He met them in Florida. Reed didn’t go anywhere without Liam and Pierce.
“Really?”
“Just before my rookie season. I was there for training. They were running this wild haunted house thing for Halloween. It was crazy. And then…” His words trail off. The smile on his face is like any alpha in one of those scent match romances, all sweet and dopey. It slowly fades as he picks up his wine glass for a sip. “Anyway, I got traded to Nashville, and we’re here now.”
Had he met Reed? Did he know him too?
I remember the haunted house. It was super scary, even the toned-down version they did in the afternoon for little kids.
Does he know? Does he know Pierce killed him? Does he know he’s sleeping next to a murderer every night?
My mouth is suddenly dry. I take a sip of coke, just to give me something to do as this pause turns awkward. Out of the corner ofmy eye, I notice the woman next to us take out her phone to snap a pic of her dessert before angling it like she’s taking a picture of us.
“What do…”
“Do you…”
We both talk at the same time.
“You first.” Beckett smiles at me.
“No, you.” I don’t even remember what I was going to say.
“I think I’m bad at this. I don’t really date a lot. I know I’m not supposed to ask you boring questions like what you do for work.” Beckett puts his wrists on the edge of the table and leans in like it’s important to him that I’m not bored.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Shit. That was rude, wasn’t it? But Beckett’s eyes twinkle. What the hell am I doing?
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re gorgeous. Rich and famous, yeah? So, what’s wrong with you that you don’t date?”
He beams and says, “Hockey,” like it’s the answer to everything.
“A stupid game?”Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Thatwas rude. I open my mouth to apologize, but Beckett laughs in a way that makes my lips twitch.
“Yeah, it is kind of stupid if you really think about it. Grown men torturing themselves to put a little puck in a net, with thousands of people watching. But I’m good at it. It’s the only thing I really love. Well, besides my pack. Oh, and maybe steak.”
He sits back and nods just as an army of waiters descends on us. They clear plates and arrange a ridiculous amount of food on the table. Beckett’s steak is so big it arrives on its own platter. The plates are thin and delicate, not like the chunky stoneware we have at the diner. The center of the table is now cluttered with all the side dishes.
I jump and pull my elbow close to my center as a waiter accidentally brushes my arm as he swaps out my silverware and lines up ahuge steak knife next to my plate. I edge away, not wanting him to touch me again.
I don’t really know what to do next. There seem to be a whole bunch of rules to follow that no one clued me in on. The chick at the next table with her camera and her date are no help since they are trading bites of cake.
But Beckett’s got it. He piles perfect mounds of potatoes and veggies in a half-circle on my plate first, and then his, including a tower of thinly-sliced, fried onions. He winks and picks up his fork.
The knife is so big that it’s hard to hold, but it glides right through the steak. It’s so tender I could probably cut it with my fork. I moan the second it hits my tongue. I barely have to chew, it melts like butter, tasting rich and smoky.
“Fuck. Thisisworth two hundred dollars.” I swallow and panic, looking at Beckett.
“You know it.” He grins and loads his fork with a huge bite of steak.
I try a Brussels sprout, and that too is amazing.
“Beckett!” The woman with the cake and the camera is crouching next to us. Her voice is all syrupy. She has a book clutched to her chest, and her bag dangles off the crook of her elbow. The book does nothing to hide her cleavage at all.
The fork is still in Beckett’s mouth when he startles. Scooting back, he fumbles for his napkin to cover his mouth and chews furiously.
