A Sip of You(76)

It was Monday and I hadn’t heard from Beckett since last Thursday, before the weekend. We never went that long without checking in with each other. I had a moment of panic, wondering if he was sick or if something horrible had happened to him. Some best friend I was, given that I was realizing the awful possibilities only now. I had a key to his apartment, so I could just go check on him…

Or maybe Beckett was avoiding my calls for a reason. Maybe I’d done something to piss him off and he was being a bitch about it. It wasn’t like we’d never gotten on one another’s nerves before, but he’d always just told me to fuck off for a day or two and then everything would be fine. Even though I’d just left him a voicemail, I texted him to please call me immediately. I put immediately in all caps and added,

I’m getting worried!

I tried to do more research on Hutch Morrison and then clear out my inbox, but my thoughts were way too scattered. My attention bounced from Beckett to Hutch to Fresh Market to William to Jeremy. Finally, I gave up and just sprawled on my couch, which Laird took as an invitation to lay on my feet, trapping me and keeping my toes cozy. I stroked his fur and closed my eyes.

I was seriously elated the Jeremy chapter in my life was done. Hopefully, he’d go back to Amy, marry her, and live happily ever after.

In California.

Far, far away from Chicago.

Last night would have been so much worse if William had known Jeremy and I had slept together. Beckett was absolutely right that no good could come of me telling him, especially now. So I was going to keep my mouth shut, move forward, and try not to think about it.

I checked my cell again, thinking maybe I’d missed a text from Beckett, but still nothing.

I knew William was in meetings, so I texted to invite him over for dinner. I could tell him all my news, then we could enjoy a night alone together and pick up where we’d left off before Jeremy had showed up. Seeing William with his aunt and uncle, going through those photo albums with him and seeing his vulnerability—that was the William I loved, the William I wanted. It might take weeks for that piece of wreckage recovered in Canada to be authenticated and the waiting must be agony for him. He needed me to be the supportive girlfriend I should have been from the start, and I was ready to be that and more.

William texted back a minute later—Beckett should have taken notes—and I frowned at his response.

Working late. Can’t tonight. Tomorrow?

That was weird. First Beckett and now William. Of course, I wasn’t being entirely fair to Stormy Eyes. He was hugely successful, intent on world domination or something like that, so he probably had to put in a few late hours once in a while. But it meant we would spend another night apart.

Sounds like a plan. Can’t wait. Still miss you. XOXO

It was after six when Beckett finally called. “I was about to call missing persons,” I teased him. “Where have you been?”

“I’ll tell you all about it tonight. Are you up for drinks—or do you have plans?”

“No plans. Tell me where and when.”

We agreed to meet at Revolution Brewing in Logan Square. Like most of the trendy places in Logan Square, Revolution Brewing was in an old refurbished warehouse. The hardwood bars and barrel-wood walls were rustic, and the pub advertised that the benches were constructed from 100-year-old beams salvaged during construction. It was a fun place to drink, especially if you liked beer. I was no enthusiast, but I didn’t mind a beer once in a while. Revolution Brewing brewed their own and served food too, everything from steak to tofu. Beckett loved the bacon fat popcorn. I liked their fish and chips.

I forgot all about food when Beckett gave me a hug and handed me a cold pint to try. “This is the Coup D’Etat. Good, huh?”

I sipped. “Great. How are you?”

“Good. Cat, is it just me or have you gained a little weight?”

I blinked at him. “First you don’t call, now you say I’m fat. Are you trying to end our friendship?”

“No, no!” He held his hands up in surrender. “It looks good on you. You looked like a scrawny waif before. William must be feeding you well.”

I looked down at my skinny jeans and long-sleeve, vintage Black Flag T-shirt topped with a black and purple argyle thrift-store cardigan I’d worn with my favorite motorcycle boots. My jeans still fit, though there might be a fraction less room at the waist. I hadn’t thought too much about it when I pulled them on. Looking at my shirt, I could see it was stretched a little tightly over my breasts. I decided I’d pass on the fish and chips and think about a salad instead.

“So Fresh Market,” Beckett said. “They want you back. Isn’t it great?”