by Dean, Ali
“A couple of private messages on Instagram. Some comments on the online article. A few comments on your Facebook page that she already deleted.”
“What did they say?”
Beck takes my hands. “Does it matter?”
My eyes drop to where our hands are connected. “It shouldn’t. But I still want to know.”
“Why do you want to know?” he pushes. When I look up at him again, the expression on his face is fierce.
“Don’t you think I should? I can handle it, Beck.”
“I know you can. That’s not what this is about. But no, I don’t think you should, if Summer can delete it. It’s pointless. Why have those voices in your head on a bad day if you don’t have to?”
My chest swells. I love that this man understands. That he’s not brushing it off, or letting me give in to what boils down to nothing more than curiosity.
“You’re right. There’s no point. Some negative criticism is probably good to hear, even if it’s about something I don’t care much about, like image. But this isn’t constructive, I take it?”
Beck shakes his head. We spend a moment sitting there, holding hands, before I hear someone in the stacks behind us. I give Beck a tight smile as I pull my hands away. Instead of getting better at pretending we’re not in a relationship, we’ve let our guard down more and more often. Yesterday, we were able to be a normal couple in every way at the Perrys’ house, and now that we’re back in public, it’s easy to forget we made a decision. Sure not everyone who passes by knows who Beck is or cares, but you never know.
We need to be more careful.
“Hey, what’s the plan for the wedding? Is it okay we’re going together?”
Beck nods. “I’ll introduce you as a friend. I texted my dad I don’t want any pictures of me and especially of me and my date in the media. I shouldn’t have to tell him that, but the man is probably planning to use the wedding to boost his visibility somehow.”
“I’m guessing the plastic surgery crowd doesn’t overlap with the skateboarding scene much?”
“Not my dad’s crowd, no. We’ll be fine. We can do our thing, but maybe save the making out for in private, yeah?”
“I’ll try my best.”
* * *
Turns out it’s harder than I expected to keep my hands off Beck. I like Beck casual, shirtless, in jeans, sweats, whatever. But Beck in a suit? It’s so different than his usual look, and it’s doing something for me.
The resort is the nicest place I’ve ever stayed, and I’m so glad Lucy let me borrow a dress and shoes for the occasion. We’ve already checked into our room, and all we have to do is take the elevator to the lobby and follow signs to the ceremony on the beach. I manage to take my eyes off Beck to gape at the courtyard, the gardens and the infinity pool as we make our way down the path to the beach.
I’m expecting a small ceremony, knowing the engagement was short and his dad only gave him the date two days ago. When I see at least one hundred people already seated in rows of chairs, I glance at Beck. “Is this the right wedding?” I whisper.
Beck’s eyes dart around, pausing on a few men standing near the front. I recognize him instantly. Beck’s dad has the same frame, his height, the strong jaw and angled cheekbones. Beck moves a hand to my lower back and urges me forward, taking one of the last spots in the second to last row.
Leaning close, I whisper, “Who are all these people? Do you know them?”
When I look at Beck, he’s tense, his eyes still scanning the rows of people. He shakes his head a little. “No,” he says, with no further explanation.
I don’t want to push him, but I suddenly have a million questions on the tip of my tongue. “No family?” I whisper, not wanting the people around us to overhear.
Beck shakes his head. “No. He’s an only child and his parents passed away years ago.”
My eyes move back to his father, who I find is looking right at us. He smiles and nods when he sees me and I don’t know what else to do so I flash a tight smile back. This is the first wedding I’ve ever been to, maybe the fanciest wedding I will ever attend, but it is also the strangest. Beck is the only family of the groom here today, and this is not a small affair. I can’t imagine how he must feel.
When his dad stands at the end of the aisle and the string quartet starts a new piece, I take Beck’s hand. I have to remember I’m here today to support him through this, not to judge the weirdness of the situation.
Three bridesmaids walk down the aisle, and when the bride starts down, we stand up. It’s hard to remember that this was thrown together in a short time, or any of the things Beck told me that undermine the authenticity of this moment. The bride looks gorgeous. Closer to Beck’s age than his dad’s, but gorgeous nonetheless. She’s smiling, her eyes glassy, and when I turn to glance at the altar, Beck’s father’s expression is the same. I’m totally stunned when I get a little choked up myself as she reaches the front and the next part of the ceremony gets underway. Beck’s dad stands alone, while she has three bridesmaids behind her. I don’t know much about the man up there, besides that he cheated on Beck’s mom, who is fabulous. If I feel torn loyalties in this moment, wondering if I should even wish this man well in his new marriage, Beck must be tormented. What would it be like to not be able to respect your own father?
Beck squeezes my hand the entire ceremony. I wish I could offer more comfort than my hand in his but that’s all I’ve got.
When the ceremony ends and we’re directed to cocktails and hors d’oeuvres on the green overlooking the beach, I grip Beck’s hand harder. The wedding party went ahead to take photos, and I sense he needs a moment before joining the masses.
We remain seated once the area has cleared, and I turn to look at him. He’s gazing out at the water, his wavy hair flapping a little in the light breeze.
“What are you thinking about?”
His lips press together, like he’s fighting a secret. He darts his eyes to the side, peeking at me. “I don’t know if I should tell you.”
I’m expecting it to be some sort of ill wish for his dad, something contrary to the love and commitment that was meant to be felt at the ceremony. That I did actually feel, even if I wasn’t supposed to.
“It’s okay to tell me, Beck. I’m here for you, remember? I don’t know these people.” If he needs to get it off his chest, he should.
“How long have we been together?” he asks, making me frown in confusion.
But I answer him, “We got together after the Riptide charity event, and that was what, early October? So almost two months.”
He shakes his head, his lips still pressed in that secretive smile. “Then I’m definitely not telling you what’s on my mind.”
“Now you have to tell me,” I demand, tugging his hand and scooting closer, getting up in his face. “Please?” I give him my best pouty face.
He raises his eyebrows. “You can’t run. We have a hotel room tonight overlooking the ocean and I’m taking you on a San Diego skatepark tour tomorrow.”
“Beck,” I groan. “What is it?” I’m thinking he’s going to tell me he’s hooked up with one of the bridesmaids before, or he’s plotting to sabotage the rest of the celebrations. Instead, he shocks the shit out of me when he tells me, “I was thinking about our wedding one day.”
My mouth parts, and immediately after the shock hits, a wave of heat flows right to the center of my body. Whoa. I had no idea Beck thinking about marriage would turn me on, but apparently, that’s exactly the effect it has.
“Seriously?” My voice is a half whisper.
He nods slowly. “Yeah.” His eyes hold mine, and I wait for him to give me some more details here, but he’s studying me, waiting for my reaction.
My mind flits to Zora’s comment about being too young to know what she wants, asking how we can be so certain. She thinks we’re sacrificing independence by jumping into serious relationships. Those things linger in the back of my mind, and I haven’t dismissed the
m. But the truth is, my heart is leaping out of my chest, nodding in agreement, no, dancing in joy at the words out of Beck’s mouth.
All I can manage to get out though is, “Wow.”
He bites his lip, shaking his head and smiling, as he pulls me up to stand beside him. “Come on, let’s see what kind of hors d’oeuvres they have at this place.”
I can’t help it. I want to play along. I don’t want Beck to think I’m dismissing his confession. “So what do you think we should serve for this part of our wedding? Can we do bacon-wrapped dates? I don’t really need anything else fancy but I’ve always wanted to try those, they sound amazing.”
Beck moves his hand from my lower back to my ass, his favorite part of my body I’ve discovered. “Yeah Jordan, we can do whatever you want at our wedding.”
I know we’re half-joking, but as the night goes on, and we share smiles and laughs, I’m certain neither one of us stops thinking about it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Beck
Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought my dad’s wedding would be one of the best nights of my life. Yeah, I’ve got to pose for some photos with Dad to appease him, and he’s assigned us to sit at the table with the wedding party, which doesn’t surprise me. But Jordan’s happy, playing along with our future wedding plans and getting a kick out of her first wedding experience. I’ve only been to a handful of weddings myself, but the lavish food, floral arrangements, waiters in tuxes, and borderline red-carpet-ready attire aren’t entirely foreign to me like they are to Jordan. Not exactly part of my everyday world either, but I can tell by the half-stunned expression that has yet to leave Jordan’s face, this is all new to her.
“I kind of feel like I’m watching a movie, and keep forgetting I’m actually at the wedding,” she whispers to me after a waiter comes up to ask if we want coffee after dinner.
“You’re in the movie, Jordan. Hey, I never asked, you like to dance?”
Jordan glances over to where a band is setting up by a dance floor. “Yeah, doesn’t everybody? But wait, this isn’t going to be like ballroom or something, is it? I don’t know how to do fancy people dancing.” She’s speaking quietly so the rest of the table can’t hear.
My lips twitch, fighting a smile. “I don’t think there’s gonna be any ballroom stuff going on.” I love dancing, but don’t get to do it much. Can’t wait for dinner to be over so I can rip my tie off and lose myself on the dance floor with Jordan.
We told Dad and the rest of the table Jordan’s a good friend, emphasizing that she’s close with Griff, his sister, and my sister. Not sure anyone’s buying it, but I don’t really care right now. Actually, I’m starting to just not care at all about this secretive shit. I don’t mind dealing with the Shred Live contract issues that could come up, but I’m still making an effort for Jordan’s sake. Anyway, after Dad spent the first half of dinner telling us all about the plans to continue this showy parade at the honeymoon, the bridesmaids asked me about Shred Live. They were genuinely curious, having heard something about the reality show, and while Dad and his new wife gushed over each other, the rest of the dinner conversation was fine. Honestly, it could have been about Dad’s success as a plastic surgeon and I still would have been beaming with Jordan happily soaking in this “movie scene” beside me.
It’s not until we’re on the dance floor later that I realize the friends-only façade could put a real damper on the night.
Jordan is dancing right in front of me, swaying her hips, and my hands are itching to reach for her. She takes a step closer, our eyes connecting. “Put your hands on me,” she mouths, the band making talking impossible. I tilt my head, uncertain if that’s actually what she said or if I imagined it because I wanted her to say it.
I look around. The dance floor is packed, most people oblivious to their surroundings at this point, having begun drinking hours ago at the cocktail reception.
She moves right up to me, so her chest brushes mine. Her hands wrap around my neck. Then her voice is in my ear as she stands on tiptoe. “No one here cares, Beck. No one from this crowd is going to start spreading rumors in the skateboarding community.”
One of my hands palms her ass as she sways to the beat. I know she had a glass of champagne, but she’s making a lot of sense right now. I’ve had a few drinks myself, and wonder if I’m supposed to be the responsible one here, remind her what she’ll have to deal with should this not go our way.
But then her lips touch my collarbone where I’ve unbuttoned the top of my shirt. And my other hand lands on her hip, pulling her tightly to my body.
Once we decide to let go and be us, we spend hours dancing. Jordan kicks off her heels, and we’re the last ones to leave the party when the band finally packs up.
For a girl who rarely stays up past ten, Jordan’s still bouncing with energy. “Can we go swimming? I’ve never been in the ocean at night.” She’s giddy at the idea, and obviously I can’t turn her down.
“Come on, let’s go down there now. If we go up to the room to change into suits I won’t want to leave again.”
She grins up at me, totally on the same page with that. There’s no one on the beach in either direction, and when we run into the ocean naked in the moonlight, turns out we don’t even need the hotel room for what I had in mind.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jordan
We’re almost back to campus on Sunday night when Naomi calls. “Hey Rugrat, I got Jordan here with me in the van.”
“You two didn’t do a very good job acting like friends at the wedding,” she sing-songs, but it still sounds like scolding.
Beck and I glance at each other, and while I know we should be exchanging concerned expression, the smiles that have been glued to our faces just stay in place.
“What is it?” Beck asks.
“So your dad’s new wife, what’s her name?”
“Skye.”
“Skye posted a few pictures of you not looking like friends.”
I’m already bringing up Instagram on my phone and going to Beck’s profile to look at what he’s tagged in. There’s one of the entire dance floor, and we’re dancing close. Another of us at the cocktail reception, heads huddled together. And then our dinner table, and we’re smiling at each other.
“Can you just untag me or whatever?” Beck asks.
“Yeah, I’m doing it now. There’s already comments on there about it though.”
“Thanks for letting us know,” I tell Naomi.
“Looks like you guys might have actually had fun though?” she asks.
“Yeah,” we say at the same time, sharing another goofy smile.
“We had fun,” Beck confirms.
After signing off, I browse the comments. There are a lot, and I click on Skye’s profile to find she’s got a following the size of mine. Looks like she’s some kind of fashion influencer.
“Is it bad?” Beck asks.
“She posted a ton of photos from the wedding, so it’s not all about us or anything. Looks like she tagged me too so I’ll untag.”
“Guess my dad didn’t pass along my request not to share photos of me and my date,” Beck grumbles.
“If there’s a little speculation it’s no big deal, right? I mean there’s speculation about me and Griff now too after that article so whatever,” I try to reassure myself as I scan the comments conclusively gushing that me and Beck must be a couple.
Great.
Summer must have had a busy weekend because I cleared out my inbox yesterday morning and it’s already full of messages. Once I click on them though, I see a lot came through in the past hour, and most of them are about the wedding. Ugh. I wish there was some sort of manual on how to handle this. Maybe there is, actually. “Is it best to just not respond when people ask if you’re my boyfriend or should I say we’re just friends?”
Beck’s biting his lip. “I’ll call my agent.” He sighs. “She’ll have some advice I’m sure.”
I reach my ha
nd over and squeeze his thigh. “It’s no big deal. We’ll figure it out.” I’m reassuring him as much as I am myself. I know I’m not Ariana Grande famous or anything, but that almost makes it worse. I don’t really understand why people care or whether these strangers who messaged me or commented on the images really matter. And that makes me wonder if all the stress and secrecy is worth the effort. While the Shred Live contract is definitely the determinative factor in all this, how many people are really paying attention to us anyway? Beck’s a big name, one of the biggest, in skateboarding, sure, but in terms of celebrity status, it’s not like he’s going to show up on one of those magazines at the checkout line in the grocery store.
“These pictures really aren’t that big of a deal,” I tell him, wanting it to be true.
“Probably not,” Beck agrees, or pretends to agree.
Not wanting to think about it anymore, I click on my email inbox and find a message from Griffin titled: next year’s comp schedule. Clicking on it, my heart races for a different reason as I soak in the list of competitions Griffin’s proposing. There’s no way I can go to all of them, but he’s asking me to pick my top choices. Before any of this started, I would’ve thought I’d go for the most low-profile, conveniently located competitions. Instead, I’m wondering what I can do to get into the biggest ones, the X Games and the Dew Tour.
“What are you smiling about over there?” Beck asks.
My smile widens when I look at him. “Next year’s competition schedule. Maybe we can coordinate over the summer after you’re done filming!” The idea pops into my head and I bounce in excitement. More trips together, like the one this weekend? Yes please.
“And you’ll be done with Shred Live! We can be us without worrying about the contract.” It’s months away, but it will be totally worth the wait.
Beck cringes, and it takes a moment for his reaction to sink in. My smile drops. “What is it?”