Have.
So many questions!
And yet, I’m just sitting here, drinking my wine.
“Of course,” I say.
But… I can’t seem to pull my eyes away from that silver glint. Even right out of the shower, Beckett’s penis is mildly impressive. Poke a piece of jewelry through the tip and…
“Does it hurt?” I ask, as casually as if we were talking about a sunburn.
As if he was fully clothed.
Beckett glances down, utterly unfazed, before lifting his gaze again.
“You don’t want to know,” he says.
“Oh.”
I take another sip of wine, because what else does a woman do when confronted with her almost ex-husband’s newly pierced… situation? I mean, I’m still processing that he did something so…
Reckless. Insane.
Sexy?
But also… why? What on earth would make him do something so…unBeckettlike?
The balcony door is wide open, and he’s just a few feet away, and for a few seconds, it’s easy to pretend this is normal: him getting dressed, me sipping wine, the world outside glittering with what feels like a manic kind of festival happening in the streets of Cabo San Lucas.
And I hate where we are.
I really, really hate it.
It means that his new accessory, well, it’s none of my business.
He steps into gray sweats, the fabric clinging just enough to remind me exactly what’s underneath.
And even though he isn’t looking in my direction, I know he knows I’m watching while he pulls a soft t-shirt over his head.
Still barefoot, sharp and clean-smelling, Beckett steps outside and sits down beside me.
I pour out some more wine and, because I can’t help myself, I make it my business.
“I’ve read about them.” I flick my gaze to his lap.
“When would you read about penis piercings?” He leans forward.
“Inromance novels,” I clarify. “I didn’t think it was something you could just have done spur of the moment, though.”
“Well.” Beckett leans back in his chair, and then shifts a little. “Some of us learn that the hard way.”
This time, I’m the one with a cocked brow.
“It wasn’t the plan,” he says. “At all. But Arlo was showing us pictures of some of his work, and it was just there.” Beckett picks up a fry and pops it into his mouth.
“Who is Arlo?”
“The tattoo artist.”
