I didn’t have anyone else to call.Monica would have been no help, and I didn’t want to have to deal with her sketchy, creepy boyfriend. Kaden is in California doing summer training, prepping for the NBA draft.
It hurts. A lot.But what could I do?So, I called Beckett, and luckily, he was able to come save me.
I wait up for him on the couch, laptop open on my lap as he comes in. It looks like it’s been a rough day.He hangs his keys up on the hook and takes his shoes off. He doesn’t greet me as he walks in, like he normally does, so I don’t say anything either.
There’s a tension in his shoulders that isn’t usually there, like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his back. I don’t know what to do to help. So I just pretend like I don’t notice and turn back to my laptop.
When the microwave beeps, he grabs the plate, his beer, and heads straight into his office.
I sit in the living room for another ten minutes before a crazy thought comes to me.I’m not sure what possesses me, but I might need to call a priest because what I do next is not normal.
My bare feet pad softly against the floor as I go down the hallway to his office.I take a deep breath and knock softly on the door. I don’t hear an answer right away, so I’m afraid that I didn’t knock hard enough.
But then I hear a soft, “Come in.”
I open the door, poking my head in. His normally slicked-back hair is a mess, like he’s spent the last ten minutes running his fingers through it aggressively.
I can’t help but feel little butterflies flutter in my stomach at how good it looks, all disheveled. Because my brain knows no boundaries, it begins to wonder what his hair would feel like if I ran my fingers through it.
I shake my head at my momentary lapse in judgment. The food on his plate has hardly been touched.
“You ok?” I whisper, letting myself into the small room and closing the door behind me.
“Mhmm,” he grunts, not looking up at me.I grind my teeth together slightly, feeling very nervous all of a sudden. I’m not sure why. I’ve been alone with him for weeks, but for some reason, this feels weird. Moreintimate. Like I’m seeing a piece of him that I shouldn’t be.
That little thing that’s possessed me makes me round his desk without a word, and I rest my hands on his shoulders. He tenses, but he doesn’t shrug me off as I begin to knead the muscles with my fingers.After a few seconds, I feel him begin to loosen up. He lets his head fall forward in a way that lets my thumbs get the back of his neck.
Neither of us says anything as I work his shoulders.
An intrusive thought hit me from nowhere. ‘What if you leaned down and nibbled on his neck?’
What the fuck? Where did that come from?I look around the room as if it could hear my most inner, inside thoughts.
My hands move down his back just slightly to a particularly tense knot, and he lets out a small groan.
Get back inside your cage, you stupid butterflies.
What the fuck is wrong with me?This guy is family. I mentally scold myself, like I’m a bad puppy who chewed on a shoe or something.
“This ok?” I whisper, my voice more breathy than I mean for it to be.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little deeper than normal.
I nod even though he can’t see me.I rub out his muscles for a few more minutes.When I go to pull my hands away, his fingers on my wrist stop me.
“Thank you,” he says gruffly. I struggle to find words. My voice is gone, my throat dry.
“You’re welcome,” I squeak. He lets go of my hands, and I all but sprint out of the room.
I don’t see Beckett again until Sunday morning.I’m sitting at the island, sipping on a matcha and scrolling through my content calendar for the week, trying to finalize it.
Beckett comes downstairs in a plain navy tee, jeans, boots, and a baseball cap. I immediately have to avert my eyes to keep from staring at him. He looks good.Too good.I feel my cheeks heat up for staring, and then they get even warmer because of how embarrassed I am, because of my staring.
“Do you have any plans today?” he asks, pouring himself a cup of coffee and leaning against the counter by the sink.
He sets his mug down on a coaster and crosses his arms over his chest. My eyes linger far too long on his forearms.
“No, I was just gonna hangout and get a jump on filming for this week,” I say, averting my eyes from him and looking back down at my laptop.
