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I close my eyes and commit the moment to memory. Even if all else fails, I’ll still have this. Her. My own little family.
As hard as it’s been, right now I’m proud of the risks I’ve taken. I’m proud of making the attempt to do this on my own.
I look down and see Maisie’s blue eyes studying my face. She’s so damn cute. Is this how it’s meant to feel, holding your baby? The contentment? The pleasure?
If it is, I want more of it.
To: John Beauregard ([email protected])
From: Annabel Rhodes ([email protected])
February 5, 2011 12:41 AM EST
Subject: Congrats/Stop the Gun Show/Disney World?
I know we just talked, but since you had to run, thought I’d shoot you an email. So you’re adding a Super Bowl to your résumé? Jesus Christ, you’re really going to be insufferable now. The stupid gun show thing you did with your biceps after making that play notwithstanding, I’m thrilled for you. I had my heart in my throat the whole game. You’re seriously talented, Beau, and you looked like you were having a great time out there. I wish I loved my job the way you do. You have so much to be proud of.
Your dad would’ve been really proud, too. I know the anniversary of his passing is coming up, which is always a tough time for you. I’m so, so sorry he didn’t get to see you win this big. But he’s watching from heaven, and I know without a doubt he’d be telling you to quit the gun show thing, too.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, either. This meeting I have first thing tomorrow morning with the World Bank (sounds cooler than it is, trust me) is kind of a big deal, and my boss put a lot of pressure on me to make the best impression we can. Thanks for understanding.
Also, were you serious about Disney World? I flew into DC earlier for the meeting, but I’m supposed to head back to Charlotte tomorrow PM. I would love to join you at the most magical place on Earth. But no, I am absolutely not taking you up on the jet. I can hop on a flight after the breakfast thing we’re doing and be in Orlando in time for dinner. Ooh or maybe we should do an around-the-world cocktail hour at Epcot? Champagne in France, beer in England, blackout by the time we get back to the hotel? My treat. I can afford this shit now ;)
I hope Jenny can make it, too. I really like her. Maybe you should consider trying to keep a girl around for more than, like, a week. Dating can be fun if you give it a chance. Then again, my love life is a circus these days, so who am I to talk?
Anyway, I’m proud of you. Wish I could’ve been there, but when the World Bank calls, you answer.
Bel
PS I’m glad we’re still emailing this way. Texting just wouldn’t be the same, you know?
PPS I miss you like crazy and truly do hope a rendezvous at Space Mountain is in order.
Chapter Sixteen
Beau
“Nineteen.”
I let out a hiss. The muscles in my arms—my back and hell, even my ass—are screaming bloody murder.
I go in for the next rep anyway, egged on by the Meek Mill blasting on the speakers overhead.
“Twenty.” Above me, Samuel shakes his head. “Damn, dude. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
“Shut up,” I grunt, going for twenty-one.
My back arches off the bench. I push up the bar with everything I have, seeing stars as my arms and abs shake. A distinct feeling of yuck swirls in my gut.
Shit, I hope I don’t puke.
Then again, it might feel good. Get my mind off Annabel for a minute or two.
I’m that desperate.
I can’t stop thinking about this girl, even though I need to stop. Like, yesterday.
Which is why I’m currently pushing myself to what could be a very literal breaking point in my gym.
My elbows are just shy of locking when I wheeze, “Take it!”
Samuel, who’s been spotting for me all morning, grabs the bar and settles it back into the grooves in the top of the bench.
For several beats I just lie there, utterly spent. Sweat drips into my eyes, and I squeeze them shut.
And still I see her smile behind my closed lids, that wide, lit up one she gave me at the creek yesterday when she netted that brook trout all on her own. The curve of her lips, the way her ass looked in those leggings she wore underneath the waders…
Just the memory of it makes my skin spark with electricity. I feel like I’m a teenager again, horny as hell and dying to see the girl I can’t quit crushing on.
I want to be with her. All the time. Hang out, shoot the shit, make her laugh.
