“Patrick, Beckett says you have to help cook if you want to eat,” I called into the living room where Patrick and Summer were sitting on the couch still looking at me expectantly.
“Done,” Patrick said, as he held up his hand to high-five Summer. “Free food, baby.”
She slapped his hand back, and they both returned to the rerun of The Big Bang Theory that they were watching. I just shook my head at them.
“So if you’re cooking, what am I supposed to do?” I asked.
“Sit there, look pretty and drink a glass of wine,” he said, and I heard a car door slam.
“I think I can handle that,” I said, as I set Gryffin’s food down in front of him. He sniffed it once, cocked his head to the side as if pondering whether he liked it before diving into the dish. I wasn’t quite sure what he was questioning since he ate the same food every night. He was crazy.
I could hear Beckett walking, the wind coming off the river whistling into his phone.
“Are you here?” I asked.
“I’m actually downstairs. You can buzz me up in three, two one,” he said, as the buzzer by the door sounded.
“I don’t know,” I said, teasingly. “How do I know it’s really you? I don’t want to let a serial killer into the building. Tell me something only I would know, so I can be sure it’s you.”
I walked over to the buzzer, smiling as I poised my hand over the button to let him up as soon as he responded.
“The first time we kissed, we were in your bedroom at your mom’s house and Better Than Ezra was playing on your iPod.”
My smiled faded and my breath caught in my throat. It took all I had to push the button to let him into the building. I hung up the phone, as my heart started pounding in my chest. I felt bad hanging up, but he probably would have lost reception in the elevator anyway. Of all the things he could have said, he had to pick that one.
It was one of my best memories. We had just been friends at the time, and he’d been hanging out in my room listening to music after school. We’d been laying on my bed when he leaned over and kissed me. It was short and sweet, but it had been the beginning of everything. ‘Good’ by Better Than Ezra had been playing in the background.
I drifted back into my bedroom to take a minute for myself before Beckett got upstairs. I didn’t want him to see how freaked out I was. I needed to keep my composure. I didn’t need him to know that he’d gotten to me. I didn’t think that had been his intention, but what he’d said had affected me more than he could have known.
A few seconds later there was a knock on the front door. I took a deep breath, smoothed my shirt down and pushed all thoughts of our first kiss out of my mind as I walked to the door.
“Hey you,” I said, as I opened the door with a smile on my face.
“Hi,” Beckett said, as he walked past me, his arms loaded with grocery bags. “Pat, you ready to cook for these ladies?”
“Sure, man,” Patrick said, hopping up from the couch to meet Beckett in the kitchen. He took some of the bags and started unloading groceries. A feeling of nostalgia washed over me as I watched the two of them in the kitchen. It was just like it had been when we’d all lived in Amherst years earlier. Beckett and Patrick had cooked for us on more than one occasion.
Beckett walked over to me and pulled me into a hug. “It’s good to see you,” he said. As he released me, he started to look around at the apartment. It was the first time he’d been there. He nodded. “Nice place.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Allow me to give you a tour.”
“So this is the living room,” I said, explaining the obvious. “You’ve seen the kitchen. If you’ll follow me, on your left you’ll see my bathroom.”
I extended my arm out to gesture toward my bathroom that was just off the living room. I was glad I’d taken the time to clean it earlier in the week.
“Back here is my room,” I said gesturing to my open door. I started to walk past it to Summer’s room, but Beckett ducked inside, so I doubled-back and followed him into my room.
I watched as he circled the room, looking at the pictures on my dresser and running his hand along my bookshelf that was filled to bursting. He picked up the Sex and the City DVD that was on top of my TV but put it back down without a word. I wondered what he was doing since he wasn’t saying anything. I saw that he paused for a moment to look at a picture of me and Ryan that sat on my nightstand. It had been taken during our first year of dating when we’d gone to St. Thomas over spring break. When he passed back by my dresser, he picked up my lip gloss.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Is it my color?” He was grinning like a goofball, and I knew he was trying to break the tension that had started to fill the room.
I smiled. “I think I would pick something in a red if I was choosing a shade for you,” I said. “It would match your skin tone better.”
He set it back down. “Oh well, I guess we can’t share make-up.”
I laughed.
Just then, Gryffin ran into the room, skidding slightly on the hardwood floors. He slid right into Beckett who scooped him and said, “You must be Gryffindor.”
“Gryffin,” I said, walking toward him to close the distance between us. “I only call him Gryffindor when he’s in trouble.”
I scratched behind Gryffin’s ears as he looked up at Beckett in wonder.
“I think he likes me,” Beckett said.
“He knows you’re good people.”
“I told you I wasn’t an asshole,” he said, looking pointedly at me.
Gryffin started to squirm then, so Beckett set him down. He scampered out of the bedroom, no doubt back to the kitchen where I could smell Patrick browning the meat for the spaghetti.
“You’ve proven yourself right,” I said, looking up at him.
His expression was serious as he reached down and tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. I immediately tensed up involuntarily. His hand lingered behind my ear.
“We should see if Patrick needs help,” I said then.
He slowly trailed his finger down my jawline, never breaking my gaze. “Good idea. I am pretty hungry.” There was definitely a tone of sexual innuendo in his words.
“You had chips,” I said, trying to bring us back down to earth. My heart was pounding out of control. “How are you hungry?”
“I’m a growing boy,” he said, shrugging.
“Yeah, well you’d better be careful or you will be growing,” I said, reaching out to squeeze his stomach. Instead of any kind of fat, my hand met sculpted abs as I tickled him playfully. “The ladies won’t like you so much if you can’t impress them when you take your shirt off.”
“Jealous,” he said, pulling his t-shirt up slightly, giving me a glimpse of his six-pack.
“Hardly,” I said, punching him playfully in the stomach before turning around and leaving the room. Jealous wasn’t even the right word. Turned on was more like it.
“You’re so mean,” Beckett said, as he followed me into the kitchen where Summer, who sat perched on a barstool watching Patrick cook, handed me a bottle of Sam Adams
“You’re so nice,” I said, as I held up my bottle to Beckett. “You didn’t have to bring beer, but I sure am glad you did.” I took a big sip.
“I do what I can,” he said then.
I settled onto the barstool next to Summer.
“Um, so Beck, what happened to me helping you? It seems to me like I’m doing all the work. What gives?” Patrick said, as he broke the spaghetti noodles and put them in the pot of boiling water.
“I bought the food,” Beckett said, but as did he also picked up the lettuce for the salad and started to wash it.
As I watched Beckett and Patrick prepare our feast, I couldn’t help but notice how different they looked. For two people who shared DNA, they really had no similar traits aside from their height. Patrick couldn’t have looked more Irish if he tried, and Beckett had more of an all-American look, but I noticed that they shared some of the s
ame mannerisms and expressions. If you knew, you could tell they were related. They also had that ease around each other that comes with knowing someone your whole life. They cracked jokes as they cooked, talked about their families and criticized each other constantly. It was quite a show to watch.
“What’s that?” Beckett asked then, gesturing across the room with the knife he was using to chop tomatoes.
I turned around to see what he was referring to. “My collage of Summer’s sketches,” I said. I’d noticed the last time I’d posted something that it was getting full. I’d have to put up another corkboard soon.
Beckett walked over to take a closer look, so I joined him to explain the story behind the art.
“I like it,” he said. “You know, you could put some of these sketches on your blog – as like dress ideas for brides or something.”
“That’s not a bad idea, Beck,” I said, thinking I could do a series on wedding dresses, as well as bridesmaid dresses. The sketches would make great background artwork.
“I do what I can,” he said, elbowing me lightly in the side.
I elbowed him back, just a little harder. He turned on me then and started tickling me as I doubled over, laughing and trying to break away from him. As soon as I twisted away from him, Beckett locked his arms around my waist and lifted me off the floor. He carried me, squirming, back into the living room and tossed me on the couch where he proceeded to pin me down, tickling me some more. I finally screamed and gasped for air so much that he stopped. I pushed my hair out of my face as I sat up laughing and simultaneously trying to catch my breath. I reached out and shoved Beckett with both of my hands.
“You are such a jerk,” I said, as he laughed at me.
“You love it. It’s part of my charm.”
Over his shoulder I watched Summer and Patrick exchange a look that told me they were just as skeptical as everyone else that Beckett and I were just friends.
Seventeen
That Saturday, after spending all day taking Kendall, the bride from Framingham, and her fiancé to look at potential venues and not finding any that would work, I looked forward to collapsing on Beckett’s couch, eager to veg out and enjoy some baseball. It had been a long day, and I kept thinking about the beer and nachos he’d promised when he’d talked me into coming over to watch the Red Sox play the Yankees that night.
I took just enough time to change into my Red Sox t-shirt before heading over to his apartment and arrived a half hour before the first pitch was thrown out. Beckett opened the door, handed me a beer and promptly asked me if I was prepared to lose.
“I’m a Red Sox. We don’t lose. Check the records. You guys are like three and eleven against us this year.”
“I’m going to need you to check the records yourself because if you do, you’ll see that we actually have won a ridiculous number of World Series Titles in the past twenty years. You guys have won, what, two?”
I puffed myself up, so I was closer to his height. “Yes, and we are very proud of those two titles, thank you very much.”
“Good for you,” Beckett said, clapping his hands slowly for me as I walked past him into the living room.
“Good God, I’m exhausted,” I said, as I fell onto his couch. “And starving. Kendall, the bride I was with today, is on a wedding diet, so she wanted to eat at this healthy place that had wheat grass shots and tofu. Needless to say, I didn’t eat much and was starving an hour later.”
Beckett laughed as he took a seat in his favorite chair. He took a sip of his beer and appraised me. I was laying at an awkward angle where I had fallen and had one foot balanced on the coffee table. My other leg was half on the couch and half dangling over the edge.
“That’s the Courtney I know and love – if it isn’t fried or coated in melted cheese, don’t offer it to her.”
“Amen,” I said, lifting my glass in the air toward him.
It was then that the buzzer from downstairs rang, and I looked up at Beckett in question. “Did you order pizza or something?”
He didn’t look at me as he got out of his chair and headed to the door. “Yes, but um, I don’t think that’s the pizza yet.” He looked back at me. “Don’t be mad, but I kind of invited Julie over.”
He pushed the talk button. “Julie?” he asked.
I sat up straighter on the couch, pulling my shirt down where it had slid up, exposing my stomach.
“It’s me,” she responded, in a sing-song voice.
“Hi,” he said, in a voice that I had never heard him use. Was he baby-talking her? Eww.
“Do you have a date tonight?” I asked, appalled that he would invite me over when he had a night planned with Julie.
“Um, no,” he said. “We’re just hanging out.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “With the girl you’re dating, so it’s a date,” I said, slowly so he would know I was onto him.
His shoulders sank. “Okay, so in truth, I forgot that I told her we could do something tonight until she called about an hour ago. I panicked and told her we could watch the game together.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Did it occur to you to call me and tell me, so I didn’t come over and third-wheel on your date?”
“I wanted to hang out with you,” he said, giving me a look that told me he was trying to rationalize his decision to invite both of us over in his mind, but it wasn’t working.
“Does she know I’m here?” I asked.
“Yes. I told her I was having some people over.” He ran his hand through is hair.
“Who else is coming?” I asked, wondering if Alex or Greg and Ari were stopping by. I knew Patrick and Summer were having dinner with their parents in Cohasset that night, so they were out.
“No one,” he said.
“Beckett!” I admonished, exasperated with him. He was such a guy sometimes. I pulled the pillow from behind my head and threw it in his direction. It landed just shy of his feet.
“Well, I called, but everyone else had plans.”
It was at that moment that Julie knocked on the door. He picked up the pillow from the floor and threw it back to me, landing it directly in my lap.
“I do not want to third-wheel on your date,” I hissed at him, hugging the pillow to my chest.
“Too late for that,” he said, as he turned to open the door.
I glared at his back as he opened the door for Julie to come in. She gave him a one-armed hug since her other arm was carrying something wrapped in tin foil.
“Hi Courtney,” she said, all traces of animosity gone. I guessed she realized after Beckett kept calling her that I wasn’t a true threat to their relationship.
“Hi Julie,” I said, realizing just how awkward this night was going to be.
She set what she was carrying on the coffee table. “I brought brownies,” she announced, and I wondered if she wanted a medal.
“Nice,” Beckett said, as he put his arms around her from behind and kissed her cheek. She giggled.
I wondered if they were sleeping together.
“So everyone else bailed. It’ll just be the three of us tonight,” Beckett said, stuffing a brownie in his mouth.
“Oh, that’s okay,” Julie said, as she took a seat on the other end of the couch.
Beckett left to get her a beer and the promised nachos, and the downstairs buzzer sounded as soon as he left the room. I got excited all of a sudden. Maybe it would be someone else, so I wouldn’t feel like such a loser tagging along on my ex-boyfriend’s date with his new girlfriend.
“Court, that’s the pizza. Can you buzz them up?” Beckett called from the kitchen. I could hear him clanking around in there.
I set the pillow down on the couch and walked across the room to press the button to let in the pizza guy. Beckett’s wallet sat on the hall table next to the door, so I picked it up and fished out a twenty to pay. It was his punishment for not telling me he’d invited Julie over. I put the pizza on the coffee table and took a seat in the chair across fr
om the couch. I could at least let Beckett sit with Julie.
“Julie, are you a Yankee fan?” I asked, taking in the bright white Yankee t-shirt she was wearing.
She smiled and shook her head. “No, I don’t really like baseball, but since Beck is a fan, I figured I could support the Yankees. He got me this shirt.”
I just nodded. I couldn’t even rib her for being a fan. She wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. It wouldn’t be fair. I would have to save my jabs for Beckett, especially since he’d shamelessly dressed his new girlfriend up like Yankee Barbie.
He came back a few minutes later, a plate of gooey nachos in one hand and Julie’s beer in the other. We dug into the pizza and the nachos as the game started. By the end of the fourth inning, I’d sort of forgotten that Julie was there. Beckett and I took turns cheering and yelling at the TV while she just sat there and tried to figure out what was going on. During the commercial breaks Beckett tried to explain to her what was happening, but I could see by the puzzled expression on her face that she wasn’t getting it. After a few innings, he just started sharing random facts with her about his team, their old stadium and their new stadium where they were playing that night.
At a commercial break during the sixth inning, my phone rang Ryan’s Red Sox themed ringtone.
“Nice ringtone,” Beckett said sarcastically.
“Suck it,” I said since the Sox were up by three at that point. I figured it gave me bragging rights. “You’re just pissed that we’re up by three in your house.”
As I left the room, so I could talk to Ryan in private, Beckett mumbled something about just waiting. I tuned him out.
“Hey babe,” I said, as I walked into Beckett’s room.
“Hey you,” Ryan said. “How are my Sox doing?”
I smiled. “Kicking some Yankee butt. Are you not watching the game?”
“No, I’m at the office, sloughing away at my desk. No rest for the weary.” He sounded tired.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and he just sighed. “How’s San Fran?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m inside all the time, but my hotel is quite nice for the thirty minutes I see it each night and each morning.”
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