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Beck smirks down at me, his own expression relaxed and a little dazed.
We’re athletes. Sex is a physical act. But I’ve slept with other guys who played sports, and it never felt like this.
Once my breathing has returned to normal, I ask, “Do you have any food?”
The chicken was good, but it was a small portion.
“Not any you’ll like,” he replies. One warm palm lands on my thigh, his thumb rubbing small circles. “But I’ll see what I have.” He stands up, taking care of the condom and then pulling his pants back up.
I stand too, cleaning up in the bathroom and then stealing one of his shirts rather than putting my dress back on.
Beck’s peering inside the fridge when I enter the kitchen. I perch on one of the four stools that line the marble countertop. My stomach grumbles.
“So? What have you got?”
He grabs a few plastic containers and slides them down the counter to me. “Here you go. They’re all labeled.”
I grab one and tilt it upward. Salmon and rice—pass. “Do you have ice cream?”
He studies me.
I grin. “You do.”
Beck reaches out and snags the prepared meals, sticking them back in the fridge and replacing them with a cardboard carton from the freezer.
“Yesss.” I grab the spoon he offers and open the lid. “Vanilla?”
Beck shrugs as he takes the stool beside me. “It goes with anything.”
“So it’s not your favorite flavor?”
“Probably not. What’s yours?”
“It used to be mint chocolate chip.”
“What changed?”
“My mom took me and my sister out for ice cream the day before she left.”
“You got mint chocolate chip.”
I nod. “I got mint chocolate chip. Now I only eat it once a year. As some fucked-up tribute or reminder, I guess.” I push the tub away, no longer as hungry. “Do you have alcohol?”
Beck raises an eyebrow, but all he says is “There’s vodka in the freezer.”
Before I can stand, my phone rings. I slide off the stool to grab it out of the clutch that ended up on the floor.
It’s Hallie. I silence it and return to my seat next to Beck. He doesn’t ask, but I feel obligated to say, “My sister. I’m avoiding her calls.”
“Why?”
“I’m supposed to pick out the bridesmaid dress for my dad’s wedding.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“I don’t know.” It’s bullshit, and Beck knows it.
“Do it now,” he suggests.
