by Marie York
He nodded toward my room. “Are you going to invite me in?” His dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a messy bun and looked wet. My mind betrayed me as it envisioned him in the shower, water and soap suds dripping down the hard ridges of his body.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, focusing on the things in his hands and not the pictures running around in my head.
He shrugged. “Didn’t like how things went down earlier. Thought I’d make up for it. I know how you can’t say no to orange soda and chips.”
“You’re trying to buy me?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
I placed my hand on my hip and arched an amused eyebrow.
“Okay fine. Maybe I am. Did it work?” He pushed out his luscious bottom lip, and I was a goner. I stepped aside to let him in.
He stopped before fully entering my room and smiled down at me. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.” I snatched the bottle out of his hand and took a deep breath as I closed the door. The last time Beckham Fox was in my room things went terribly wrong. But as long as I didn’t throw myself at him, it would be okay.
I turned around and found him lounged on my bed looking sexier than ever. Crap. This was going to be harder than I thought.
He grabbed my laptop and put it on his lap. “What are we watching?” He cleared my screensaver. “Grease? Really?” He curled his lip, and I snatched my computer out of his hands.
“Have you ever watched it?”
“I don’t need to. There’s singing. Enough said.”
I sat down on the bed next to him, placed the computer between us, and hit play. “Get ready to be wowed.” I leaned back against the wall, keeping distance between us.
“You’re really going to make me watch this? I brought you your favorite snacks.”
I smiled big. “Speaking of, can you pass the chips?”
“I’ll remember this,” he warned as he handed me the bag.
I held my finger over my lips. “Shh, the movie’s starting.”
He rolled his eyes and dramatically fell back, laying his head on my lap. So much for keeping the distance. He glanced up at me, and, my God, he looked adorable with his lopsided smile.
I tapped his forehead, then pointed to my laptop. “The screen’s over here.”
He mumbled and turned his head toward the movie. It took ten minutes before I found myself running my fingers through the damp strands of his hair.
“Told you,” he moaned.
“Told me what?” I asked, continuing to stroke the top of his head.
“Chicks dig the man bun.”
My hand dropped away from his head, and he reached up and wrapped his fingers around my wrist. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded.
Unable to resist his request, I continued dragging my fingers through his hair. His pocket vibrated, and he took out his phone, sending a quick text message. A pang of jealousy hit low in my gut as I wondered if he was texting another girl while he was with me.
I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to know. All I cared about was this moment. Together. It reminded me of all those nights we stayed up watching TV together and talking. I didn’t realize how much I missed it, him, us, until this very moment.
We watched the rest of the movie just as we were. When he laughed, I laughed. It was contagious, and the best sound I had ever heard. Every now and again, he would reach for his phone and send a text, but I tried not to notice.
The final credits appeared, and Beckham rolled over, smiling up at me.
“So?” I asked.
He gave a nonchalant shrug. “It was okay.”
“Okay my ass!” I poked his side, and he curled up in a ball. “You loved it. Admit it,” I demanded as I tickled his sides and he squirmed beneath me.
“All right. It was better than okay.”
I continued poking and tickling his sides. “That’s not good enough.”
He grabbed my wrists and held them above him. “Have you forgotten? I’m stronger than you.”
I growled and tried to force my hands away from his hold, but it was impossible. “You never play fair.”
“Fair is boring. No fun. And for the record, the movie was pretty good.”
A smile spread straight across my face, and I bounced a little on the mattress. “I knew it!”
He released his grip on me and the loss was instant. I already missed his touch as he scooched up against the wall. “So, how are your classes going?”
I shrugged. “It’s only been a few days, but so far so good. You were right though. Most of them are total snooze-fests.”
“I wish I could say they get better, but those classes are the worst. Though once you get through those, it’s downhill from there.”
“Something to look forward to.”
We both reached for the chips, and our hands grazed. It was the slightest of touches, but the contact was unexpected. Hot bursts of pleasure ignited my skin.
Our eyes collided in one charged moment. I noticed then how his shirt brought out the green in his irises. Suddenly nervous, I cleared my throat.
He pulled his hand back and got up from the bed. “I’ll be right back. Too much orange soda.”
He disappeared out the door, and every second of the past two minutes replayed in my mind. I leaned back into my pillows and noticed his phone sitting on the mattress. I told myself to not even think about it, but curiosity beat out rational thought. I scooped up the phone and unlocked it, surprised he didn’t have it password protected.
A new text flashed on the screen, and I was relieved when I saw it was only Nixon. Beckham hadn’t been texting a girl. He was texting my brother. I was about to place the phone back where it was when the words caught my eye.
Nixon: Hey bro. How’s Ken doing?
Beckham: She seems fine. Was going to drop in on her and make sure she’s not doing anything stupid.
Nixon: Like passing out drunk in a bush.
Oh my God was he ever going to let that go? And what the fuck did Beckham mean by making sure I wasn’t doing anything stupid?
Beckham: Exactly.
Nixon: Thanks for watching out for her. I know she can be a pain in your ass. And I know you have better things to be doing than babysitting my little sis.
Beckham: Tell me about it.
Nixon: Well I appreciate it.
Beckham: I know.
Pain in the ass. Babysitting. I was an idiot, and what was worse, I knew better. How foolish could I be to think Beckham wanted to apologize because he felt bad and not because of some promise he made to my brother? I was nothing more than a charity case to him.
The door creaked open, and I glanced up from Beckham’s phone. He stood there with an amused smile, but as soon as he spotted his cell in my hands, the look of disgust on my face, his smile vanished.
“Did my brother offer to pay you by the hour or are you babysitting pro bono?” I asked.
He held his hands up. “Ken, it’s not what you think.”
Anger erupted inside of me, but I forced it down enough to speak. “Really? So you don’t think I’m a pain in the ass? You don’t have anything better to be doing tonight? You don’t think I’m capable of not doing something stupid?”
“That’s not…”
I shook my head. “Save it. I don’t want to hear any of it. Just leave.”
Beckham stood there, mouth parted, but no words came out, which was fine by me. I was done listening to him and done believing anything that he said.
I threw his phone at him, and he fumbled to catch it. “I said get out. Now!”
He tossed his hands in the air and closed his eyes, accepting defeat. “I’m sorry, Ken.”
“Do me a favor and stop apologizing, because, clearly, you don’t know the meaning of sorry. Now, I’m not asking you again.” I walked over to the door and held it wide open. “Get out.”
He went to say something, but I gave him an evil glare, and he decided against it. He walked out the door and I slammed
it behind him. With an ache in my already damaged heart, I curled into bed, and like a pathetic loser, cried myself to sleep.
Chapter 5
Kennedy
It was my first Friday away from home, and the only thing I wanted to do was go out and forget about Beckham. There was one surefire way to do that. I was going to hook up with another guy. Prove to myself that the one guy from my past wasn’t the only one who could give me goosebumps from a single touch.
“Let’s go out tonight,” I said to Erica who was combing her light brown hair into a ponytail.
She turned from the mirror as she secured the hair band. “I thought you’d never ask. There’s a club, Star Room, in town. I hear it’s a good time. Hot guys, lots of dancing, and a good DJ. You have a fake I.D., right?”
“Of course.” Luckily, I got one a couple of months ago from a friend of a friend. It hadn’t let me down yet.
Erica jumped up from the floor where she was sitting and smoothed down her yellow top. “Awesome. How about we head out around ten?”
Until three months ago, ten was an hour before my curfew. Being able to go out wherever and whenever I wanted was thrilling. “Sounds perfect.”
I grabbed my bag, and gave a wave to Erica, giving myself enough time to grab a cup of coffee on my way to class.
As usual, the line for coffee was a mile long. I happily took my place at the end, and checked my phone while I waited. I had a text from Mom, checking in, and sent a quick one back, assuring her I hadn’t developed a drug habit, or wasn’t lying face down in a ditch somewhere.
I tucked my phone back in my bag, and spotted Beckham walking toward me. I’d been able to go three days avoiding him and now I had no choice but to face him.
“Good morning, Kenny.” He came to stop behind me, and got a few dirty looks from people who had been waiting just as long as me.
“Becky,” I retorted, refusing to glance in his direction.
He bumped his elbow into my arm. “Still mad at me?”
“I’m not mad.” I was many things, but mad wasn’t one of them. Disappointed. Humiliated. Upset. And I guess a little mad, but not at him, at myself for foolishly, again, thinking that Beckham Fox would actually want me.
No, screw that. I was mad at him. I was pissed that he made me believe he wanted it as much as I did. I saw the look in his eyes. The way his breathing picked up as his head leaned into mine.
“Ken, I’ve known you forever, and I know when you’re lying.” He pressed a finger to the spot between my eyebrows. “You get these adorable little wrinkles right here.”
I swatted his hand away. He lost the privilege to touch me the minute he rolled off of me. “So what if I was mad? It doesn’t matter.”
The corner of his eyes tugged with concern. “Of course, it does.”
“You rejected me.” I shrugged, and an embarrassed laugh slipped. “I’m kind of used to it. As a matter of fact, I’m over it.”
The person in front of me grabbed their coffee and left, so I moved to place my order.
“She’ll have a large coffee, one sugar and skim,” Beckham said to the guy in the polo shirt, Jimmy, the same guy who had been taking my order all week.
My teeth ground against each other. Beckham thought he knew me so damn well. Jimmy grabbed a large cup, and I held my hand up. “That’s not what I want.”
Jimmy froze in place, his dark eyebrows turning down in confusion. He knew as well as Beckham and I that was exactly what I wanted. But I wasn’t about to stand there and let Beckham for one damn second think he had me figured out.
“Stop being ridiculous. That’s what you always drink in the morning,” Beckham stated dryly.
I stood defiantly. “Maybe today I want to try something different.”
“Really?” Beckham narrowed his eyes at me and then turned back to poor Jimmy. “Get her the usual.”
“Jimmy, don’t,” I demanded, halting him in place. “I want a…” I wracked my brain for another type of coffee. I couldn’t just order an extra sugar, or different milk. I needed something more believable. “A latte,” I blurted out.
“Have you ever even had a latte?” Beckham asked with a tilt of his head, and damn him for looking so adorable.
“Yes,” I lied.
“Oh my God. I have a class to get to. Can you make up your damn mind?” some cranky guy in gym shorts and a hoodie called out across the line.
Beckham looked over to Mr. Impatient. “Sorry, dude.” He turned back to me, his beautiful hazel eyes staring me down trying to make me break.
I tossed my hair over my shoulder and lifted my nose at him.
“Fine, get her a latte, and I’ll have a large coffee with one sugar and skim,” Beckham said, looking way too pleased with himself.
“Finally,” cranky guy in the back called out, and began a slow, uninterested clap.
Jimmy hesitated a moment, probably expecting us to change our minds again, but when neither one of us argued, he got to work.
Beckham crossed his arms over his chest, causing his muscles to bulge, and stretch his shirtsleeves. I licked my lips as my head betrayed me, and started thinking of all the ways he could hold me, pick me up, and have his way with me.
I shook my head as if that would help push the thoughts away. Jimmy put my latte down, and I snatched it up, throwing a five down on the counter. “For both coffees,” I announced.
Jimmy took the five in his hand, but didn’t head to the register.
“What?” I asked.
“It’s five sixty-three.”
My eyes popped open. “For two coffees?”
Beckham pointed to the cup in my hand. That stupid smile that made him completely irresistible spread wide across his face. “That’s not coffee. It’s a latte.”
I grumbled under my breath, and was about to dig for another single when Beckham handed Jimmy a ten. “Keep the change,” Beckham said, but his eyes said more.
Beckham wasn’t the only one who paid attention. I knew his ticks, his lies, and when he was being genuine, or not. His eyes were telling Jimmy to keep the change for me being a spoiled little brat.
It was way too early to be irritated. I stormed off, and took a sip of my coffee, needing my caffeine fix. As soon as the bitter liquid hit my tongue, my nose scrunched, and it took all I had to swallow.
Beckham walked up behind me with an amused laugh. “How’s the latte?” he asked, knowing damn well it was the worst thing I ever tasted.
I guess I would have to get through my classes without any help today. “It’s fine,” I mumbled.
He took a sip from his cup. “Mine’s delicious.”
I had a feeling it was the first of many reminders, so I held my breath, and took another sip from my own cup. “Mmm. Hits the spot,” I stated.
“So, first Friday night away from home. What’s the plan?” Beckham asked, as we naturally fell into step and headed toward my class.
“I’m going out with my roommate to the Star Room.” I wanted him to know that I would not spend my nights sitting in my dorm watching Netflix and hoping he might stop by. I was going out to have fun without him.
He stopped walking, and rested a hand on my arm, shooting heat right to my core, and halting me in place. “You are not going there.”
I was finally away from home. Away from my strict parents and pain in the ass brother, the last thing I needed was someone telling me what I could and couldn’t do.
“Yes, I am.”
Beckham smirked. “You have to be twenty-one to get in.”
“I know. I have a fake I.D.”
His eyes narrowed. “Where the hell did you get a fake I.D. from?”
“None of your business.” I tossed my hair back and continued walking.
“Whatever. You’re not going.”
“Sorry, but you can’t tell me what I can and cannot do. I don’t care if my brother’s paying you to babysit me.”
“He’s not paying me,” Beckham growled.
“Wh
atever. I’m going. End of story.”
“That place is a goddamn meat market.”
“What the hell is a meat market?” I asked, and the way he rolled his eyes made me feel like a naïve little kid.
“Guys go there with the sole purpose of finding a girl to hook up with,” Beckham explained.
I wondered how many times he frequented the place last semester. He seemed to know all about it after all.
I held my head high and caught his eye. “Good. That’s exactly what I’m looking for.”
“You are not hooking up with some random guy.”
I stood tall, not letting the half a foot he had on me intimidate me. “Want to make a bet?”
“Over my dead fucking body,” Beckham barked.
I jutted my chin out, and gave him a dismissive glance, then strutted around him. He grabbed my arm, his warm touch sparking a fire inside of me I swore I extinguished. It spread from my forearm to my chest, slowly making its way through the rest of my body.
My eyes moved to where his hand was so hot against my skin then travelled up to meet his gaze. It was intense and serious. The strong resolve I refused to break began to chip away.
“Please,” Beckham breathed. The serious intensity grew desperate, as he pleaded with me through those beautiful hazel eyes.
“I guess we’ll have to see.” I took his coffee out of his hand and replaced it with my disgusting latte. “I have to get to class. See you around.” I headed to class feeling like I finally had the upper hand.
***
Erica threw all her best clothes on my bed, and I grabbed my own favorite pieces, tossing them into the pile. She dug through, holding up a turquoise skirt with a black waistband. “This would look cute with a black tank. Do you mind if I borrow it?” she asked, as she admired it up against her in the mirror.
“As long as I can borrow this,” I swiped up a slinky black dress with the sides cut out.
“Of course. My clothes are your clothes,” she said, and I smiled.
I had been scared to move into a dorm with a roommate I had never met, but Erica was awesome. It was still our first week, and we were already sharing clothes like sisters.