The Dirty Series 2(160)

And then he does.

“Sam.”

It’s one word, but the impact is like a boulder dropping into a pond. It’s his voice, a little rougher now, and with an edge to it that I only recognize from the bitter end of us.

“Hi, Beck.” My voice is barely above a whisper, and I can feel my cheeks flame. I never imagined that I would see Beck again, but I resolved a long time ago that if I ever ran into him, I would be confident as hell, so self-assured, so over what happened, even if it still kills me in the secret parts of my soul. And here I am, whispering like a shy kid, standing in front of this masterpiece of a human body.

What is he doing here? Can he possibly work here? I can tell by the water droplets in his hair that he’s just showered recently, but there’s no soapy scent coming off of him. He’s not coming from a company gym, then, if they even have one. Is he actually working in the plant? The cement plant, with his college degree? I’ve got nothing against a job like that. My dad worked at another manufacturing company here for years. I just never thought that Beck would—

“I was on my way out.”

It’s a complete shutdown, and part of my heart dies another little death, but my mouth starts moving without permission from my brain. “Oh—me, too. Are you…were you here for work?”

“Yeah,” he says, and his mouth curls in a grin that doesn’t look happy at all. “Yeah, I work at the cement plant. I’m only here because I got a little bonus for being here so long.” The edge in his voice is clear now, obvious, present in the air between us, and it cuts like a knife. He’s angry, but I don’t know about what.

“Well, that’s—that’s nice.” I’m really trying. I really don’t know what to say. This is not playing out at all how I imagined it, and another flood of memories cascades down over me. Beck’s arms wrapped around me from behind, Beck’s hand tight on mine, driving through the dark to the hospital, the sharp clench of his jaw in the lights from the car stereo.

“I don’t know if I’d call it nice.” He delivers this commentary with a smirk, but his eyes never leave mine.

“Why not?”

“It’s a bonus for my third year of work in a row. Don’t play dumb.”

I don’t know why he’s being such a dick, but I can’t get myself together enough to do anything about it, and another wave of heat crashes into my face.

“I’m not playing dumb.” I hear the tension in the words, but I can’t brush this off. I can feel my own jaw clenching, getting ready for a fight.

Something changes in Beck’s face, a softening around his eyes. It’s not much. I should turn around, I should get the hell out of here and not come back, but I stand my ground.

Desire bolts through my chest, despite the embarrassed color in my cheeks, despite the fact that I feel like I’m withering away in front of him. It wasn’t my fault we broke up. It wasn’t even really his fault. There are some things that just happen. Beck doesn’t seem to realize that, still, or else he’s had a bad day. It’s possible every day here is a bad day. My dad had plenty of them.

“No, you’re right.” He runs a hand through his hair, and his eyes flicker down over my body, then back up to my face. “I’m sorry.”

The apology doesn’t come easy for him. I can see it. But it’s an opening, a crack in the door, and I can’t help but lunge for it. I know I shouldn’t. I know I should stay far, far away from Beck Taylor and everything he represents about my past. But I shove my foot into that crack anyway.

“It’s okay.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “Long day?”

“Long year.” It’s been long for me, too. And the year before that, and the year before that.

The silence crackles between us, and I have to make a conscious effort to keep my hands to myself. I have never wanted to touch someone as badly as I want to touch Beck right now. I’ve never been so captivated by another person, not before him, and not since.

He breaks the silence, shaking his head. “This is not how I thought this would play out.”





Chapter Six





Beckett



I don’t know why the words come out of my mouth. It’s the last thing I want to admit—that I had ever thought about this possibility, that I’d ever spent any time imagining how things would go between us if our paths ever crossed again. And here I am, admitting it like a damn fool. What’s it going to do for me? What’s it going to do for her? Nothing.

It’s like the hallway is closing in, forcing us closer together, even though I know it’s not, and so I blurt out that asinine sentence. If she didn’t think I was a fucking idiot before, she does now.