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To my absolute horror, I find Beckett standing two feet away, laughing.
My mouth opens, but my heart is racing and I can’t think of anything clever to say.
He makes an apologetic look while pulling out the chair opposite me. “Sorry for scaring you.”
I open my mouth again, but… words… what are words?
The lopsided smile he gives me makes it feel like there’s a pile of grasshoppers in my stomach. Then he points to himself and says, “I’m Beckett.”
Before I can stop it, a small snort comes out and I say, “I know who you are.”
My eyes widen. Oh my god, why did I say it like that!?
He shrugs, “It looked like maybe you were drawing a blank.”
Trying for nonchalant, I shrug back. Then immediately regret the decision. I don’t want to look like I’m copying him.
Beckett takes a sip of his wine, his eyes staying on me, and I want to scream. The whole point of me being here tonight was to impress him. But instead, he finds me sitting here like a loser, startling at everything he says.
Get this back on track, Lou!
“So,” I start, “How’s Chicago?”
His eyebrows raise in surprise, like maybe I wouldn’t know what town he went to for school and that he stayed after. But our brothers are friends, so it’s not completely unlikely that I’d have heard through them. He doesn’t need to know that I’ve spent the last several years trying to learn everything I could about him.
“It’s good. Busy. How’s high school?”
He knows that I’m in high school now!
Heat.So much heat fills my chest.
“It’s fine,” I work to keep my voice level. “Same old, ya know.”
He hums, “Do you like school?”
His question catches me off guard. Do I tell him that I love school? Do I try to play coy?
Deciding that I want him to fall in love with the real me, I give him an honest answer. “I do. I’m not like amazing at it, but I want to be a teacher one day.”
He makes a thoughtful face and a sound of approval. “I think you’d be good at that.”
He thinks I’d be good at teaching!!!
He nods, as if reconfirming what he just said, “Good for you, knowing what you want to do when you grow up.” When I grow up. Ouch. “Most people don’t figure that out until they’re halfway through college studying under the wrong major. Some never figure it out.”
Brushing off the grow up comment, I focus on what he just said.
“Did you?” I ask. “Figure it out, I mean.”
“I hope so.” He smiles.
His smile is so comforting, I feel myself relaxing into the conversation. It’s the sort of smile you give a friend. Or someone you like.
“Beck Baby,” my body jumps at the sudden grating voice, “there you are!”
If I were a dog, my ears would’ve laid flat at the sound of someone calling Beckett something so stupid.
I swear I see something like annoyance flicker over his face, but before I can blink, it’s gone.
