In Bed With the Beast

by Tara Sivec

  I really want to be offended that he’s ordering me around, but there’s something so knight in shining armor-ish about this whole situation, I’m swooning like the women in my favorite romance novels.

  And then I remember that he can’t take me home. Because I don’t have a home. My home is right here, and I’m currently standing on my bed.

  “Oh, no, that’s fine! You have to get to work and I’m going to be here for a while. It’s okay, I don’t live that far and I’ve been walking home every night for years,” I tell him with a nervous smile.

  “Grab. Your. Shit. You can eat the pizza on the way,” he tells me again, narrowing his eyes at me.

  He’s starting to sound less like a knight in shining armor and more like a caveman. I bristle at his demand.

  “No,” I reply sternly. “I will not grab my shit because, like I said, I’m not ready to go home yet. And I’ll walk, just like I always do.”

  “Are you always this stubborn?”

  “No. This is a recent addition to my personality. Get used to it,” I fire back.

  Maybe I’m imagining things, but I swear I see the corner of his mouth twitch, like he’s trying to hold back a smile. With a sigh, he steps back from the counter.

  “Eat. And pay attention to your surroundings,” he states sternly.

  When I look at him in confusion, he continues.

  “On your way home. Don’t be a dumbass staring at your phone the whole time. Look around you, be suspicious of everything and everyone. Walk fast with your head up and don’t stop for anything. If someone tries to stop you or do anything to you, yell fire. Never yell help. Studies show more people will come to your aid if you yell fire.”

  I nod without saying a word as he gives me one last pointed look before turning and walking out of the library.

  “Thank you for the pizza!” I shout after him.

  And just like that, with one little mention of statistics, I realize maybe I don’t need that stupid Match Made in Heaven thing Cindy and Ariel signed me up for. I’m pretty sure I just found mine.

  Chapter 5: Rude Knight in Shining Armor

  “Grab your shit. Let’s go.”

  I look up from the computer to find Beast standing on the other side, staring at me in annoyance.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Grab. Your. Shit,” he repeats slowly, his irritation with me evident.

  He’s been coming into my place of work now for over a week. He still comes in an hour before closing time, sits at his usual table, and I wait until Mrs. Potter leaves for the night to chat with him. Technically, I’ve been doing most of the chatting and he’s been doing his usual sighing and grunting with a few words thrown in here and there, but it’s been nice. Especially since I’ve been talking to him about books. Mrs. Potter is a voracious reader, but she only reads dirty romance novels, and that’s not exactly something I feel comfortable discussing with her on a daily basis.

  You can learn a lot about a person by the books they read. I didn’t realize how much I missed talking to my dad about books until Beast showed up here the night after he brought me pizza—with three bags of Taco Bell.

  “I usually read a book a day. I’m a speed reader. I don’t actually read word-for-word. I sort of skim the sentences and my brain is able to retain everything and make sense of it. Unless I’m reading one of the classics. Those take me a little longer just because of the different way they use the English language. Pride and Prejudice is my favorite,” I rambled, my fork hovering over my plastic container of the Nacho Bell Grande Beast pulled out of one of the bags and placed in front of me when I walked over to his table as soon as he arrived.

  I looked down at the pile of chips, cheese, meat, and tomatoes to hide my embarrassment that I couldn’t seem to quit talking nonstop in front of this man.

  “Mine too.”

  The quiet words that came from Beast’s mouth a few seconds later made my head jerk up from the food, and I stared across the table at him in shock.

  “You like Pride and Prejudice?!”

  With his arms crossed over his chest, one of his eyebrows quirked up.

  “Elizabeth Bennet judges Mr. Darcy without even knowing anything about him, and then she looks like an ass for being superficial. What’s not to like?”

  And just like that, my face heated in embarrassment once again. Not for being too talkative, but for behaving just like Elizabeth Bennet and being shocked that this man not only read one of the greatest romantic classics of all time, but also liked it as much as I did.

  “Less talking. More eating.”

  Beast nodded his head towards the food in front of me and the small twitch at the corner of his mouth made me relax and realize he was teasing me and not holding it against me that I judged him.

  Each night I’ve brought up a different classic I read and loved, and each night he’s confirmed he read it as well with a few low, gruff words. He continues to let me ramble on and on about books and never takes his eyes off of me. It’s a heady feeling having someone so interested in what you’re saying, and it’s been nothing short of amazing.

  Well, aside from the fact that I’ve been lying to him about staying here really late and continuing to refuse a ride home from him before he goes to work. That part kind of sucks, especially when he’s being so sweet in his own brusque way, and he’s continued to bring me food every night.

  “Once again, I’m not grabbing my shit. I’m working. I’ve got a lot of work to do. Go away and let me do my work.”

  I sound so rude right now, but I can’t help it. He might be irritating, but the way he’s staring at me makes my body tingle in all the right places, just like always.

  “The library is closed. Lock up, grab that ridiculous makeshift bed you’ve got stashed under the counter, and your bag of clothes you keep hidden in the bottom drawer, and let’s go.”

  My mouth drops open in shock and my face heats with embarrassment. Not even Mrs. Potter, who spends all day, every day in this library, noticed my bed shoved into the far corner under the desk, or my duffle bag in the bottom drawer. How in the hell does he know this? And why do I feel like it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal if Mrs. Potter figured it out, but I’m mortified beyond belief that he knows?

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I whisper, my voice cracking with the words as my eyes fill with tears of humiliation.

  Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he rests his elbows on top of the desk and leans across the counter until he’s just a few inches away from my face. I can feel his warm breath against my lips when he lets out a deep sigh.

  “And I’m not gonna let you spend another night sleeping on the floor of this fucking old, drafty library all alone. Get your shit and let’s go, or I’ll pick you up and toss you over my shoulder.”

  “How . . . when . . .” I stutter, unable to form the questions I want to ask him because I feel like an idiot.

  “I figured it out the first night I showed up here. I called off of work and stayed here until three o’clock in the morning, and you never came out. Let’s go.”

  With that, he pushes away from the counter, turns around and starts walking towards the front door while I wait for a hole to open up in the floor and swallow me up. Every night when I refused his ride home and told him I was working late, he knew I was lying. And every night he came back, and he never called me out on my lie—until now.

  When the bell chimes above the door and Beast disappears out into the parking lot, I finally let out the breath I was holding when he leaned in so close to me. Over the last week, even though he’s barely strung more than a few clipped words together, I’ve come to really, really like the sound of his voice. It’s deep and raspy and, dare I say, sexy. You know, if he wasn’t making me feel like a horrible, lying person and ordering me around.

  I take a few minutes to calm my nerves and blink away the unshed tears, glancing down at the floor by my feet.

  I don’t want to spend another night on th
e floor of this library, tossing and turning and trying to get comfortable. But should I really go somewhere with a man I barely know? I mean sure, he’s been hanging out with me for the last week, but I’m the one who’s done all the talking. I still don’t know anything about him other than the fact that he’s incredibly chivalrous, reads a lot, and is very concerned with my eating habits. The only warm meals I’ve eaten lately are the ones he’s brought me every night. Not wanting to waste the small amount of money I make on real food, I’ve been living on granola bars and peanut butter and jelly. But he’s friends with PJ, and PJ definitely isn’t the type of man who would associate with someone unsavory, let alone let him work at his club. Beast doesn’t know me very well, but he wants to make sure I’m okay and really doesn’t like the idea that I’ve been sleeping here. It almost feels a little bit like the start of a fairy tale. You know, if the prince was maddening and gruff and ordered the princess around. He probably just wants to drive me to a hotel or something. I’ll have to dig into next month’s book budget to pay for it, but I’d rather do that than be embarrassed any further by telling him I can’t afford it.

  The bell above the door chimes again, and I look up to find Beast hovering in the open door, looking incredibly pissed off.

  “Christ, are you really gonna make me carry you, woman?”

  It’s not exactly sweet, flowery words, but something about the way he calls me woman has me quickly snatching up my things from under the counter, yanking my duffle bag out of the bottom drawer, and hugging everything to my chest as I hurry across the room and follow him out the door.

  I have to jog across the parking lot just to keep up with him until we come to the only vehicle parked there.

  A giant black, ominous-looking pickup truck.

  Am I really getting into a vehicle with a man who is practically a stranger just for one good night of sleep?

  My body chooses that moment to remind me about my recent sleeping arrangements, the aches in my back growing more and more pronounced as I stand hunched-over next to the truck, trying not to drop my overflowing bag of clothes and shoes and toiletries onto the concrete.

  For the first time in over a week, I kind of wish my dad were here right now. He’d be able to take one look at the man climbing into his truck and immediately know his intentions and whether or not what I’m about to do is a good or horribly bad idea.

  The diesel engine of the truck roars to life and I realize this is it. This is the moment when I finally behave like the adult I told my father I needed to be, spreading my wings and doing something crazy like going home with a man I barely know just because he makes me tingle and resembles a rude knight in shining armor.

  Juggling the things in my arms, I open the truck’s passenger door and climb inside. The warm leather interior has that new-car smell and is surprisingly spotless, considering Beast isn’t exactly on top of things in the appearance department, being long overdue for a haircut and a shave.

  My body immediately melts into the butter-soft seats and I sigh with pleasure as I snuggle into the corner of the front seat, still hugging my things to my chest. My phone is clutched in my hand as he pulls out of the parking lot.

  “Just so you know, I’ve already dialed 9-1-1 into my phone and I will not hesitate to press the call button and scream my head off if you start driving down a dark, deserted road,” I inform him.

  His only reply is a low growl under his breath. The rumble of the truck engine and the way it gently rocks back and forth as he pulls out onto the main street and takes off towards town makes my eyes grow so heavy that it’s impossible for me to keep them open anymore.

  “Fifty-four-point-three percent of murders are committed by someone you know,” I tell him with a yawn as my head flops back against the seat with my eyes closed. “So, since I barely know you, there’s a forty-seven-point-five percent chance you won’t slice my body into tiny little pieces and bury me in a field somewhere.”

  The last thing I hear before I fall asleep is another growl from Beast’s side of the car.

  Chapter 6: This is Where I Die

  “This isn’t a hotel.”

  I woke up thirty seconds ago when Beast turned his truck off. I know I’m stating the obvious, but my eyes are still heavy, my body is cramped from dozing in the front seat for however long it took us to get wherever we are, and stating the obvious is much better than screaming and clawing his eyes out.

  “No. It’s my house.”

  With a sigh, Beast gets out of his truck, slamming the door behind him. I crane my neck, looking out all of the windows to try and gauge where we are, but it’s dark, and all I can make out are shadowed outlines of a forest as far as the eye can see. Thank goodness his truck headlights are still on; they must be on some kind of a timer so they automatically turn off after a few minutes. The bright, halogen lights illuminate a rustic stone cottage a few yards away, complete with ivy growing up the stone walls and around the windows. From what I can see, there also seems to be quite a lot of landscaping around the house that actually appears well tended, even if it looks like someone bought out an entire garden center, planting one of everything imaginable, from small trees to huge shrubbery and lots and lots of wildflowers.

  I slowly open the truck door, hugging my belongings close to my chest with one arm as I exit the vehicle, watching Beast walk through the spotlight of his headlights and towards the cottage. No sooner does he walk through the lights, when they suddenly shut off, shrouding the surrounding area in quiet, eerie darkness, aside from a few solar lights lining the walkway right in front of the cottage.

  “This is where I die. In a cottage straight out of Hansel and Gretel,” I mutter quietly.

  Unfortunately, sound must carry in this remote stand of woods, and as soon as the words leave my mouth, Beast stops a few feet away, turning around to look at me with a blank expression on his face.

  “Let’s go.”

  He nods his head towards the cottage with a jerk and starts to turn away.

  “Wait!” I shout, my voice echoing through the woods, hoping there are neighbors out here somewhere who might possibly hear me if I scream a little louder.

  He lets out another sigh, and I begin to wonder if growling and sighing are the only noises he knows how to make. I wonder if he barks like a dog when the mailman comes. Or purrs like a cat when someone scratches behind his ear.

  An image of the huge, muscled man standing a few feet away from me getting down on all fours and purring like a kitten forces a hysterical giggle out of my mouth.

  “Did you know Hansel and Gretel were brother and sister, kidnapped by a cannibalistic witch living deep in the forest in a house made out of cake and confectionery? The witch lures them by letting them eat her house and they think she’s being nice but really she just wants to fatten them up so she can shove them into her oven and eat them,” I ramble nervously. “I’m not saying you’re a cannibal or anything, but the stones on this place look an awful lot like pieces of sheet cake covered in fondant and spray painted with edible food coloring, and I haven’t eaten since lunch, and I’m starving, and Ariel is always saying I need more meat on my bones, so I’m just wondering if you want to fatten me up—considering you keep bringing me food every night—and shove me in your oven and eat me?”

  Beast does nothing but blink at my ridiculous, long-winded way of asking him if he brought me out here to kill me.

  After a few tense minutes of silence, he shakes his head at me.

  “You talk a lot.”

  “And you don’t talk enough! I’m a twenty-five-year-old single woman who has never lived anywhere but with her father, and all my friends were fictional until recently. You come to my library for an entire week, pretty much let me do all the talking, and then all of a sudden tonight, you’re ordering me to come with you. You know more about what’s going on in my life than my best friends. You drive me out to a charming yet creepy cottage out in the middle of nowhere and expect me to just do what you say
without an explanation. I mean, I don’t even know your real name!”

  He closes his eyes for a few seconds and brings one hand up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. Even though he’s overbearing and rude, I still feel a little bad that I might have offended him. Especially if Beast really is his name. Which means his parents must have hated him, and now I kind of just want to give him a hug.

  This is all so confusing.

  His hand drops from his face and he silently stalks towards me, the predatory look in his eyes making me gulp and quickly step backwards until my back hits the side of the truck and I have nowhere else to go.

  He stops when we’re toe to toe, and I can feel the heat from his body warming my skin even though it’s covered in goosebumps from how close he is and how nervous he makes me.

  “I told you, you’re not spending another night on the floor of that fucking library. I’m not much of a talker, but I was raised to be a goddamn gentleman. And my name is Vincent.”

  All of his cursing kind of negates the whole gentleman thing, but there’s a surprising softness to his raspy voice that makes me want to believe what he’s saying.

  “Vincent?” I question in shock. “That’s so . . . normal.”

  He reaches out and grabs my overflowing duffle bag from my arms and begins walking back towards the house. Unless I want to stay outside all night and never see my things again, I have no choice but to follow him.

  “Yes, Vincent. Contrary to what you might think, I’m not really an animal,” he mumbles, sounding a little hurt by my statement.

  He walks up the stone steps to a wraparound porch spanning the front of the cottage, past four Adirondack chairs, and pauses in front of a huge, mahogany door. Shifting my belongings under one arm, he reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a set of keys.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so surprised. Vincent is a very nice name. I just took you for something more fitting to the way you look. Like Hulk. Or Thor. Or Hercules. You know, because you’re all big and muscly. Can I call you Vinny?”