AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It doesn’t help that the memories of me and Caleb together seem to be fading a little, as if I’m recalling a movie about two other people, one I saw long ago. I try to force myself to remember being with him—the long Saturdays we’d spend in bed when he’d visit me in San Francisco, the time I convinced him to have sex in a store dressing room—but it sparks nothing inside me that comes anywhere near those seconds with Beck last night, his mouth soft under mine, one hand fisting my hair while the other palmed my ass. I should be relieved that he stopped things when he did. Instead, I’m disappointed.
Jeremy’s name lights up my phone screen, an unwelcome intrusion into my thoughts.
“Caleb arrives in Miami Thursday, right?” he asks. “Nothing’s changed?”
“Right.” I got the text from Kayleigh a few days prior:Operation Screw Lucie still on target.I don’t appreciate the paper trail she’s leaving, but it’s not like we’re planning tomurderLucie. Yet.
“And you did your part?” he asks.
My part, really, was simply a phone call to an old coke buddy who now lives in Miami—a girl I suspected would do anything for cash. But I love how this asshole, with the job he got from daddy, thinks he has to check up on me. “OfcourseI did my part. It wasmyfucking idea, remember?”
I’d almost forgotten the plan entirely, though, until I got Kayleigh’s text, and a part of me wishes I’d never set the ball rolling. Not that I don’t want to fuck with Lucie until the end of time, because I absolutely do, but there’s a brick in my stomach when I imagine Beck learning I had a hand in it.
* * *
I waitin the evening for the sound of his bike, and when it comes, there’s thischargein my spine, as if I was half-asleep without knowing it until now.
I was watchingGrey’s Anatomy, but that stops the instant he sits beside me on the couch. He settles without a word, legs spread wide, and I’m incapable of focusing on anything but him.
The air crackles with something that wasn’t there a day ago, and I can only think of the way his hands felt on my skin, of his smell and his sounds. My breasts ache for the roughness of his palms. I’m wet just from theideaof it.
I slide my toes under his thigh, which is boulder-solid. It’s probably for the best that nothing happened last night. He’s too heavy. My bones would shatter like fine-blown glass if he landed on top of me.
But Jesus Christ, I’d like him to try.
I jump off the couch. “It’s late,” I say breathlessly. “Good night.”
I go to my room with a hand pressed to my face. I’m not sure what happened to the grown fucking woman I was a week ago, but she’s been replaced by the world’s most awkward pre-teen.
I strip to my T-shirt and curl up in bed, but sleep eludes me. I’m sweating and feverish while every fantasy I’ve ever had about Beck is playing on repeat in my head.
I need air. I need a change of scenery. What I really need is to get laid, but I’ll have to settle for the first two.
It’s pitch-black in the hallway. I creep past Beck’s room, walking blindly through the darkness. I stub my toe on the couch and wince at the creaking of the front door as it opens. Except all my efforts not to wake Beck were pointless. He’s already out here, sitting on the porch stairs—and wearing nothing but a pair of shorts.
Fuck my life.
“Oh.” I’m frozen in the frame of the door. I can’t just turn and walk away.
His eyes drag over me, top to bottom, resting an extra beat on places they should not. My nipples harden under his gaze.
“Are you going out?” he asks.
“No.” The desire to act casual makes it sound like a lie. “I just couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d sit out here instead of the couch so I didn’t wake you. Why are you out here?”
He tips his chin. “Same reason.”
He rises from the step, his eyes burning in the dim light, and my desire is a palpable thing, spreading though my bones. My lips swell at the mere thought of him and I close my eyes, wishing I could somehow tune him out.
The porch creaks beneath his heavy footfalls as he goes back into the house.
I got what I wanted, yes? I’m out here alone. But his absence and the cool breeze offer no relief. My blood bubbles and boils, chants and pleads for something I’m not providing. When I rise and follow him inside, it isn’t a conscious decision.
My body has simply staged a coup.
I cross the floor to his room, where the lights are off but his door is ajar.
And it’s never been ajar before.
