Her fingers tingled at the thought of touching his warm skin. Oh, she’d had it bad for this guy, despite the fact that he looked at her like a little sister.
He shifted, bringing his arm across his torso. Daisy jumped out of the way to avoid being hit and waking him up. Her hands flew to her plastic-covered head and the warm oil oozing down her neck. She could only imagine the teasing she’d take if he saw her like this.
Come to think of it, he’d teased her a lot growing up. Even as a teenager he’d done things like put red food coloring in her foundation. She could have killed him for that alone. The coloring didn’t show up until she applied the foundation—on camera! The whole segment had to be re-filmed. Then there was the time he and Quinton dressed the dog in her favorite shirt and skirt. They hacked into her MyHeartChannel account and posted a video of the dog dancing for a treat. It was a wonder she had any subscribers at all in those early days.
She was about to abandon her mission to find something for her hair when a pair of white tube socks on the coffee table caught her eye. Obviously they were Beckett’s, and obviously they were brand-new. She snatched up the pair.
“Karma, baby.” She blew a kiss Beckett’s direction and skipped down the hallway to tell her viewers that she’d found the perfect solution.
Daisy leaned back in her chair. She’d done most of the editing on the footage and her eyes ached. Eye drops were the one thing she never seemed to keep track of. She could have sworn she left them by her monitor, but they were nowhere to be found. Just a few more minutes of work and she’d have this segment ready for her videographer/editor/all-around great gal, Vivian, to upload.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that there was more to life than her channel. She hopped up and headed for the kitchen. Her heart did a little flip at the idea of seeing Beckett again. Of him seeing her. Surely he was awake by now. Hopefully he had on clothes. Not that the view had been all that bad. In fact, the view was rather splendid. However, if she had to make a breakfast smoothie while Beckett walked around without a shirt on, she’d cook the egg in her hair faster than you can say “one Jalapeño Hottie Omelet, please.”
Her hand went up to check the office clip that held the sock in place. Now that she’d had some time to think about taking the sock without asking, she felt kind of bad about it. Cream-colored oil had made spots on the white sock. It would wash out. Probably. If not, she’d buy Beckett a new pair of socks.
She kicked off her fuzzy slippers and threw on a fluffy seafoam sweater. She usually filmed in a white T-shirt and yoga pants. The white shirt worked like a blank canvas for the colors she applied to her face. No one could see what was on from the waist down, but since there was a guest in her house and she was already wearing plastic wrap on her head, the fuzzy slippers spoke more to “crazy cat lady” than they did to “cute and fun footwear.” The thick sweater tied around her middle was chic. She glanced in the full-length mirror. The sweater was high-quality and had a thick collar that came up around her neck, giving her a bit of Audrey Hepburn allure. “Great—now I look like a crazy rich person.” At least her makeup was done.
Her stomach growled again, reminding her that she couldn’t hide in her room all day. “I really need to stash some cookies in the nightstand,” she muttered.
She yanked open the door and marched down the hallway as if she owned the place—which she did, so that wasn’t much of a stretch.
Beckett was a guest in her home. And he’d grown up—the image of his manly body splayed out on the couch came to mind—he’d grown upa lot. The likelihood of him pulling any of his old pranks was low. She hoped.
The couch was empty. Daisy breathed a sigh of relief. She really didn’t want to be the one to wake him up. She could count on two hands the number of people she’d had to rouse from slumber in her lifetime.
Waking up was personal and intimate. There was that first deep breath before your eyes opened—a moment when contentment and peace filled your soul. That’s when a person was real—before they had a chance to slip into a mask or let stress enter their consciousness. That’s when they were at their most vulnerable. It was the moment that set the tone for the whole day, and sharing it implied familiarity.
She rounded the corner and found Beckett facing the open dryer wearing just a pair of cargo shorts. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest she put her hand over it to muffle the sound. Although, she should have let it pound freely, because she squeaked. He looked even better standing up.
Beckett flipped around, his eyes widening as he took her in from her bare toes to her peculiar headgear. Daisy froze in place, giving him the same once-over. He was all man with corded muscles in his forearms and tan legs. His feet were white and there was a tan line above his ankle. Her eyes traveled lazily up to his face, where she found a smirk. “Mornin’, Daisy.”
Her cheeks burned and she knew they were on their way to being as red as a tomato. Flushing easily was one of the hazards of being a redhead with creamy skin. “Beckett.” His name came out with more breathy anticipation than she thought necessary.
“Trying to contact the mother ship?” Beckett pointed at her head.
She pressed her lips. “That would be tinfoil hats—not plastic ones.” She ripped her eyes away from his body. “Do you have a thing against clothes?” She opened the fridge and used the door as a shield between them. The cold air hit her cheeks and brought them from tomato to dusty pink.
“I was just getting my shirt out of the dryer.” His voice echoed in the steel drum.
She left the door open as she gathered strawberries, blueberries, yogurt, and almond milk to make a smoothie. Her arms were full, so she kicked the door shut with her foot. Beckett was right behind the door, and she jumped.
He grinned like he enjoyed startling her.
She turned away to put the fruit on the counter. He was the same old Beckett—still a tease and something of a pain in her behind. But she wasn’t the same little girl. She had the top-ranked beauty channel in the nation and almost had a deal for her own line of all-natural cosmetics. She just needed to come up with a segment that would seal the deal. Something new and different from what other beauty bloggers were doing.
“What are you doing here?” She pointed at the floor.
“I had a layover and Quinton offered me the couch.”
Daisy ripped the top of the blender off and poured in the almond milk. “That was sure sweet of him.” Her tone was anything but sweet. She was going to have a talk with her sweet older brother about how at home he should feel in her home. Living here? Sure. She was great with that. He was the best roommate ever. Inviting his friends to live here? Not cool.
“He’s a great guy.” Beckett leaned one hip against the counter.
“The best.” She threw in the fruit, feeling angry and antsy that Beckett was the same old, same old. He was treating her like a sixteen-year-old little sister, and that ticked her off.
“Wait—is that my sock?” Beckett reached for her head.
Daisy ducked away. “Yep.” She smiled sweetly, feeling like she had the upper hand for the first time since she’d seen him sleeping. He’d looked so peaceful, so nonthreatening a couple hours ago. My, how things change in the daylight.
