Beckett appears just as upset as I am, his brows furrowed, his breathing uneven. He opens his mouth to say something, but it never comes. I blink up at him, sniffing back my tears, finally realizing what I’ve said. I can’t take it back. My stomach knots, and my clammy hands shake at the back of his neck. I let them fall to the pillow in a defeated whack.
“It makes everything harder, yeah?”
I nod, the fear in my chest slowly loosening so I can drag in another steadying breath.
Beckett bends down and sips at my tears, kissing them away. “You make me…” He kisses my lips, his tongue stroking lazily against mine until I feel overwhelmed again, this time in a good way. “Sometimes there’s good in what scares us.”
“You don’t scare me,” I say. He shoves up onto his elbows, his warm body flush with mine, our eyes locked. “You don’t.”
“Okay.” He says this without a smirk or disbelief, even though I know he thinks otherwise. It’s in the way his fingers tenderly trace my collarbone like he might break me.
He could. It would be so easy now that I’ve let him in. Now that I’ve told him something I’ve only ever told one other person.
I clamp my eyes shut and press my hips against his, feeling his need hard against my middle. I try to push us forward again, to give in to what we both want so I know what to feel. But he’s frustrating and pins my hands over my head, his lips traveling over me slow and careful, like I’m a porcelain doll. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be truly wanted, to be appreciated.
“Well, you don’t scare me.” He ducks his head down and kisses the hollow of my throat, then trails his mouth lower until his lips circle my nipple. My toes curl in the sheets.
“Why not?” It comes out as a sort of sigh, a throaty question that reveals my earlier lie.
He does scare me. He scares me until I’m frozen and can’t move. I think I’ve been a little stuck ever since I met him.
My fingers knead into his back, and I roll against him again, beyond frustrated.
Beckett stops his sweet torture and slides back up my body to gaze down at me. He brushes back my hair, a smile building on his lips. “I don’t scare easily, remember?” He doesn’t wait for my response. “I’m not going anywhere yet, but…” He closes his eyes and swallows. I place my hand over his chest, his heart beating wildly against my palm. “I don’t want to like you, either.” Our eyes meet, and the room goes quiet. “But I do,” he whispers. “And it’s okay for you to like me, too.”
I shake my head, stupid tears pricking at my eyes. I’m still stuck on his confession when I push up onto on my elbows and kiss him. It’s desperate and needy, but for once he doesn’t slow us down and I feel myself fall open to him for that. For knowing what I need and when.
But I do.
I hear it over and over in my head as things heat up between us. My tears have dried, and my heart is racing, my stomach somersaulting as if this is going to be the first time sleeping with someone instead of when it actually was—thirteen years old at my parent’s boathouse in the Hamptons.
He’s sitting on his knees between my legs. I’m about to make a joke, but his hand runs over my lace panties, petting me. I forget how to breathe and buck up under his warm fingers.
“I think you like that, too.” He bows his head so his forehead rests against my stomach. It feels like he’s praying, his hands tracing the curves of my sides until they hook in my panties and he draws them down, his warm breath caressing my skin from my hipbones to my toes. I shiver, waiting.
He tugs them off, my hips swaying from side to side as he does. His eyes are soft, filled with hunger when he looks down at me. It’s as though there’s a hummingbird trapped in my ribcage, tapping and pecking, fluttering to get out. I get so nervous I close my eyes because I’m afraid for what comes next. Not just here in this room, but outside in real life. I’m terrified about what will happen when we’re back in Paris because what we have in London is too good to last. Eventually, I’ll wreck it.
“You’re so beautiful, Everly.” His words are a lulling command. I open my eyes to stare back at him. A smile finds its way to my lips, and I reach my hand out for him. I want him back with me, not so far away. Not now.
“I do like you,” he says again, crawling up the bed and settling between my legs.
I try to say it back, but the words fall away when his fingers part me. His lips are warm as he kisses and licks me, his fingers slipping inside until I grow hot and frustrated from the sensations. My palms flatten onto the mattress, and I press my hips against his mouth, my head tossed back. For once, I don’t worry about anything, my needy sighs filling the moment between us.
Everything speeds up until it breaks and I shatter. I’m not sure how long I lie there, staring up at bunk above us, trying to push away the black dots dancing in front of my eyes.
I don’t wait much longer to sit up and grab Beckett by the waist of his jeans. We’re kissing again, wildly, and I think we might be careening into a bad mistake, but I still undo the button and yank down his zipper. I cup his length in my hand and push him so he sinks back onto the mattress. I shake off his jeans and boxers until we’re both naked, staring at each other, the same question in our eyes.
It would be so easy to push everything aside and forget the very inconvenient truth that I do like Beckett. But not yet. I can’t.
I lick the tip of him and pull him into my mouth. He groans, and I smile, knowing that I’m making him happy. I can’t always be what he needs, but I’m here now and I can do this for him. My hand glides up and down his length, pumping faster as my tongue swirls around him.
“God, I’m close, pet,” he groans, his head knocking against the wall. His hands try to push me away, but I stay, even as he tenses and his warmth spreads through my mouth. I swallow and sit up, not sure where to look. I’ve done a lot of things, but I’ve never done that before with a guy. My cheeks warm.
I catch myself eyeing the door. It’s tempting to run. His hand tenderly brushes over my hair, then tips up my chin, and I flinch, embarrassed. I scramble away, tripping over his outstretched legs and spilling onto the floor. I push up to my feet and stumble into the bathroom, ignoring whatever he’s saying to me. I close the door and sink to the tile floor, hugging my knees to my chest.
My ass is cold, but that’s what I get for running off naked. Beckett’s quiet on the other side. I’ve ruined everything. That small moment between us was perfect, and then I had to ruin it because Beckett’s right—I’m scared.
I’m not sure I know how to care about someone the right way. I’m scared to mess it up. I’m scared to hurt him. I’m more scared that he’ll hurt me. I’m terrified of the possibilities before us, for what we have and what we could lose.
I think of last spring when I had everything and suddenly nothing. Of how I thought I had finally found someone to love me—except he’d never cared about me at all. Of the betrayal, the loss, the darkness that followed. Of a hundred million tiny mistakes that have collected over the years to make the wreck of my life.
I study the jagged scar on my hip, stabbing my finger into the pale lavender skin. I’ve done a lot of stupid shit, but running from Beckett might just be the stupidest.
I push up to my feet and take a deep breath, my hand shaking as it grabs the handle. I close my eyes and open the door. I wait for his question, but he doesn’t say anything. Then his warmth slowly wraps around my body as he pulls me against him for a hug.
I keep my eyes shut, dreading the passing minutes, even as his hands brush over my skin, trying to keep me there with him. He’s pushing me backward into the small bathroom. My feet are resting on top of his as he lumbers us forward and then reaches into the shower and turns on the water.
“I want to be the girl I only am with you. All the time. I want to stop dreaming her up.” I open my eyes and search his face, nervous about his reaction. “I want to take that chance with you.”
“Okay.” And if there’s anything
weird between us, it’s erased with the soft kiss he presses to my forehead. “Let’s get cleaned up and go to bed, pet.”
He walks us into the shower, the warm water and warmer kisses slowly filling me up with hope that I haven’t ruined everything yet.
Beckett
“The world would be so much kinder if everyone just stayed in bed. No one would feel angry or alone.”
I lean back against the wall, my arms tucked behind my head, and grin at Everly. “I think you’ve discovered the trick to world peace, pet.”
“That’s such a silly name.”
She’s stretched out beneath the twisted sheets, long and lean like a cat relishing the morning sun. Her cheeks are rosy, and for once, her eyes are clear. I think I can see days ahead by staring into them.
“Why do you call me that?”
I stroke my fingers over her hair, tracing the profile of her face. “Call you what?” I tease.
She rolls her eyes, flips over, and crawls out of bed. Her legs look like they go on forever, even with my T-shirt swallowing her up. She twirls around the small room, picking up her phone and then putting it down on the table. She turns on the room’s questionable coffeemaker and hums to herself like she’s forgotten I’m here.
She’s beautiful in the bright light of late morning. It hits her curves and angles, and I swear she glows or maybe that’s the secret smile she’s wearing. For a moment, I think we should stay here in this room, in London, forever. It’s as close to heaven as I’ve ever come, and I should know. I’ve been nearly dead.
Everly dumps the pastries I bought yesterday onto a plate and brings them over. “You call me pet.” She waits for me to decide on something to eat, but I’m too distracted. I’m not in the mood for pastry when she’s looking fucking delicious.
“Do I?”
She nods, that smile of hers growing until it breaks into a silly grin. “Did you hit your head this morning?” She sets the plate on the nightstand and rests her hands on her hips, my T-shirt riding up her thighs.
I unfold my arms and rub my face, sucking in air, trying to shake myself free from whatever’s happening. I’ve never felt this before with any girl I’ve been with. So completely, wholly hers. I don’t think she has the slightest idea that she brings me to my knees.
I drop my hands from my face, trying to think of a reason why I call her that stupid name. Probably because I didn’t know her real name when I met her and it just slipped out. I could be more original. I could think of something better. But I look at her and I don’t know if there’s anything that would fit Everly. She’s not the type of girl you can call babe or sweetheart and have it make sense. She’s more than that, more than pet, but for now she’s my pet so I guess it stays.
I hook my arm around her waist and drag her back into bed next to me. I cup the back of her head and draw her down to my mouth, kissing her as if I’m drinking my morning coffee, slow and careful. I know Everly will burn me, but I sip at her lips, anyway, drink her in until my pulse speeds up. I want her. I want her so fucking bad, but I know she’s not mine to have. My head and heart are whirling around in two different directions, pulling me away and pushing me closer to her, and I can’t breathe.
She sighs, leaning into my touch. We’re good at this—at losing control.
My shirt’s off when my phone rings. I hold her tighter, not willing to break our kiss for whoever’s on the line. They can wait. I don’t care. She tastes sweet on my lips, her touch a pleasant kind of torment.
The person calling doesn’t get the fucking clue and calls back. Everly pulls away, her eyes filled with a wild light, and I know where we’re heading. We’re racing toward the point of no return. I keep putting it off so I can leave, but I can’t… Stop? Leave? I don’t know about that, either.
“Someone wants to talk to you,” she says.
“I don’t care.” My voice is hoarse. I clear my throat and swallow back my nerves as if I can pretend she has no effect on me at all. We were only making out like a couple of horny teenagers, nothing more, but now I’m tongue-tied, frozen in bed. We’re a little older than teenagers, though, so I have no more excuses. I’m an adult, even if I forget most of the time. “I want you.”
I love the tentative smile that builds and breaks before she kisses me again and rakes her hands in my hair. “Me too,” she whispers, her voice sweet against my lips.
My mobile rings again. “Fuck,” I groan. I roll over to grab it, ignoring that cheeky giggle of hers. That’s when I notice the real problem. I have a meeting in twenty minutes, and there’s no way I’m getting out of this bed right now.
I text Ollie to stop calling unless he’s in danger of dying and then phone Tom. Everly rolls to the side of the bed to leave, but I slip my hand up her thigh as I wait for the line to pick up. I don’t want her to leave. She swats my hand away, leaning forward to give me a view of her ass in a tiny pair of blue lace knickers as she grabs a croissant.
Tom answers, his voice gruff.
“Need to reschedule,” I say, watching her tongue dart out to lick away a spot of escaped chocolate.
“You wanted this appointment, Reid.”
Well, Hugh set up the appointment. I only wanted my job back. And it’s fucking hard to remember even that when Everly’s straddling me, eating that chocolate croissant like…
“It’s your job. Either you want it or stop wasting my time. If you’re not ready to come back…”
Everly leans down and swipes a finger covered in chocolate over my lips, and for a moment, I forget the importance of everything. The world goes silent, fucking swells around me until it feels like I’m about to explode from gazing up at her eyes. And that smile. God, that smile. I crave it. I wish I could take a picture of it right now. I haven’t seen her smile this much since I met her, and now that she’s started, I don’t want it to disappear. I’ll make that my fucking job.
“Reid?”
I draw her finger in my mouth and lick off the chocolate, winking at her. She tilts her head as if she knows she’s just turned my world upside down. But the joke’s on her. She did that the first night I met her.
“Yeah, I’m here. Listening. I do want my job back.” I don’t even believe myself. “I do,” I say again, this time firmer. “I’m ready.”
“You’ve been through a lot. You’re a damn good journalist. We’re willing for you take a longer sabbatical if you need it.”
I hate that word and what it means. I’m not giving up because of my shitty year or my shitty life. I’ve come this far, and I want…
Her hand flexes over my chest, pulling me away from my thoughts again and the conversation at hand. And that’s the problem. It’s not the word sabbatical—it’s Everly. I don’t know what I want now that she’s in my life. Her, mostly.
“No, Tom. We’ll meet tomorrow and talk this over. I promise.”
He sighs on the other end of the line. “You’re a good kid, Reid, but don’t mess this up. I can find someone willing to take what you’re throwing away in a heartbeat. And probably for less pay.”
Like I’m rolling in fucking money. I barely make a livable wage as it is, even if I am risking my life every day.
Everly pops the last bite of her croissant into my mouth and runs her fingers back through my hair. My T-shirt looks bloody brilliant on her, but it leaves little to the imagination when she bends over like this. I swallow again, growing harder. I almost choke on the small piece of croissant when she licks the shell of my ear.
“Yeah, sure, Tom. Tomorrow. Ten. I’ll see you then.”
I don’t wait for him to say goodbye to hang up. I’m a rude English boy who’s forgotten his manners. I hurl my mobile in the direction of the nightstand and enjoy the rest of breakfast with Everly—what’s left of breakfast, anyway—until housekeeping interrupts and Everly decides it’s the perfect day to see the London Eye.
Everly
Beckett hasn’t let go of my hand since we left the hostel. I can’t tell who’s more nerv
ous right now. We stop in front of the club, reading the sign like two kids who won golden tickets to the chocolate factory.
“You sure about this? You want to meet my friends?”
It’s a busy night in the city. Saturday, I think. It’s like every other city on a weekend night. These are the hours when people wake up from sleeping their week away to live. You can always feel it in the air. Like they’ve remembered there’s more to life than a job to pay the bills, errands, the responsibilities of being an adult. I think I like Saturdays most for this.
I like how Beckett fits in London. I like the bomber jacket he has on, as if he’s impossibly cool. I like the aviators he’s wearing and the golden stubble on his face. I squeeze his hand to make sure I haven’t slipped into a Burberry ad. I still feel as though I’ve made him up.
“Pet?”
I smooth the hem of my dress down. It’s something straight out of Gatsby, the scalloped edges of beaded fabric pieced together like I’m a deco mermaid. “Mmhmm, ready.” I swallow down my nerves and meet his gaze. “Lead the way, Mr. Reid.”
He does for a few steps, but stops and twirls me in his arms, dipping me upside down like we’re in a ballroom and not on a busy sidewalk in London.
He rights me, and the city spins around. “What was that for?” I ask, breathlessly.
“I needed to make sure you’re a good dance partner.”
“Are we dancing tonight?”
He has me wrapped up in his arms again. I like this about London, too. In Paris, I wanted to be wrapped up in his arms the entire time, and in London, it’s like we’re never going to let go of each other.
“Do you want to dance?”
We already are. We’re swaying back and forth, the crowds fading out around us. When I close my eyes, I can almost imagine us back in his apartment, listening to Otis Redding.
I open my eyes, and I’m caged against the brick wall of the club, Beckett kissing me senseless. He’s good at taking time away from me. He’s even better at making me remember that I have a heart in my chest that loves to swell up with this new giddy feeling.
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