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“It’s payback for all the shitty things she did to you,” Mom says. “She’s stuck with Chance… and you have a chance with sexy Beckett. Pun intended.”
I stare at her confused.
“Mom, weren’t you the one telling me to keep my wits about me?”
“I know, but…”
“But, what?”
“Perhaps I spoke too quickly, Ari.”
“What brought on the change of heart?”
“The way that man looks at you in those photos suggests there’s more there. A mother knows, honey.” She says that last sentence with a strong Scottish accent, reminiscent of my youth.
“Those photos are smoke and mirrors, Mom.”
I expect her to drop the subject, but instead, she drops a bomb on me.
“What if they’re not?” Her green eyes stare intently at me.
I’m speechless.
Chapter 38
Beckett
I picked up my phone a hundred times to text Arianne. I changed my mind as many times. In an attempt to calm my tormented mind, I went into the office to lose myself in work and stop replaying R-rated scenes from our steamy evenings in Germany.
The day whizzed by, and it’s only when Valerie knocked on my door to tell me she was closing shop, it occurred to me it was getting late. I gave it another hour, and then I called it a day.
Focusing on something other than Miss Holy Chic put an end to my irritable and surly mood. However, by the end of the day, I was back in the same predicament—Arianne was front and center in my mind.
I headed to the Quintus Hotel for dinner and to clear my head. My plan bombed. Just being at the hotel reminded me of the last time Arianne and I were there together. I knew I was in trouble and needed a solution. Fast. Certain that going back to my old bad boy ways would be a foolproof cure, I headed to Dark Compulsion, determined to find a distraction for an hour or two. A half hour after entering the private adult club—and being accosted by half a dozen willing souls—I’m behind the wheel of my Alfa Romeo, driving back to Manhattan Beach.
Fuck. This needs to stop.
Arianne is cock blocking me.
After stripping down to my jeans, I make my way barefoot and shirtless to the bar cart. With a stiff drink in hand, I collapse on the couch, and dial for help.
“Hey, Holt,” I say when my brother accepts the video call.
“Hey,” he says.
“I thought of dropping by, but decided against it.”
He frowns. “Why? You’re always welcome at my house.”
“I know…” I hesitate. I’m not sure how to explain what’s going on to myself, let alone explain it to someone else.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“I hope I’m not calling at a bad time?”
“I’m free.”
I check my watch. “Is Naomi already sleeping?”
