Chapter 15
I don’t know what I was expecting.
But it sure as fuck wasn’t for Beck to start laughing.
And not just confused giggling, either. Full-on belly-grabbing, head-thrown-back laughing that would have drawn every eye in the coffee shop if we weren’t alone.
My bewilderment is obvious as I watch him react, drawn right to the dimples sunken deep into his stubbled cheeks. I fist my hands in my lap and ignore the angry warmth crawling up my chest. He’s actually laughing at me. Like this is some unbelievable joke that I’ve just come up with on the spot.
His laugh sounds rough, but not from lack of use. I’d bet he laughs often. He does when he’s here.
And why am I thinking about that right now? He’s making fun of me! Kind of. It sure feels like it. The last thing I should be doing is swooning over how the light glimmers in his eyes—
No.
“You’re being serious?”
There’s no laughing now.
Suddenly, it’s completely silent again.
Beck scoots his chair closer to the table and inspects me, clearly having thought I was pulling a fucking prank. The thought makes my stomach churn with anxiety. It’s possible I misread him—though . . . is it really?
“Yes. And you laughing at the idea is actually pissing me off. Do you think it’s that unbelievable?” I snap.
“Fuck no,” he starts, brows drawing together. “No, Quinny. It’s not unbelievable to me. Not when I thought I’d made my intentions here pretty clear.”
The warmth trickles higher up my body to taint my throat. “Okay.”
“I’m serious. I just wasn’t expecting that. You’ve also made your response to my intentions clear, and this is the opposite of that. So, break it down for me. Help me understand,” he encourages softly.
“I panicked. I know Ruthie, and she wasn’t going to give up on her idea until I’d been scooped up in her grandson’s arms and whisked down the aisle.
This was the best thing I could keep up with, and I know I should have run it by you first, but I didn’t have the chance.
There wasn’t anyone else that I thought of at the time. ”
His head tilts, a smirk tainting his previously innocent expression. “I’m flattered, baby. Truly. And not at all mad. Pinky swear.”
He holds his pinky out for me, but I bat it away with the back of my sweaty hand. A low, growly chuckle follows the movement, and I yank my fingers out of his vicinity before he can grab them or do some other flirty thing that I know is going to have me turning beet red.
Settling back in his chair, he taps a beat on the tabletop. “What do you need from me?”
“Huh?”
“You heard me. This is already in motion, gorgeous. So, how do you want to proceed?”
“I haven’t gotten that far,” I grumble.
“It’s a good thing I’m here, then. We can sit together and talk about it all night.”
Huffing an exhale, I roll my eyes. “I doubt it’ll take that long.”
“I assure you that I can go as long as I need to. Want me to prove it?” His brows waggle, drawing a strangled laugh from my throat.
“Not in this lifetime.”
“Mm, right. In that case, may I suggest we focus on the problem at hand. How about you tell me what you need me to do? Come by a few times and kiss you in front of that swinging door? Because I think I’d excel at that task.”
My lips twitch, taking the bait. “Are you sure? Because for a guy so good at kissing and lasting ages in the sack, you sure spend a lot of time here at my coffee shop.”
“I knew you were going to remember that little tidbit of information.” His smirk has stretched into a wicked grin. “But to answer your question, yeah, I’m sure. I’m here so often because this is the only place I want to be outside of Summit Field.”
“Do you enroll in a yearly Sweet Talking refresher course?”
“No. If anything, I could host one. Think I’d get enough students to make a career out of it?”
“Flash those dimples on a busy street, and I’m sure you’d have quite the list of applicants.”
“You like them?”
I try to flatten my lips, but it’s helpless. “You know damn well there isn’t a woman alive who doesn’t.”
“Maybe. But your approval? That means far more to me than a random person on the street,” he states with utter conviction.
There’s a flutter in my stomach that I know damn well didn’t come from hunger. What the fuck is happening here right now?
“Focus, Beck. We’re talking about Ruthie here.”
The knowing glimmer in his eyes doesn’t disturb me the way it usually does. Luckily, that little tidbit of knowledge does, and I’m able to settle that agitating swoop in my belly.
“And I’m waiting for instructions. A game plan, if you will.”
I jostle my leg, heel clapping against the freshly washed floor. “She won’t be here often. I’m still hoping she’ll forget all about this and move on without mentioning it again.”
“What do you think the odds of that are?”
“Slim,” I mutter, frustrated.
“Alright. So, we figure something out.”
“I don’t want this going any bigger than it needs to. It doesn’t leave the coffee shop.”
“What doesn’t, exactly?” he asks slowly.
Tugging anxiously at my hair, I try to wrangle the proper words together into a coherent sentence.
“I don’t want a fake boyfriend. This isn’t some elaborate fake-dating agreement. Ruthie doesn’t watch baseball or follow social media pages. This would only be for her benefit, which means there’s not really any fake dating even going on. Just some mild PDA when she’s here and can see you.”
“Mild PDA? You expect her to believe I come by and squeeze your ass once a day and that’s it? Because if that’s the case, then we probably don’t need to do anything at all. Just tell her we get in on every once in a while, and she’ll be none the wiser.”
He says the words with ease, but there’s a tightness hidden in the depths of his voice that tugs at my chest. Guilt rains down on me, forcing me to backtrack.
“I don’t have the time for a real boyfriend, let alone a fake one. Not to mention, I have no intention of letting this get big enough that other people find out. Have you forgotten who you are, Beck? What city we’re in and how many eyes are on you everywhere you go?”
His hand runs down over his lips, fingers pinching them before falling to the table. “You’re worried about the public?”
“Obviously.” I blow out a harsh breath.
“If this is because of the articles, I’ve cleaned my shit up.
I’m not out searching for another bad headline, Quinn.
And I can assure you that nobody’s itching to focus on my love life.
My reputation is a stain on my back, yeah, but there are more important things happening in the MLB than me finding a girlfriend.
The only thing the media cares about right now is how well I’m playing and the fact that I’m showing no sign of slowing down. ”
“I just don’t like being the centre of attention, nor having my private life on display for others to look at and examine. Especially when it isn’t for a reason better than being someone’s fake girlfriend. The only way I can do this is if nobody finds out besides those who need to.”
He props a fist under his chin. “We both know Havoc fans frequent this place now. If we need to only be together here, they’ll still be able to see.”
“We can keep the majority of it to ourselves. You can come earlier in the morning. That’s when Ruthie’s here, anyway.”
“And what, Quinny?”
“What do you mean?”
“What is it you want me to do when I’m here?” he asks, voice dipping low enough I feel it like a soft stroke up my inner thigh.
“I . . . We’ll hold hands. Hug.”
He chuckles, giving his head a slow shake. “She’s old, not blind.”
“Fine. What are your ideas?”
“For starters, what about your sister and Elliot?”
“Elliot?” I choke.
“Is his name not Elliot?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. He’s just Eli.”
“Fine, Eli, then. Will they know the truth or fall victim to the act we’re putting on?”
My gut churns at the idea of lying to my sister. “She’ll know the truth. I doubt she’d believe this lie, anyway.”
“She knows you that well?” he asks, genuinely curious.
“We’re best friends. Even though she’s a few years younger, we’ve always been close. And she won’t tell Ruthie anything.”
“What about Eli? Would she tell him?”
I squint a bit, instantly picking up on the false innocence in the question. “Do you know something?”
“Nope.”
“Because if you did, you’d tell me, right? Especially considering you’re my boyfriend now,” I push.
His tongue travels across the length of his lip. “Fake, remember?”
“Beck.”
“Yeah, baby?”
I let it go despite my better judgment. Today has been too long as it is.
“I’ll give Callie a heads-up. Eli can think what he wants.”
“Alright. Then we’ll move on to the next order of business. Come here.”
My brows jump. “Uh, no?”
He laughs, pushing his chair back from the table. I watch him move, tracking the way his eyes cling to me, even when he drops his hands and pats his thighs.
“Nobody is going to believe a thing if we don’t give them a reason to. And something tells me that Ruthie is already doubtful after our terrible display the other day.”
“That doesn’t explain why I need to go over there.”
“Doesn’t it? We need to get used to touching each other if she’s going to believe that you’re actually interested in me.”
“And let me guess, you already think she’ll buy that you’re into me?”
“Of course. Because I am.”
I clamp my teeth down onto my lip, but the move fails, and I smile.
Letting my gaze roll up to the ceiling, I sigh.
Beck’s too smooth for his own good—and mine.
I’m well and truly fucked here because while I know this can’t actually go anywhere, I’m softening toward him.
It’s not enough to make me agree to anything real, but he’s wearing me down, and it’s ridiculously annoying that he knows it, too.
Remember the sound of his friends laughing at you, Quinn.
I can’t let myself forget that he didn’t make one move to step in and tell them to fuck off.
They’d have listened to him, but he kept quiet.
I shouldn’t have expected anything from him, but I was na?ve enough that I’d actually welcomed those smiles and friendly nods of his head in the halls and assumed he was a good enough guy despite his terrible choice in company.
He’s fooled me before, and I refuse to let him do it again.
It’s been over ten years since I last saw him, though.
His chair scrapes the floor as he pushes back further.
I snap out of my head when he rises and starts walking toward me, those long, long legs of his moving far slower than usual.
The back of his hand is flexing, the veins more prominent as it falls to the edge of the table, only a couple of inches from where I’m clutching it.
A warm knuckle meets the underside of my chin and guides it up.
My neck arches, and I’m forced to meet his blazing gaze.
He leans over me, the scent of his cologne filling the air around me, leaving me no choice but to take a long inhale of it.
My skin ripples with goosebumps as he inches closer and the heat of his exhale washes over my nose.
“Breathe, Quinn.”
I do and instantly regret it. The scent of his aftershave mixes with cologne. Raw heat floods my system and turns my thoughts drowsy.
“I’ll come by again tomorrow night, gorgeous. We’ll work out the finer details then,” he murmurs, lips brushing the arch of my ear as his thumb traces the bags beneath both of my eyes. “Get some sleep tonight.”
I inhale sharply, and then he’s gone, my skin suddenly icy.
And my thoughts just as unclear.