Fingers tingling, I fight the urge to send him something. We had a great Friday night together. After cooking me dinner, he stayed over. I fell asleep in his arms, and he kissed my forehead the next morning before slipping out the door.
I hadn’t slept that well in weeks.
But Jeremiah asked for space, so space is what I’ll give him, even if my heart is pulled in seven different directions every time I’m reminded of him. Mom said it’ll do him some good to see what life’s like without me. She gave me the whole ‘grass is never greener on the other side’ speech and assured me my cousin Melissa’s husband got cold feet just before their wedding too. Now they’re happily married with four kids.
Some nights, I lie in bed for hours and replay the last month or so, frame by excruciatingly detailed frame, searching for a hint or a clue that he was having second thoughts. But I always come up with nothing.
And then I imagine my life alone. Without him. And it’s actually not that bad.
“Oh, there you are.” I yank my phone down and find Beckham straight ahead, head cocked like he’s trying to get a read on me. “Food’s here.”
“That was quick.”
“What were you doing?”
“Washing up.” I slip my phone into my pocket and shrug.
“With what? Travel brochures and gumballs?” His hands hook his narrow hips. “You wanted to get away.”
“The conversation was getting a little…personal.”
“That’s how Uncle Leo is. You earn the right to be brash when you’ve lived as long and hard as he has.” His face tightens. “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I take a step but he doesn’t budge.
His rigid stance blocks me in. “I owe you an apology. From earlier.”
I don’t want to have this conversation here, at this greasy spoon. I didn’t want to have it at all; I wanted to forget it happened.
“I shouldn’t have said you weren’t special. I didn’t mean it.” He slicks his hand through his hair, grabbing a fistful of dark strands and tugging on them before exhaling. “And that just came out wrong.”
“Beckham, please…”
“I don’t know how much you heard, but if I hurt your feelings…” He shakes his head, our eyes catching.
This is Beckham.
This is Beckham being nice.
Genuinely nice.
For a second, I stop breathing, and I’m not sure why. Intimacy filters into this exchange, and I’m not sure how it got there.
“You didn’t hurt my feelings.” It’s the truth. His words didn’t hurt because they were a lie. He lied to his brother. He absolutely thinks I’m special and worth chasing. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have accused Dane of eye-fucking me from across the table. A man who doesn’t find a woman interesting wouldn’t have been upset over the prospect of losing her to someone else. He staked his claim with one pointed accusation whether he realizes it or not.
Beckham King likes me…
Which is absurd because he doesn’t know me.
He’s intrigued by me, enthralled by the chase.
“Food’s probably getting cold.” I point toward the end of the narrow passage, but he still won’t move. My gaze traces along the bottom of Beckham’s lip, the memory of the way he tasted two weekends ago floods my mouth.
His stare heats me in this tight space, raw energy zipping up my center, swirling in my chest, and radiating through my fingertips.
I squeeze past him and weave through pulled out chairs and oddly placed tables, mentally conjuring an image of Jeremiah for experimental reasons.
My body stays tepid. Not a single thunderous pound hits the inside of my chest. No melancholy ache in my heart.
I try to remember what Jeremiah smells like, tastes like, but every sensory memory is replaced with ones of Beckham. Every inhalation brings a flood of Beckham’s clean aftershave, like I’ve memorized it without even trying. I feel the weight of his stare from behind, watching as I lead us back to the table. Leo and Dane stand when I return, and I scoot back into my spot between them all.
My appetite vanishes when Beckham’s hand slides over mine under the table. I glance down and it’s gone.
Chapter Thirteen
BECKHAM
“Odessa.” I catch her seconds before she disappears into her suite for the night.
She pauses, her hand flush against the wooden door. “Yes?”
We haven’t spoken since my apology in the diner, where she proceeded to keep her attention focused on Uncle Leo and Dane the rest of the evening and pretended to rest her eyes on the car ride back.