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“That’s the guy they’re all fighting over?” Beck whispers to me as the new episode starts.
“Yup,” I reply. “Not your type?”
Beck chuckles, and I lean a little closer to feel his chest vibrate. “Nope. Yours?”
“I prefer blonds.”
I look away, back at the screen, which is currently depicting a hot-air balloon ride over a field of wildflowers. The hot-air balloon lands in the field, and the couple disembarks to discover a picnic that’s already been prepared. “Seriously? How unrealistic,” I grumble.
“Saylor! I can’t hear what they’re saying,” Emma complains.
I sigh as I settle back into the soft cushions, watching as the lead and his current date make contrived conversation, biting back more sarcastic comments. And then Beck’s left hand settles on my knee, and I lose all interest in what’s happening on the television.
I glance over at him, but his attention seems to actually be on the show. His thumb traces small circles on my skin, and zings of arousal shoot up my thigh. I bite my bottom lip and shift closer to him. Beck’s arm slides down my back, dipping underneath the hem of the crewneck sweatshirt I’m wearing. I have nothing on underneath, and he discovers that.
Rough callouses scrape against my lower back as his palm drags across the skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. I lean into him even more, and Anne’s pretty much got the center of the couch to herself. I’m partly on the cushion, mostly on Beck’s lap. He keeps rubbing his hand against my skin but doesn’t venture any farther north.
Beck’s eyes don’t waver from the television, which makes it even hotter. Either he’s completely oblivious to the effect his touch has on me, or he’s actually paying attention to the show.
I stopped paying attention to the show a long time ago.
I close my eyes, inhaling his familiar scent as I rest my head on his shoulder.
The next thing I’m aware of is whispers.
“…leave her down here?” Cressida’s voice.
“She spent last night on the floor. This is an upgrade.” Emma this time.
I groan, unwilling to open my eyes.
“I’ve got it from here.” Beck.
“Great. I’m going to bed,” Anne says. “Practice earlier kicked my ass.”
“Imagine how terrible it would have been if we lost yesterday,” Cressida comments. Her voice is fading, and I don’t hear anything from Emma, so she must have already gone upstairs.
My eyelids crack. It’s just me and Beck in the living room.
“Ready for bed?” I ask.
“You obviously are,” he replies, smirking.
I roll my eyes before I stand and stretch, then head toward the stairs. Beck follows.
The upstairs hallway is empty, all the doors except mine shut. I enter my room, with Beck right behind me, closing the door behind us.
Not bothering with much modesty—or pajamas—I slip out of the sweatpants I put on earlier. Pull off my sweatshirt—flashing him—before climbing into bed wearing my underwear and a T-shirt I left in the sheets.
Beck strips down to his boxer briefs, then climbs into bed with me.
Before he turns the light out, I say the words I’ve been afraid to utter until right now. “Ich liebe dich.”
Beck is a stunned-looking statue beside me. “What?” His voice comes out choked.
I don’t even think he’s trying to draw this out or get me to say it again. I think I genuinely took him completely off guard. Or my pronunciation is so terrible he’s trying to figure out what I’m saying. “Ich liebe dich,” I repeat, more carefully.
It comes out easier this time. I’m jumping. Falling. Flying. And it’s scary. But not as terrifying as it could be, because I trust Beck to be there when I land.
