare, but I didn’t say that. Instead, I said, “Friendly sounds great.”
“Perfect. So, why don’t you text me your address? I can pick you up in thirty minutes,” he said.
“Still not happening tonight. I’ve got to open in the morning.” I didn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “What about Friday?”
The petulant little groan that slipped free had my lips curling. “Friday? But that’s nearly a week away…”
“Surely a dinner with your friend,” I said, emphasizing the word as much as I could without sounding crazy, “is worth the wait.”
That was all we could be. Nothing more, nothing less. Anything else would be tempting fate.
There was only silence before he muttered, “Fine. But I’m picking you up.”
“That’s fine. I’ll bring a change of clothes to the bar.
” Hopefully Liv bought something other than jeans for me to wear.
Something cute but not sexy. Her taste was far better than anything I would’ve picked out.
For the first time, I was grateful I didn’t have to worry about sorting through my meager wardrobe.
None of my clothes would ever be considered sexy.
I didn’t even own a single set of lingerie.
It was all cotton briefs and T-shirt bras for me.
“Should I be concerned that you won’t let me know where you live? Are you secretly a serial killer hiding out in a trailer park, or something?”
His question wasn’t intended to wound, but the fact that living in a trailer park seemed like the worst possible scenario was another reminder that Beckett and I were completely different people. A reminder I needed to ground myself. I couldn’t let him waltz in and play the white knight now.
“Something like that,” I said, glancing down at the same bedding I’d had since I was a freshman in high school.
The print was faded and worn, and there were a number of nail polish stains from my clumsy attempts to give myself a pedicure, but it still worked just fine.
No need to go wasting money on something new just because what I had wasn’t perfect.
“What time should I pick you up?” he asked. There was hope in his voice once more. I hated that. He probably thought that my agreeing to have dinner with him was a sign that my walls were crumbling and he’d be able to sweet-talk me into something more than we agreed upon.
It didn’t matter at the end of the day. Once he found out the truth, Beckett Montgomery wasn’t going to want anything to do with me.