“Did you recently buy the place?” I asked, trailing a hand over the back of the couch. I looked over my shoulder to find him pausing at the entrance to a hallway. I did my best to ignore the way his muscles flexed under the strain of my luggage. His biceps always had a way of pulling me in, but now they were bigger. More toned. And that was only based on what I could see with his jacket on.
God help me when he takes it off.
He shifted the handle to his opposite hand before running fingers through his mussed-up hair. He’d abandoned his cowboy hat on the hook by the door. “Yeah, sort of.”
I waited for him to go on, but when he simply stared at me, I offered a closed-lip smile. His eyes darted to my mouth before his tongue flicked out and over his lips, so fast I barely noticed it. Then he tilted his head in the direction of the hall, and I followed.
“I have a guest room,” he explained as he stepped to the side by an open door, allowing me to walk in ahead of him. “It’s not much, but it has an attached bathroom. No tub, though. If you want to take a bath, you can in mine.” He set the luggage on the beige-and-ivory checkered comforter.
“That’s fine. I don’t know if I can take a bath anyway, with…” I trailed off, my focus moving down to my belly before back to him. “While I’m pregnant.”
A line formed between his eyebrows, a look of worry washing over him before he quickly masked it. “I, uh, know someone else who’s pregnant.”
I gave him a curious look.
As soon as he noticed the look, he held his hands out, cheeks flaming. “Not because I just go around meeting pregnant women. Callan’s girlfriend, Sage, is pregnant. She has another kid, a little girl named Avery”—his expression warmed at the mention of her—“so she might have some tips.”
Nostalgia at the mention of his brother had me smiling. I never thought I’d hear about the Bronsons like this again, and now here I was, hearing their names like I’d never left. “Thanks. I’d really like that.”
I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed Bell Buckle. Now that I was here, the guilt of leaving all those yearsago threatened to rip off the bandage I’d stretched over the wound this place had left. I hadn’t had many friends when I lived here, save for the Bronsons, because my family were outcasts. Not for any reason other than my parents didn’t like me hanging out with anyone. They had their secrets, and the last thing they wanted was their little girl sharing them with the town.
It was why Beckham and I mostly snuck around. Why I only saw Lettie, his little sister, and Brandy, her best friend, when I stopped by their ranch on my way home from school. Or the mornings after I’d stay the night in Beckham’s bed.
All the risks I’d taken, all the sneaking around, was for Beckham.
Everything was for him. For us.
Until we both left.
The rustling of fabric had me flicking my gaze back to him, only to find he’d taken his jacket off and was slinging it over his shoulder. He rubbed at the back of his neck, the movement causing his shirt to rise slightly. I glimpsed the hard muscle of his stomach that dipped into a well-defined hip bone. The sight had me clearing my throat, turning away to hide the heat in my cheeks.
He must’ve noticed the sudden change in my demeanor, or maybe he felt the room shrinking like I did, because he stepped back toward the door, his face nearly looking pained.
“This isn’t weird, is it?” I asked, stopping him before he could leave. At the motel, I was content to stew in the silence. But here? It was deafening, knowing he wasbarely four steps away, across the hall, with only walls separating us.
“I invited you here, Parker. It’s not weird.” His hand rested on the knob, and my focus shifted from his face to his arm. It was then that I noticed the tattoo on the inside of his left bicep.
“What’s with the longhorn skull?” It was similar to the one I’d seen hanging in his living room.
The corner of his mouth twitched, as if my change of subject amused him. “Story for another time. Why don’t you settle in? I’ve got some things I have to do.”
Deflation hit me like a bullet. “Oh.”
His features pinched. “It’s not that I don’t want to?—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupted, not wanting him to feel guilty. “I’m the one intruding, anyway. You have your stuff to do.” It was weird not knowing him like I did before. And yet, he was still the same Beckham. Just…grown up.
Guilt showed in his gaze, and I hated that I put it there.
He opened his mouth, but closed it again before landing on “Yep.”
He hesitated, lips pursing like he wanted to say more. I wished he would.
He started to swing the door shut, and my hands twitched with the urge to stop him again.
Let him go, I told myself.You’re making a fool of yourself.
I stepped forward, my control slipping. “Beck?”
