by Meghan Quinn
Beck and I walk hand in hand down Duvall Street, one of the main touristy strips in Key West, looking for a place to eat. We had the Uber driver drop us off at the opposite end of our hotel so we could scour our options.
And just like a married couple, we’re having a hard time agreeing on a place to eat. It’s funny how alike we are sometimes—both hardheaded and willing to do whatever we can to get our way. Apparently pressing my breasts against Beck’s arm has no effect on him. That’s why we’re not eating at the cute little French bakery place I wanted to try. He was against it because it was more of a breakfast restaurant than anything, and he wanted meat.
Ugh . . . men.
“It’s because I paid off all the sharks to show up on my side before we took off.”
“I knew it. I knew you bribed those swimming elasmobranch fish.”
“Hey.” He tugs on my arm. “Way to pay attention.”
I chuckle. “Honestly, normally I have a hard time paying attention to tour guide things because my mind wanders at an extreme rate, but Callie’s accent entranced me, and all I could do was listen.”
“Yeah, she was pretty to look at, wasn’t she?”
Mouth agape, I look up to Beck who’s smiling devilishly. I elbow him in the ribs. “Your wife doesn’t approve of such meandering eyes.”
“Ah, so you admit it, we’re married.”
I huff in annoyance. “In your dreams, Wilder.”
“You’re right. You’re in my dreams, Saucy.”
Eyeing him, knowing about his kind, I say, “Oh no, you don’t. I write about men like you, with your quick, sexy comebacks, your ability to whisper naughty things into a girl’s ear to make her drop to her knees. Yeah, nice try, Beck, but I can see past your ways. I know your type, and it’s not going to work.”
“What’s not going to work?” He pulls my hip against his and brings his mouth to my ear, immediately erupting chills all over my skin. “Do you mean this? This is not going to work, this pull we have? What about my ability to make your nipples hard with only the rub of my nose against your cheek?” God, he’s so right. “Don’t fool yourself, Rylee. You might want to believe you can resist me, but it’s not going to work for long, because don’t forget . . . I am your husband, after all.”
Oh Jesus.
Laughing, I push him away and start to walk.
And then it happens.
Oh my souvenir dreams! They have been answered.
Is that . . . is that a hunk?
Unaware of my halt, Beck runs into my back and sends me flying forward, but before I can fall face first into the pavement beneath me, he lifts me upright. “Damn, Rylee. I almost flattened you. What has you . . .?” He pauses and I can tell the minute he sees what I see. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s your souvenir.”
I walk toward the hunk, arms extended, stars in my eyes.
This isn’t any ordinary hunk, either. No, this guy is special. He’s a bottle opener, but he isn’t just a beautiful shirtless, glass of a man.
No, he . . . oh God, I might cry I’m so excited. He is holding a present over his crotch. He’s a freaking dick-in-a-box, shirtless hunk bottle opener, and he’s about to be all mine.
“Oh he’s magnificent. Just perfect,” I mutter to myself, turning him over and checking out every last inch of him. I hold him to my chest and squeeze tightly. “You shall be named Justin.”
“Ahem.” Beck clears his throat next to me, interrupting my little love fest. “Am I going to have to have divorce papers cued up here?”
“Maybe, I mean, look at him.” I hold him up carefully. “He’s perfect. God, everything I want in a hunk. The muscles, the suggestive naughtiness, and he moonlights as a bottle opener. Pretty and useful, doesn’t get better than that.”
“And you named him Justin, because . . .”
“After Justin Timberlake, of course. You know, the whole dick-in-a-box thing.”
“Ah, yes. So I’m going to take a wild guess and say you have a bunch of these lying around your house.”
“I wish.” I shake my head. “No, I only have a little shelf. They are hard to find, so I haven’t been able to purchase many, but the ones I have, oh God, I love them so much.”
“Yeah . . . okay.” He scratches his jaw. “Do they all have names?”
I cringe, starting to realize how insane I sound. “If I say yes, will you judge me?”
“I think it’s fair to say that I’m allowed to judge you at this point. You hugged a shirtless male figurine in the middle of the sidewalk, and there is no getting around that without someone passing judgment.”
Laughing, I nod. “I’ll give you that.”
“Okay, let’s get Justin so we can continue to bicker about where to eat, because I’m starving.”
Beck pulls his wallet from his back pocket, but I stop him. “You don’t have to buy this, I got it.”
“No, allow me.” He squeezes his arm. “The least I can do is purchase Justin for you so whenever you look at him, you’re reminded of me, and hopefully . . . hopefully, I’ll rival him a little in your head.”
Hell, Justin might be my new hunk, but Beck has zero competition as my new man. It’s a shame I only get to keep one of them.
Beck: Are you awake? You better say yes because I don’t hear you snoring unlike the last two nights.
I read his text message and scoff. I don’t snore . . . at least I hope I don’t. God, I’d be mortified if I did, let alone so loudly that Beck can hear me through the wall.
Rylee: I don’t snore.
Beck: Ah, I knew that would get you to respond. No, you don’t snore, but I bet you’re a moaner.
I smile at my phone and turn to my side, getting in a comfortable texting position. Funny thing is, at this point, I can’t remember if I’m a moaner or not. It’s been a while since I’ve been given the chance to moan.
Rylee: Too bad you’ll never find out.
Beck: Keep telling yourself that, Saucy. Are you topless again tonight?
Rylee: Nope, bottomless.
Beck: Are you ever fully clothed?
Rylee: I like to keep things interesting, switch it up. I like feeling the sheets on different parts of my body.
And just like that, my body heats up as my legs begin to rub together. I barely said anything, but the thought of the cool sheets rubbing against my exposed skin has my body prickling with awareness.
Beck: That’s fucking sexy. Want to know a fun fact about me?
Rylee: Sure. Lay it on me.
Beck: I don’t wear underwear.
Rylee: Like, none?
Beck: None. Haven’t owned a pair in a really long time.
Rylee: Really? That’s . . . hot. So does that mean you sleep naked?
Beck: Why don’t you come over and find out for yourself.
Oh hell, I should have known that response was coming, and still, my face flushes. Beck seems like a guy who sleeps naked. He also seems like someone who knows their way around a women’s body, which can be lethal.
Rylee: I think I’ll leave the answer up to my imagination.
Beck: Scared of what this possibly could feel like between us?
Rylee: Terrified.
And that’s the truth. It’s one thing hanging out, flirting, acting like we’re on our honeymoon, but it’s a whole new level taking this faux relationship, this faux-ship to the physical side. Yeah, there have been little touches here and there, and maybe he’s seen my breasts far too many times for my liking, but we haven’t crossed the line I’m afraid to cross, because I know the minute I do, there will be no ridding this man from my memory.
Right now, he’s fun, a mere encounter that maybe I won’t remember when I’m older. But I know the moment Beck gets his hands on me, the moment he’s naked, thrusting inside me, I’ll be a goner. It will be forever branded in my memory, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that . . . or want it.
So I’ll continue to share a wall with this man, rather than
a bed.
It’s the smart thing to do.
The responsible thing to do.
The surest way to cock-block myself.
And Lord knows I need all the cock-blocking in the world.
My phone beeps, and from the preview I can tell Beck sent a picture.
Oh God, please don’t let it be a naked shot; please don’t be a naked shot.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re crazy, woman! Beck Wilder, naked, show me the dick pic, right? Well, internally my horny self is screaming to have the chance to run my cheek along a dick pic of Beck Wilder, but the responsible part—the part we just discussed—knows a dick pic will lead to all the above we’re trying to avoid. You know, the unremovable imprint of this man in my mind. Let’s not forget that.
With one eye open, I cautiously open the message to find a picture of Beck lying on his bed, one hand behind his head, showing off his gloriously naked and toned chest. But it’s not the sinew of his pecs that’s making me melt, or the flex of his bicep that doesn’t go unnoticed. No, it’s the devastatingly handsome smile he’s sporting. Straight white teeth, tiny, almost unnoticeable dimples, and a small crinkle in the corner of his eyes.
Damn him.
I read his text that came along with the picture.
Beck: Your turn.
My turn? What exactly is he looking for here? Does he want a topless picture too? Because there is a huge difference between a topless picture of a man versus a woman. And, I’m not the kind that texts naked pictures to strangers, well stranger-husbands.
Nixing the naked idea, I go for goofy, because there is no need to drive up the sexual tension between us any further, especially since my pelvis has a mind of its own and is casually gyrating beneath the sheets.
I’m about to take a picture when another text arrives from Beck.
Beck: I’m waiting . . .
Insufferable man!
Now he really isn’t going to get the photo he was hoping for. Instead, I take a chunk of my dark black hair, place it under my nose like a mustache, and snap a picture. Nothing like a little hairy Mary to get those engines revving.
I press send and wait.
I’m not going to acknowledge how giddy I am to hear his response, or how I’m kind of hoping I can hear him laugh through the walls, or how my hips are still gyrating as I stare at the picture he sent me. After what seems like forever, he texts me back.
Beck: I see what you’re trying to do here, but just a warning to you, Saucy, no matter what you do, I will always find you sexy, even with a semi-believable mustache.
My heart starts thumping, my skin tingles, and for once in my life, I actually feel like a character in one of my books.
I don’t know if I should be excited, or completely terrified.
And like a reader, I’m keen to see what happens next.
Beck: Are you awake?
Rylee: Can you hear my TV?
Beck: Just some muffling. What are you watching?
Rylee: Key West morning news.
Beck: Anything interesting happen?
Rylee: Not really. Only talks of the rooster population. What are you doing?
Beck: Wishing you were over here, snuggling with me. How can I convince you to get over here?
Rylee: I’m too warm in a blanket cocoon.
Beck: What if . . . I pick you up in your blanket cocoon and bring you over here?
Rylee: At that point, you should come snuggle over here.
Within a few seconds, I hear Beck’s door open and close and then there’s a light knock on my door followed by Beck saying, “It’s me, Rylee.”
Smiling, I shake my head and quickly hop out of bed to open my door. I don’t wait for Beck to enter, but simply hop back in bed and pull the blankets over me. I blast my air conditioner at night because I hate a warm room and waking up to the artic chill reminds me of home.
I peek over my blankets to see Beck enter the room, shirtless and wearing a pair of gym shorts.
I don’t wear underwear. His text plays on replay in my head as my eyes focus on his crotch, the bulge so evident against the thin fabric, a very revealing outline, so revealing I can feel my entire body start to blush.
Thick and heavy.
Oh. God.
Nodding his head at my little cocooned body, he says, “Scoot over, Saucy.”
Mouth dry, body humming, I watch Beck slowly strut toward me, his torso moving with each step, abs flexing, hard arms swaying by his side, that bulge . . . shifting.
I must still be in a dreamlike state because one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met is crawling into my bed.
Wrapping his arm around me, he scoops me into his side and lays my head against his chest, his fingers stroking through my hair, massaging my scalp.
“You’re so fucking warm, like a little heat box in this freezing room.”
“I like it chilly when I sleep. I feel comforted when the tip of my nose is cold. Is that weird?”
He presses his fingertips into my scalp, slowly working them into my skin. “I think it’s cute actually.”
A little nervous but feeling courageous from the way Beck is touching me so intimately, I press the palm of my hand against his chest and hold it there for a second, feeling the beat of his heart. He doesn’t move—he doesn’t even flinch when I touch him—almost like he expected it, and it’s a weird feeling, a weird quiet moment.
So far almost all of our interactions have been lighthearted, joking, but this morning, there is nothing funny about this moment. It’s comforting, easy, natural.
Is that weird? To feel so comfortable with him so soon?
“Do you watch the news every morning?” Beck’s morning voice rumbles over my body, sultry and sexy.
Clearing my thoughts, I take the moment to snuggle in a little closer. Just this time, I’m giving myself a chance to soak this in, the comfort of another human. “No, I usually play music while I make breakfast and get ready for the day.”
“Make breakfast, huh? What is breakfast normally for you?”
I smile to myself. “Cereal. I’m really good at making it.”
He chuckles, the lift of his chest shaking beneath me. “Culinary expert in cereal. That’s my kind of girl.”
“It takes a lot of knowledge to know how much milk to put in a bowl without turning the entire meal soggy. So much practice and trial and error has gone into this formula.”
“I can believe it. What’s your favorite?”
“Depends on the day, but my go-to is Peanut Butter Captain Crunch, followed closely by Fruity Pebbles and Cocoa Krispies. It’s so hard to decide. Although, I do have at least four boxes in my cupboard currently.”
He’s silent for a second and then says, “I never would have pegged you for a sugary cereal girl.”
“Oh, I’m a whore for sugary cereal. I want them all. I have Lucky Charms, Fruit Loops, Peanut Butter Captain Crunch, and Apple Jacks at home right now. It’s been hard eating things like eggs and bacon while I’ve been here. I only want cereal.”
His fingers twist in my hair now, lightly pulling on the strands. That feels so damn good.
“Have you always been addicted to cereal?”
I shake my head. “No. My mom was amazing and made me a nutritious breakfast every morning, which meant I never got to have any kind of trash cereal. Once I went to college, I became an addict and haven’t been able to quit my addiction yet.”
“And is it always sugary cereals? What about shredded wheat? Surely you add a little health in there.”
“If it’s frosted shredded wheat, I’ll eat it, but I won’t be happy about it.”
Beck’s laugh fills the room followed by his lips pressing against the top of my head. “Fuck, I like you, Saucy.”
I bite my bottom lip, a smile pulling at the ends of my mouth.
I like you too, Beck.
Chapter Nine
BECK
Ladies, care if I join you?”
Victoria and Ryl
ee look up from their reading devices and take me in. Rylee’s perusal is much longer than Victoria’s, who buries her head back into the words in front of her and mumbles, “Do what you want. I’m reading.”
Rylee, on the other hand, folds the cover to her e-reader over and blocks the sun from her eyes when she speaks. “I don’t know, do you have snacks with you?” Ever since this morning, after crawling into her bed and talking and enjoying each other’s company, I can’t seem to get her out of my damn mind. And from the little sparkle in her eyes when she looks me up and down, I’m going to guess she’s having the same problem.
I hold up my empty hands and she tsks at me. “No, but don’t let that deter you. I can order some beachside food from one of the servers. Care for some crab cakes?”
“I love crab cakes,” Victoria says in a monotone voice. “Make sure they give us extra tartar sauce and a lemon water. I’m parched.”
“Diet Coke for me and some loaded waffle fries,” Rylee answers with a wink. Fuck, I want to take her back to her hotel room and cuddle her some more. Scratch that, I want to do more than cuddle her.
Resigned with only getting food, I snag a lounge chair, put in an order for some snacks, and sidle up next to Rylee, who’s wearing a killer white bikini with the smallest triangles covering her mouth-watering breasts. She’s slowly killing me with every outfit I see her in.
I’m a patient man, and last night when I was texting her, I wasn’t actually looking for her to come over. I knew she wouldn’t. She’s still reserved despite how I’m pushing her to live in the moment. And that’s okay. I wanted her to know that I’m still very interested in her. I would have been shocked as hell had she knocked on my door, and a part of me, a rather desperate part of me, wished she had.
But instead of a late-night visitor, I went to bed with a massive hard-on, very aware that only a thin wall existed between Rylee and me, which made things even more tortuous. And what made things worse was that Rylee understood not to ask me about Christine. She gets me. Gets that talking about the previous night with Justine spilling the beans would have made me uncomfortable.