by G. K. Brady
She broke the spell when she sat, water enveloping her to her neck. “Oh my God, this feels wonderful.”
He retreated to the opposite side, away from her, from the lights, praying she didn’t see the tent in his trunks.
“Do you come here often?” she asked, then laughed. “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant, do you use the pool or the hot tubs much?”
He sank below the surface, and came up shaking water from his head. “No. First time I’ve been here,” he croaked.
She laid her head back, closed her eyes, and spread her arms. “Mmm. I think I’d spend all my time here.”
So would I if I could look at you.
Her eyes flew open and fixed on him. “What did you say?”
Oh shit. Did I say that out loud? “Uh, look at you … so, uh … relaxed … and warm … and …” He submerged his head one more time.
Christ! Seriously, am I fucking sixteen?
When he broke the surface, she was gazing at the city lights, her arms folded on the edge. Sputtering, he swam up beside her and pushed his hair out of his eyes. He kept his body out of her personal space so he wouldn’t bump her. And Lord knew he wanted to bump her.
“What do you see?” he asked instead.
“Everything. This is so unexpected. It takes my breath away.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Sure does.”
A few moments later, he said, “So.”
“So?”
“So you haven’t talked about Adrian lately. How’s the counseling going?”
If he’d been searching for a mood killer, he’d struck on it. She tensed beside him and stared straight ahead, any remnants of a smile gone.
“Oh shit. I’m sorry,” he said.
“No, it’s okay.” She shook her head. “I’ve been avoiding telling you.”
His gut twisted. “Telling me what?” Do not tell me you’re taking that cocksucker back!
She looked at him with sad eyes. “We didn’t last one session, not after he announced he wasn’t giving up English. I just … I guess I didn’t rate. But on the bright side, got my test results back and learned he didn’t give me any STDs.”
Shit. That was something Beckett did routinely, but a girl like her? No. “Jesus, I’m sorry you had to even think about being tested.” The rest of her revelation sank in, and his heart clattered in his chest. “Wait. He picked English? Over you? What a fucking idiot!” Even as Beckett gave his outrage a release, sweet relief swept through him.
Andie cleared her throat. “It wasn’t exactly like that. He, um, didn’t want me to leave either.”
Beckett gaped at her. “Wait. Let me see if I have this straight. He wants to stay married to you and keep his mistress on the side?”
She let out a strangled laugh.
“And he expected you to go along with it?” Beckett was dumbfounded. He’d pulled some stunts in his life, but this? Adrian had him beat.
Her eyes slid away and focused on a piece of pool decking. “What’s wrong with me, Beck?”
“Wrong with you? Absolutely nothing. As for him, don’t get me started.”
“For the record, I said no.”
“Fuck yeah, you said no! Who the fuck does he think he is? The fucking lord of the fucking castle?”
She laughed, and that’s when he noticed tears in her eyes. “I love you, Beck.”
Whoa. Not the first time he’d heard the L word, but when it rolled off her tongue—even though she’d only meant it in a “friend” sort of way—it sent a jolt through him. A pleasant jolt.
He gulped air, and she continued. “The therapist called me after and confirmed I was completely sane for walking out.”
“Smart therapist. What did Adrian say?”
“I haven’t spoken to him.” She shrugged her bare shoulders. “And you know what? I feel a little lighter every day.”
Beckett raised his fist. She bumped it and smiled.
“Andie, friends tell each other things. Why didn’t you tell me?” The hurt snuck into his voice.
She shrugged her shoulder again. “I don’t know. I was embarrassed. And then you and I were having so much fun I didn’t want to spoil it. I’m sorry I held out on you.”
He knocked his head against hers. “So you’re going through with the divorce?”
“Everything will be final at the beginning of the year.”
“That’s good. I mean, it’s not good, but Jesus, that asshole did not deserve you. Not when he couldn’t see what was in front of him.”
Beckett scanned her eyes. He was battling an overwhelming urge to lean in and nibble her glossy wet lips when giggling erupted behind them. As he jerked his head around, three girls in skimpy bikinis plopped on the edge and dangled their feet in the water. One swimsuit covered so little he wondered why the hell she bothered.
“Hi,” they said in a chorus, like chirping birds on a wire, looking straight at him.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Andie slowly rotate her head. “Hi,” she said, smiling her public smile.
One girl flicked her eyes to Andie, then shot them straight back to Beckett. “Beckett, right?”
He pulled a hand over his face and glanced at Andie whose eyes were fixed on the girls. “I’m him. And this is An—Paige.”
“Ann Page?” one girl said.
They rattled off their names, but he registered none of them. The usual blah, blah followed, and he registered none of that either. Two guys joined them, and he did register how their eyes roamed all over Andie when she stepped out of the water and settled her gorgeous ass on the top step.
“We should probably get out before we turn into stewed prunes,” he growled at her.
“So soon?” one of the girls pouted. All three gawped at him as he patted Andie on the arm and clambered out. She followed, water dripping off her body in glistening droplets. The men’s eyes tracked her, and Beckett quickly wrapped her in the robe before settling a towel over his shoulders.
“Bye,” the girls called as he led Andie inside, the word sounding like a question. Andie sang out a good-bye over her shoulder. He merely grunted.
The elevator was empty, thank God. She raised an eyebrow. “Are you mad?”
“How many fucking pools did they have to choose from? And they crash ours?”
Her eyes widened. “Well, there was certainly enough room for us all, and hot tubbing is a social thing.” She crossed her arms over her chest. The robe had parted just enough that the amplified swell of her breasts flashed him. Not helping. “Besides, I thought Beckett Miller enjoyed hanging out with beautiful, scantily clad women.”
He snorted and pulled his hand through his wet hair. “A lot of people think a lot of things, but that doesn’t make them right.”
She shot him a curious look.
Back in the condo, she dressed quickly and said she was tired. The normal response would have been to send her home. Truth was, he didn’t quite know how to let her go; he was equally unsure what to do with her. Confusion about chasing what he wanted, especially when it came to women, wasn’t in his makeup, but like everything else with Andie, he was topsy-turvy, stumbling in a darkened maze, his hands flailing in front of him as he sought to steady himself. Sure, she was no longer in a relationship, yet she straddled an invisible line: one foot over the threshold of her marriage while the other was still firmly rooted in place. It wasn’t the right time—not if he wanted her planted in a relationship with him.
In the end, he took her home himself, keeping his mouth zipped for fear whatever came out would sound wrong.
When he crawled between his sheets that night, it occurred to him he couldn’t remember what any of the hot tub girls looked like, though Andie’s every contour was etched in his mind. It also occurred to him he was treading water in an uncharted swamp of uncertainty. Spending time with Andie, in person or on the phone, had morphed into his favorite thing to do, and it beat run-ins at bars, hookups at clubs, and getting laid by strangers. Hands down.
But if he could have his way, being with her would include a private hot tub and her in that white suit. Or out of it. Which is what he pictured when he had an impromptu hookup with his right hand a short while later.
.~ * * * ~.
Paige poured herself a glass of wine, her second since Beckett had left her at her doorstep. She was trying to puzzle out his odd behavior, and it was too late to call Gwenn, so it was up to her and OZV Zinfandel to solve the mystery.
They’d argued, actually argued, about him taking her home. “No Ubers. It’s not safe,” he’d insisted. Yet all the way to her place, he’d said nothing. Just brooded. Maybe he’d hit on one of those girls and was pissed when the guys showed up? But there hadn’t been that vibe. The girls hadn’t seemed to know him. No, but they obviously wanted to know him. And who could blame them? Paige had never seen a better cut man in her life.
The way her body had reacted to him in trunks, the thoughts that had crawled around her mind, were cringe-worthy. Or at the very least, X-rated. She’d had to practically sit on her hands to keep them from running over his sculpted chest, his muscular shoulders, his ridged abdomen. And there she’d been, flabby-bellied and pudgy-thighed beside three gorgeous hardbodies with jewelry accentuating their perfect navels. If she tried to wear something like that, it would get swallowed up. Why, oh why, hadn’t she done more ab crunches?
Maybe Beckett was surly because he’d wanted to be with them but had been stuck with her. But she’d suggested he hang with them while she caught her Uber, and his face had grown even stormier.
When had Beckett turned grumpy? She whacked the heel of her hand against her temple. When I talked about Adrian. Beckett always got irritated when she talked about Adrian, as though he was the big brother wanting to beat anyone’s ass who messed with little sister. Or was it something more than that?
Ha! Don’t kid yourself.
Would she want Beckett if she could have him? She gulped her wine. Remarkable body and mind-melting good looks aside, he had a host of lovable qualities, like laughing at himself. In spite of his woes, he always found something to joke about, and he made her laugh, often without even trying. He was just … Beckett. All energy, full of ideas that bounced around his head like ping-pong balls. Like an overgrown puppy.
“Unlike Adrian, I bet he wouldn’t avoid the bedroom like his man parts were too sacred to use,” she muttered aloud. Tingles ran up and down her spine as she pondered said man parts.
Oh my God! What am I thinking? Of course he wouldn’t. He’s a manwhore! I cannot fall for Beckett Miller. Stop it!
In college, his presence had always set her tummy fluttering, though she never admitted it to anyone, including herself. Instead, she’d believed he gave her indigestion. She hadn’t wanted to like him, and pretending she wasn’t attracted to him hadn’t been too hard when she’d balanced his appealing traits with his limited emotional range. But he’d changed in the last ten years. He was no longer conceited; maybe he never had been. He’d grown into someone she could count as a good friend. She could tell him just about anything—except how he sometimes made her weak-kneed when his eyes sparkled with a smile or when she daydreamed about his sinful mouth on hers. Or when he pulled his shirt off beside a hot tub.
Paige threw back the rest of her wine and padded to bed, thoughts of six-packs and broad shoulders capering through her head.
.~ * * * ~.
For the first time in his life, Beckett lamented that the World Series would soon be over. And it had nothing to do with baseball.
“Who do you pick for the championship?” Andie asked on the phone as they waited for the start of game one. He was back in Chicago, missing Denver—and her—more than ever. Fortunately, she never asked why he’d gotten his nose out of joint that night at his place. He wasn’t completely sure himself, except that their private moment had been hijacked by some idiot women and pricks eye-fucking his girl. Well, she wasn’t really his girl, but they hadn’t known that. Assholes.
He ignored the burn the memory brought back. “Gotta go with the National League and the Dodgers.”
She groaned. “I just can’t cheer for the Dodgers.”
“So Astros for you, which puts us at odds. May the best man win.” His remark was met by a hoot. “Hey, when baseball’s done, let’s do hockey night. Or movie night.”
Andie was munching popcorn on the other end. “Movie night?”
“Instead of baseball, we watch a movie together. We’ll take turns picking.”
She snorted. “I’m not subscribing to a porn channel.”
“Jesus! Is that all you think I do? You don’t subscribe, by the way. You stream ’em.”
“I am virtually tossing a pillow at your head right now.”
“Christ! You virtually knocked my drink out of my hand.”
She laughed, the sound musical. “I miss you, Beck. Sure, I’ll do movie night. Or hockey night. Or both.”
He was taken aback; warmth spread throughout his body. He cleared his throat. “I get to pick first because it was my idea. My choice is Jackass: The Movie. I think they’re on number fifty now.”
She groaned again.
“I can hear your eyeballs rattling around in your head, Andie. Is that a ‘no’ vote?” He tried not to snicker.
“That is a ‘no way, not in your lifetime’ vote.”
“What would your choice be, then?”
“The opposite of Jackass. Frozen? Brave?”
“I’ve never heard of Frozen Brave. Is that the DiCaprio movie about the guy who’s left for dead in the cold? You probably just want to see it because of Leo. He’s short, you know. I’ve hung out with him.”
“Beckett, you’re impossible. And he’s not too short for me. Anyway, I was talking about the Disney movies.”
“Oh, those definitely get my thumbs-down, along with a fat raspberry.”
“See there? We’re totally incompatible.” Her voice was triumphant.
“Okay. Seriously. I know you like older movies. What are your favorites?”
“Bull Durham, of course, and anything black-and-white from the forties,” she replied without missing a beat. “Film noir especially.”
“I love film noir. Ever see Out of the Past?”
“Oh God! I love that movie.”
Beckett let out a coyote yip. “We have a winner! So should Jeff have gone for Ann or Kathie?”
“Jeez, you even know the characters’ names. I’m impressed. But duh, Beck. Definitely Ann—she was sweet. Kathie was poison.”
“Yeah, but Kathie was smokin’ hot.”
Andie laughed. “I guess we know who Beckett Miller would go for. The vamp over the good girl every time.”
“Good is boring.”
“Good is what this game won’t be unless you stop yacking, Beckett.”
And so it went. God, he loved these nights, even though she was a thousand miles away and they shared no physical intimacy. But there was intimacy of a different sort: the kind that came from learning her innermost thoughts; knowing exactly when something moved her in a particular way; knowing how to make her laugh; and letting her in, letting her peer into his dark corners without fear she’d mock or judge him. It was an intimacy foreign to him, and he craved it like he’d once craved cocaine or sex. For the first time in his adult life, he savored something calm and natural. Good was not boring. He felt as though he’d escaped whitewater on a seething river bristling with jagged rocks and found sanctuary floating on the glassy surface of a languid lake, and he couldn’t imagine going back.
CHAPTER 15
My Best Friend
“That can’t be right! Thanksgiving’s next week? Well, fu—fumble me,” Beckett exclaimed in one of their nightly calls. He’d been gone most of November, and their evenings sharing movies or hockey or football had been relegated to the all-virtual.
“Fumble me?” Paige laughed. “Are you a football now? You don’t have to stop swearing, Bec
k. I promise I will not wilt like a plucked poppy. Although, I must say I’m enjoying the creative twists you put on things.”
As usual, she was spread out in the living room, her face freshly scrubbed, cozy in baggy clothes she only wore in private, and a big glass of red wine ready to be savored. They’d found a movie they could both watch, but time would tell if they actually watched it, talked while they had it on in the background, or never cued it up. Lately, they never cued it up. In fact, they’d been set to watch the same movie for the past week.
“It’s all for you, pixie. So what are you doing for Thanksgiving anyway?”
“Oh, you know.”
“Yeah. Dinner with the Queen. Or is it the Sheik of Amsterdam this time? I assume it’s not with your mom.”
“You assume correctly. But I do have options.” One had been joining Beckett and his family in Houghton, but she’d politely declined. Better that his first full-on reunion in a decade not include his real estate broker—or whatever title applied. Friend? Except most people automatically expanded that to “girlfriend,” and while she was both “girl” and “friend,” she was definitely not the two combined. He probably had dozens of those anyway—at least friends with benefits—though he never mentioned anyone, and she didn’t ask. Don’t wanna know.
He made a noise that reminded her of a snorting bull and brought her back to present. “Jesus, please tell me Dirtbag isn’t one of those options.”
Taking her time, she pondered her answer judiciously to keep Beckett’s agitation from skyrocketing. If she didn’t know better, she’d peg him for a jealous boyfriend. Which he wasn’t.
“Claudia invited me to join them, I have a standing offer to join Gwenn, Henry, and the kids in Seattle, and I got an informal invite from Adrian’s parents.” She held her breath.
“Shit, of course that asshole would.”
“He didn’t do the inviting. Besides, how would that make him an asshole?” She laughed, sort of.
Beckett’s exhale nearly shuddered her phone. “You can bet your pretty ass it was his idea, and of course he’ll be there. He’s trying to reel you back in, run roughshod over you, and you’re too nice to stop him.”