And why do I like the idea of a naked Beckett so fucking much?
Chapter seventeen
Beckett
Why the fuck did I say that?
I don’t talk like that with her. She doesn’t know that part of me, and I’ve probably freaked her out, or worse. I wouldn’t be that surprised if I came home from my run to find her packed up and ready to move out.
I change quickly and head out the front door without saying another word or even looking for where Cam is. Setting a punishing pace, I do what all of us Donnelly boys do when we feel like we’ve fucked up.
I try to outrun whatever it is that’s bugging me.
I’ve seen my brothers do it, even my cousin. When something’s going wrong in our personal lives, we run. Not from the problem, mind you, we just run to expend the energy that’s making it seem impossible in the moment.
Granted, I never expected to find myself doing this. But I guess this is the second time if I count that gym session with Sawyer and Hunter.
Cam has me majorly messed up; all of the tidy lines I thought I had drawn around the different aspects of my mind and my heart are blurred. They’re even erased in some places. I like control, it lets me feel safe and like I can keep everyone I care about safe.
But she is destroying my self-control. Without even trying, and probably without knowing.
I run for longer than I normally would, winding through the streets of Dogwood Cove until it’s almost fully dark. By the time I get back to my house, my shirt is drenched, and my legs are unsteady.
But my head is quiet.
I messed up earlier, saying what I did about sleeping naked. It was the truth, sort of, but still, it was inappropriate. Besides, ever since the night she had the nightmare and I woke up to her crying out in her sleep, I’ve worn something to bed so I don’t traumatize her by running into her room bare-ass naked.
Opening the front door, I head inside.
“Hey.”
Cam’s voice draws my attention immediately and I look into the living room, finding her on the couch, her sketch book in her lap.
“Hi,” I reply, feeling really fucking awkward. Do I apologize? Do I pretend I didn’t say it? Opting for the latter, I jerk my head down the hall. “I’m gonna go shower.”
Then like a coward, I leave.
Standing under the hot spray, all of the good the run did me at clearing my thoughts is unraveled as my mind fills with the idea of another night with Cam in my bed. My hand wraps around my already hard dick, and I clench my teeth, fighting back the desire to rub one out. Then again, maybe it’ll help?
“No.” I whisper-growl to myself. Then, even though it physically hurts, I make myself drop the hold on my dick and focus on showering.
After cranking the temperature to icy cold and running complex math equations in my head for a few minutes, I towel off and grab the clean flannel pants and T-shirt I grabbed on the way in here. Dressed, with my glasses on, I decide I have to stop avoiding her. She’s Cam. My best friend, and a woman who needs me to be better than this.
When I get back to the living room, she’s just sitting back down on the couch and placing two mugs on the table.
“I made some tea,” she comments, tossing me a smile.
I give her one back and sit down on the other end of the couch. “Thanks.” Picking it up, I blow across the steam wafting from the top. “Did you get some work done on the mural sketches?”
“Mm-hmm. Did you have a good run?”
I nod. God, we sound so stiff and formal. So much for not being awkward anymore.
“So, where’d you learn the dirty talk?”
I choke on the sip of hot tea burning down my throat at her blunt question.
Clearing my throat, I flash my eyes up to hers and then back down to my mug. “I thought we didn’t talk about our sex lives.”
