Chapter 9
I expected him to leave after a few minutes of washing the dishes.
Talk about a miscalculation on my part.
Instead of growing annoyed with every new delivery of dirty dishes, he simply watched them fall into the sink and scrubbed away without a care in the world.
The hours pass at a snail’s pace. With every pull of the drain, I’d get my hopes up, only to watch him refill the sink and squirt far too much soap into the clean water.
The bubbles only serve as a reminder that he doesn’t plan on leaving anytime soon.
If he were anyone else, I wouldn’t have cared. He’s offering me free labour, after all. I’d be a pretty shitty business owner to turn that down, especially when washing dishes is a task I absolutely detest. Even just thinking about the floaties in the water makes me want to hack.
Then again, is it technically free labour when he’s using this as an opportunity to ask me personal questions?
I’ve dodged them pretty well, but he’s stubborn. Maybe even more so than I am. The topic of my dating history isn’t anything I’m going to open up to him about right now, if ever, so once again, I dodge his latest inquiry.
“I let you get away with too many non-answers, Quinny. If you tell me something real this time, I won’t ask another question.”
I search his face for any hint of deception, but he’s being honest. That’s . . . nice, I guess.
Wiping my hands down the front of my apron, I jerk my head in a quick nod. “Fine. But you need to ask something else.”
“Alright. Why a coffee shop?”
“Why baseball?” I counter sharply, hating how exposed the simple question has me feeling.
He pulls his hands from the water, and I watch as water drips from the rubber gloves to the growing puddle on the floor.
There’s an openness to his relaxed expression that intrigues me as much as it intimidates me.
I couldn’t imagine being so unbothered about sharing things about myself with someone I hardly know.
“I love baseball. It’s what I’ve always been good at. I like the way I feel while I’m on the field and I’ve got a ball in my hands.”
“It’s that simple for you?”
“It doesn’t need to be complicated. I’ve found something I enjoy doing, and it just so happens that I’m also fantastic at it. Why would I want to do anything else?”
I jab my tongue into my cheek, rolling the words around in my head. He’s looking so boldly at me that it becomes a battle not to run away before he peels the skin right off my face. There’s something pressing down on my chest, and I shift beneath it, my shoes scuffing the floor.
“I’ve loved coffee for a long time. It was an important part of my life growing up. I don’t expect you to understand that, but I don’t want to get any deeper into it.”
“Fair enough.”
He turns back to the sink and dips his hands back into the water. The bubbles rise to the top of the gloves, and I wince, knowing full well what it feels like when water breaches them. Wet fingers seem to be the last thing on his mind, though.
Shoulders loose, he finds a cup and starts washing out the inside. I stand frozen in place for a moment longer, waiting to see if he says anything else, but he remains silent. Relief settles me, and I take a deep breath before making for the door.
The moment I reach it, I linger, my teeth grinding together with a sudden wave of frustration that I can’t ignore. It’s not aimed at him, either. This is all me.
“You don’t need to stay and do this. Don’t you have other things to do?”
“Let me worry about that.”
“That sounds ominous.”
He chuckles softly and glances over at me with bright, emerald eyes. “If you want me to leave so badly, you could come help.”
“I hate washing dishes.”
“Ah, see, now you’re spoiling me with all this Quinn knowledge. I didn’t even have to work for that one.”
I palm my hips, refusing to give in to the urge to laugh. “I’d hardly count that as important information.”
“In your opinion.”
“Yours is so different?”
“What do you think?” he asks, and it almost sounds like a taunt.
“I think that I don’t want to answer that.”
He grins down at the water, focusing back on his task.
I watch as one of his gloved hands waves over the clean dishes soaking in the sanitizer-filled basin.
I don’t bother asking how he even knew to use the sanitizer and instead tap my fingers to the side of my thigh, debating whether I’m actually going to do this or not.
He has the nerve to smile even brighter when I settle beside him and start stacking the dishes on the flat steel surface beside the sink.
It’s the first time we’ve been this close to one another without the order counter between us and the comfort of chatting customers as background noise.
This feels . . . intimate. Way, way too intimate.
Yet, I’m not about to let him see how uncomfortable it makes me to be in such close proximity to him. Especially when I’m already struggling not to inhale the spicy scent of a cologne that I guarantee costs a pretty penny.
For the thousandth time since he first came into Blank Page, I let myself speculate about why he’s here when he could be anywhere else.
Surely, it isn’t just to try and get a date with me.
There has to be some other reason for it.
I continue to lay the dishes out to dry but risk taking a peek up at him.
The height difference makes this a pain. It’s not exactly easy to sneakily look at someone who stands almost a foot above you. I’ve never asked his height, but I’d estimate he’s six four. That makes my five six look pretty pathetic in comparison.
My throat dries up when he moves his arm across his body and I’m forced to watch as thick ribbons of muscle strain and pulse. I didn’t even know there were that many muscles in an arm, let alone a forearm. I’d put money down on him being able to crack an egg with his bicep.
Maybe I could ask to see him try.
Fuck my life.
His eyes slide down to catch mine, and I immediately look away, my cheeks burning. I’m certain that if I forced them back toward him, I’d find his shoulders shaking in silent laughter.
“I have a thing,” I blurt out, already flicking my hands in the air to dry them. “A thing somewhere else.”
He turns his body to face me completely, shoulders back and his naturally wide chest appearing even larger. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Tell Eli when you’re done.”
“You’re trusting me here alone, then?”
“You’re washing dishes, not building a bomb.
Just—” I finally gaze up at him, taking slow, measured steps backward toward the office entrance.
“Just tell him when you’re done. And make sure to mop up that puddle so I don’t have a workplace injury to deal with when you slip and fall and hit your head on the sink.
Not to mention a lawsuit from the MLB when I’m the reason their star wound up in the hospital, unable to play. ”
My rambling doesn’t seem to have an end. I jam my knuckles between my lips and spin around so that he can’t see the way I glare at the wall and bite down on my skin.
“Their star closer?” he asks behind me. I can hear the beaming smile in his voice. “Have you been researching me, Quinny?”
God, I am praying to you right now to beg for help. Sorry I haven’t reached out in a while, but please give me patience. Or a brick to throw at his perfectly handsome face.
“And you can’t park out front like that,” I snap, pointing to the kitchen door.
He wipes the back of his forearm across his pink-tinted forehead. The edges of his smile twitch. “Like what?”
“You’re taking up two spots. And you’re too far from the curb.”
“When did you go look at my car? And how did you know which one was mine?”
“Well, you’ve been here for hours now, and it’s the only one that hasn’t moved.”
“And you just so happened to go exploring outside to take note of the parked cars?”
I look away, once again feeling too exposed. “Beck.”
“Did you know that my full name is Beckett?” he asks, dunking a tiny yellow plate under the water.
“No.”
“My mom liked Beckham, but my dad vetoed it because he’d gone to school with a Beckham, and he was a right cockhead. His exact words.”
I roll my lips together, unsure how to respond to that.
“Beckett isn’t that popular, but I started going by Beck once I got to high school because it was easier for everyone. Plus, I enjoyed seeing people guess my full name wrong.”
My skin prickles with nerves. Is there a reason he’s mentioning high school right now?
“Why would you like people getting your name wrong?” I ask tightly.
His smirk is filthy as he stares directly into my eyes, bold and unaffected. “Keeps me on their mind longer. I revel in being the sole focus of someone’s attention.”
“That is probably the least surprising thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“See? You know me so well already. We can even talk civilly. It would be a shame not to let me take you out on a date now. Don’t you think?”
“I think that would be a terrible idea.”
Maybe even more so now that I know the way my body reacts to him when we’re alone.
I no longer expect him to get offended or angry when I turn him down.
Not like I did the first time. But that’s Beck, I guess.
I know I can’t get mixed up with a guy like him, yet I’ll admit that he’s not the worst one I’ve ever met.
He has a calmness to him that’s refreshing, albeit frustrating at times.
“I’m not in a rush,” he states confidently, letting that statement settle like a thick fog around us.
Instead of battling my way through it, like I have a gut feeling he’s hoping I do, I let it grow heavier, feeling the way it sticks to my skin like a breeze on a balmy night. I bite the inside of my lip, ignoring it for a moment longer before blowing it away with my words.
“I was serious about the puddle. And the park job, Beckett.”
His eyes cut to me, surprised. I don’t give him the chance to respond before I rush from the kitchen and yank open the office door instead of going back to the front.
Squeezing my eyes shut so I don’t risk another look at him, I slam the door behind me.
Only then do I pry them open and stare at the familiar sight of my office, releasing a slow breath.
Then, I’m beelining it for my apartment, needing to put as much space between me and Beck as possible.