Page 51 of Slow Burn

Now he’s texted me a string of nearly incomprehensible letters, and I’d be afraid he was having a stroke if I didn’t tell him to not let Beck see that he’s texting me. He’s probably typing this from his pocket.

I quickly spring into action, gathering everyone and telling them to hide and shutting the lights off. A second later, a key rattles in the front door.

I’m practically vibrating with a nauseating combination of nerves and excitement. But when Beck’s voice rumbles through the entry way, something calm washes over me, too.

Wade is doing a commendable job of keeping their conversation casual, apologizing about his medication mix-up.

Beck’s footsteps draw nearer to the kitchen, and as he rounds the corner, I flick the lights on, the flash of light and colour and people shouting “Surprise!”.

Shock overtakes his permanent scowl, and then there’s something else. There’s a hint of a smile and a glimmer in his eyes. Had I so much as blinked I might have missed it.

I stand back and enjoy the experience of watching Beck’s friends greet him with handshakes and that weird hug that only men do, one-armed and quick to separate. Nash already has a beer to put in his hand, and instead of a thank you, Beck responds with “who’s taking care of the chores?”

“We’re all done for the day,” Nash says with a proud grin. “Austin and I will head down to the barn again after the party.”

He nods, and then turns in my direction, his dark gaze landing on me. It used to be intimidating. I used to find it scrutinizing, critical, and cold. But now I’m certain I was wrong this whole time, maybe my entire life. Beck thinks and feels more deeply than anyone I know.

My heart thunders in my chest as he walks toward where I’m standing in the corner of the kitchen. He shoves a hand in his pocket and takes a sip of his beer. I can’t help but fixate on the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows.

“I didn’t take you for much of a wallflower,” he says.

I shrug. “I’m just enjoying the show.”

His eyebrow quirks up. “I assume this was all your doing.”

My mouth goes dry as I nod. Being at a loss for words is a state I am not used to, but for some reason my quick wit has left the building.

“Any more surprises coming my way?”

“Actually yes,” I say, trying to suppress my excitement for the real event to begin. I slide my hand down his forearm and take his hand in mine. The contact makes my skin buzz. A tingling warmth spreads quickly from where we connect down to the base of my core. It makes my insides feel molten.

I lead him over to the sliding door, all of Beck’s friends and family watching to see his reaction. When we get outside he takes in the scene before him. Twenty-something yoga mats are spread out evenly across the lawn, with small, fluffy creatures bounding happily in the grass between them.

“We’re doing Bunny Yoga!” I exclaim, gesturing to the yard in a ta-da motion. I look back at Beck, whose expression has gone flat.

“What in the world is bunny yoga?” he grumbles.

I beam up at him. “Exactly what it looks like. We’re doing yoga with bunnies.”

“I am not doing yoga. And I sure as hell am not doing it with bunnies.”

Skye and Sutton are already playing on the lawn with the rabbits, and hearing Beck’s resistance to the idea, Skye comes over to where we’re standing.

“Come on Beck, how could you say no to her?” She holds up a bunny to his face. It’s all white except for a pale tan spot around one eye and over its bunchy tail. Its nose twitches as if assessing Beck by his smell.

“How do you know if that thing is a boy or a girl? There’s so much… fluff,” Beck says.

Skye shrugs with a smile. “I don’t know, it’s just her aura.”

He huffs, but then looks closer at the bunny, at the long ears folded flat against its head.

“Are you into this? Blink twice if you’re here against your will,” he says to the bunny, and her ears perk up. His expression softens at the small animal. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it.”

“You’ll need to get changed into something more comfortable,” I point out, looking down at the stiff jeans and the snug fitting t-shirt. I wouldn’t mind if he kept the t-shirt. It hugs his biceps in a way that makes me want to sink my teeth into them.

“This is comfortable,” he argues.

I gesture around at the other party guests, clad in the casual athleisure wear I asked them to bring. “Something you can move in.”