Trouble Next Door

by Stefanie London

  “Even if Kayla doesn’t hire you, I know you’ll find more work,” he said. “And all businesses need a proper website.”

  “Thank you.” For once she didn’t have anything else to say. Emotion clogged the back of her throat. It was such a sweet gesture and, like Beckett, so practical. So thoughtful.

  To her complete horror, McKenna burst into tears. The whole day had been a shambles—crappy, rude customers at work followed by dinner with her crappy, rude family. Gage had come by the CAM-Ready Cosmetics counter with his new girlfriend to treat her to some makeup. Ugh, it was like he was showing off a prize poodle. Fucking gag.

  And the one person who really had no reason to be kind to her was Beckett. And here he was, feeding her ice cream, building her a website, and being adorably sweet. Gah! Why did he have to be attached to someone else?

  “I’m sorry, I just…” She hiccupped. “It’s been a long day. My parents think I’m a failure and my brother’s snotty girlfriend made a crack about my dress and I’m scared I’m going to be stuck working at the department store forever and everyone thinks I’m stupid. I’m not stupid.”

  Seriously, where was a muzzle when she needed it? But the words continued to flow out of her in some attempt at cathartic release.

  “I hate that they’re all trying to fit me into this box that isn’t me. Why can’t they just accept me as I am?” Her face felt as though it was burning from the inside out. Beckett must think she was crazy. “I don’t want to change.”

  When she looked up, her cheeks were damp and she was sure her makeup had smudged. Thankfully, she’d worn a waterproof mascara since crying after a family dinner wasn’t exactly the most uncommon occurrence. She wasn’t sad, more frustrated. Incensed, even.

  Maybe it’s because you think they’re right, deep down? You are stupid. You can’t pick the right men, you can’t get your career off the ground. You’re stuck and stagnant and you make bad decisions.

  Beckett’s expression was impossible to read, as usual. He closed his laptop and stashed it away, and then he turned to her with cool blue eyes focused intently on her face.

  God, he must think that she was some hysterical crybaby.

  McKenna went to leave but he leaned forward, his large, capable hands taking the bowl of ice cream from her and placing it on the coffee table next to his.

  What she wouldn’t give to have those hands on her—caressing her, learning her. Reassuring her.

  “Some people aren’t meant to fit into a box,” he said.

  The tears threatened again, but she fought them back. There was still time to get out of here with the last of her dignity intact. It might only be a shred, but it was hers and she needed it. She held his gaze for a moment before attempting to stand. But Beckett’s hand reached for hers and she stilled. Frozen.

  “If they can’t see what a kind and creative person you are, then fuck ’em.”

  McKenna blinked. She hadn’t ever heard Beckett swear before, and it took her by surprise. But now that she looked closer, his expression wasn’t so hard to read after all. His eyes were like blue fire—shimmering and flickering with intensity. His mouth pressed into a hard line, his jaw ticking with effort. And his fingers wrapped around her wrist, burning through the thin fabric of her top.

  He was angry. For her.

  No one had ever been angry on her behalf before.

  Her breath stuck in her throat. “Fuck ’em?”

  “Fuck ’em.”

  He was closer now. When had that happened? While she was crying into her ice cream? The couch suddenly seemed small, like it was pushing them together.

  “Maybe they’re right,” she said, a lump clogging her throat. “Maybe I am wasting my potential.”

  They hadn’t said that exactly, but the message had been clear. Though whether it was because they thought her capable of more or because they simply couldn’t conceive that someone who shared their DNA wasn’t a genius, McKenna wasn’t sure.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked.

  I want to kiss you.

  No. Wrong answer.

  But the thought hovered and tendrils of desire wound through her. Her breath hissed out between her lips like a silent yes. She wanted him. Badly.

  “I…” She shook her head, trying to see through the fog. But it didn’t work. “I…”

  She shifted on the couch, digging her knees into the soft, comfortable cushions so that she was closer to him. Her head and heart couldn’t align, the mixed signals clashing until it was all white noise.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, reaching her hand out to touch his face. His skin was soft, cleanly shaven. And damn he smelled incredible—like cologne and fresh cotton. “Or maybe I do.”

  “McKenna.” His breath was warm against her palm, and she brushed her fingertip over the corner of his mouth.

  He was still holding her other hand captive, like her touch had frozen him solid. But he wasn’t retreating, wasn’t backing away. Maybe he wanted it, too…?

  The force with which his lips crashed down on hers took her by surprise, but she yielded. Quickly. Completely. He threaded one hand into the hair at the back of her head, cupping her skull. It was incredibly intimate. Possessive. He pushed his tongue between her lips and she almost groaned when it made contact with her own.

  He was soft and hard. Demanding and coaxing. Perfect.

  “God, Beckett.” She leaned into him, struggling to balance as the couch shifted.

  He pulled her into his lap, her knees digging into the cushions on either side of his couch. Something pressed against her hip—a cushion. He dug it out and tossed it onto the floor. There was nothing now but the two of them, lined up front to front. The contact sent her heartbeat skyrocketing and she flattened her palms on his chest, moving them up and down so she could feel every ridge of muscle. When she caught the hem of his jumper, sliding her palm over bare skin, he rocked against her.

  Holy smokes the man could kiss. She’d expected it to be good—dreamed that it would be hot. But this was something else entirely. Something so right, a feeling of completeness wound through her. Settling her.

  Unsettling her.

  Smooth skin rubbed against her neck as he nuzzled her. “You smell like cake.”

  His arm snaked around her waist, drawing her closer still, as she tipped her face to him. The coaxing of his lips had her humming with pleasure, but that soft sound turned to a gasp when he rolled his hips against that sweet spot between her legs. He was hard as a rock and the knowledge that she had him so turned on shot through her like a bullet.

  Instinctively, she reached down and brushed her fingers along the length of him. The hard ridge of his cock strained against his jeans. Holy freaking crap. Mr. Whopper had nothing on Beckett Walsh.

  Her fingertip toyed with the tab of his silver zipper, hovering as her head and heart duked it out. Well, her head and her lady-parts, more accurately. Turns out self-imposed celibacy was a lot harder than McKenna had anticipated. No pun intended.

  The sound of “Sexy and I Know It” blasted into the air and McKenna jumped, startled. Only one person had that song assigned as their ringtone: Emery.

  What the hell are you doing? Kissing a guy who’s supposed to be engaged is not part of the plan. Doesn’t matter if he’s the best kisser of all time who also happens to be hung like a freaking donkey…

  “Oh God,” she muttered, shaking her head. “We should not be doing this.”

  She pushed back, scrambling to get off Beckett, who was looking just as shell-shocked as she felt. He didn’t say a thing. That stoic, impersonal expression was back. His mask.

  “I’m sorry, I…” She pushed up off the couch and bumped into the coffee table, wincing as the wood smacked her shin. “I should go.”

  For a moment it looked as though he might try to stop her. He rose from the couch, his sandy hair a mess from where her fingers had threaded and tugged and gripped it. But those blue eyes were no longer fire, they were hard and smooth
and impenetrable as stone. His lips parted, but he snapped them shut, making a noise of acknowledgment instead. Great, so they were back to the grunting thing again.

  What a bloody disaster. Unsure what to say, she turned on her heel and headed for the front door.

  The only way you’re going to get over this guy is to make sure his ex comes back. Starting tomorrow, Operation Self-Love is on hold. Operation Get Beckett Engaged Again is priority number one.

  Chapter Eleven

  Beckett rubbed his palms up and down his face, hoping that maybe if he did it enough times he might find the energy to tackle his problems. He wasn’t the kind of guy to dwell on the negative—no matter what his sister claimed. He was a realist. A fact guy. A logical thinker with a problem-solving attitude.

  But today he couldn’t seem to get his head in the game. After staring blankly at the code he’d written first thing that morning and wondering why the hell his application had stalled, he finally saw the error. He’d forgotten to close a loop. Rookie mistake. It was coding 101, and something he would usually have caught with ease.

  But not today. It felt as though his brain had taken a leave of absence.

  At least he knew why…not that it made him feel any better. But the second McKenna had sent over an email with the subject line Operation Get Beckett Engaged Again, his brain had turned to mush.

  He swiped his hand across his desk, disturbing a bunch of papers with his handwritten notes and sending a pen flying across the room. Bloody hell. Why was he feeling like he wanted to put a fist through a wall? That wasn’t like him, at all.

  “Kissing the girl next door isn’t like you, either,” he muttered.

  But he had. He’d kissed McKenna like he’d been doing it his whole life, and been quite sure he’d died and gone to heaven. She’d tasted like vanilla and sugar, and smelled even sweeter. And her body…. Every curve and dip had been like silk under his palms.

  Which was not how he was supposed to feel.

  But that story about her family had gotten to him. He could practically feel their judgment, and seeing the tears shimmer in her eyes…fuck. Not cool. Something primal had roared up within him, a desire to protect. To defend. It was nothing like he’d ever experienced before.

  But that wasn’t supposed to happen. He wanted Sherri, not McKenna.

  So why, then, did it feel like he’d been crushed by an avalanche when her email came through? There was no denying the bitter taste in the back of his throat. Nor the instinctive curl in his fists.

 

 

  Hi Beckett,

  I was thinking about how to help you reconnect with your ex. I don’t want to slack on my end of our bargain, so I’ve put together a four-point plan.

  Make contact – This is a text or email to begin with, to test the waters. I can help you write this.

  Face-to-face meeting – plan a meeting that shows how well you know her (I’m thinking a restaurant that she loves or some other special spot.)

  Give her a chance to have her say – it’s natural to want to defend yourself, but this is her time to air her concerns.

  Make a commitment – this needs to be concrete. Maybe it means ensuring you make time to have dinner with her on a certain night every week and you don’t break that for anything. Give her the same thing you give your family.

  Let’s catch up and I can help you with step one.

  McKenna.

  A four-point plan on how to make contact like a normal human being? He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or yell. Sure, he’d asked her for help. But telling him to email and give Sherri space to talk…did McKenna think he was a fucking Neanderthal?

  Add that to the pile of bullshit he was already dealing with—complete radio silence from Sherri’s father, the fact that Greg was back on the scene, and Kayla’s tearful phone call earlier that morning, which proved he was right about her feeling unloved by her father—and he wanted nothing more than to bar his front door and commit to a life of solitude. The buzzing in his head was an incessant drone, preventing him from being able to think about anything for more than a minute before his brain bounced back to that kiss.

  That all-consuming, so-bloody-wrong-it-was-right kiss.

  Shaking his head to dislodge the vision of McKenna straddling him, her bright blue eyes sucking him in, he reached for his phone. The text area under Sherri’s name was a single unanswered blue bubble from over a week ago.

  Beckett: I know you’re pissed, but we can work this out.

  He needed to get his head back in the game. A detour with McKenna wasn’t part of his plan and the kiss could be explained away. McKenna had been hurting and he’d wanted to comfort her. Sure, he should have stuck to ice cream and consoling words. It had gotten a bit out of control. But it didn’t mean anything.

  He wanted Sherri back in his life. He wanted everything to go back to how it had been a month ago. He vowed to himself that he would make it up to Sherri. McKenna was right, a dinner a week that he didn’t break for anything was what he should have already been doing.

  A jittering energy rippled through him and he pushed up so abruptly from his desk chair that he almost tipped it over. For so long, his life had been the stable, constant thing he needed—steady, interesting work, steady relationship, steady family. Now it was all going to hell and he wanted to scream until his lungs burned.

  He glanced at clock above his desk. Five p.m. He hadn’t eaten all day because he’d basically glued himself to his desk. Not that it made a lick of difference. The app had stalled…just like everything else.

  To make matters worse, he’d been dodging calls from a prominent tech reporter who wanted to interview him about the new project. It was an opportunity he would have leaped on a few months ago, but now it felt like salt in the wound. If Beckett didn’t fix things with Lionus, then he was doomed—by the time he found a new investor someone else might’ve beat him to the punch. In this industry, if you couldn’t move quickly why even bother?

  All his issues felt like they were layered on top of him, each negative thought increasing the pressure on his shoulders. The only joy he’d had since this whole thing blew up was when he was with McKenna.

  “You should be with someone who excites you.”

  God, since when did he start taking relationship advice from his mother? After Beckett’s father died, Minnie went on a rebound and never bounced back. She let a man walk in and out of her life, using her when he felt like it, and discarding her the rest of the time.

  McKenna excites you.

  It wasn’t only her incredible curves and flirty smile that came to mind. It was her laugh, the crinkle that formed in her button nose whenever she was trying to figure him out. It was her uniqueness, her spark.

  He swallowed. No, it was simple, red-blooded animal attraction and that was all. McKenna was beautiful, playful, sexy. Who wouldn’t be attracted her? But physical chemistry wouldn’t sustain a relationship. He needed stability. He needed someone who wanted the same things in life, someone with whom he shared more than a sizzling connection.

  Sure, he was attracted to McKenna. But he wanted to be with Sherri. And that’s what he had to focus on.

  He glanced back at his computer, knowing that he should keep working. Keep pushing. But it was obvious he needed to clear the air with McKenna, otherwise he wasn’t going to get anything done.

  …

  All day McKenna had oscillated between being angry at herself for kissing Beckett and wanting to storm down the hallway and pound on his door until she could see him again. Every word of the email she’d written to him had been like another needle in her skin. The four-point plan was pathetic, but she had to do something. Anything.

  She wanted to push him away. Or rather, she wanted to protect herself. Because the more she got to know Beckett, the more she was convinced that his ex was an idiot to let him go. That beneath a stoic and sometimes gruff exterior was a kind, smart, pas
sionate man. The kind of man she wanted…but who never seemed to want her.

  “Hey.” Isla reached out and touched her arm. “You’re really out of it tonight.”

  Emery made a noise of agreement. “You’re like the walking dead, right now.”

  McKenna sighed. “Tell me about it.”

  She looked down at the table where they’d spread out a bunch of makeup. Every six months the CAM-Ready Cosmetics staff got their “gratis,” which was basically a ton of free makeup. But McKenna’s drawers were overflowing and her freelance kit was full to the brim, so she let Emery and Isla come over and pick through her collection.

  “Want to talk about it?” Isla cocked her head, her fair brows crinkled.

  “I don’t think it would help, to be honest.” She sighed and reached for a lipstick in a funky silver tube, half-heartedly swiping it on the back of her hand. “I need to make peace with the fact that I’ll never be able to make good decisions for myself.”

  Isla reached past her and grabbed a pale-pink blush in a heart-shaped container. “Career or love?”

  “Career, love, family.” She sighed. “All of the above. Not that you would understand, Little Miss Perfect.”

  McKenna had meant it as a joke, an attempt to lighten the mood, but her friend frowned. “You really think that?”

  “Umm, who doesn’t think that?” Emery scoffed.

  “What did you call me, Em?” Isla tapped a fingertip to her chin. “A deranged Stepford wife in the making?”

  “I kid because I love.” Emery shrugged.

  “Oh, and she’s one hundred percent jealous,” McKenna said, shooting her friend a knowing look as she pulled the top off another lipstick. “I am, too. You’re getting married to a guy who adores you. Your job is awesome. And the worst thing is, we can’t even hate you because you’re just a kind, generous person. You make me sick.”