Page 9 of Beckett the Bad Boy
“This seems excessive, though. Do you always go so far above and beyond your call of duty?”
“When it comes to you, I’m beginning to think there’s nothing I wouldn’t do.”
The sharp intake of my breath is the only sound in the hall after his confession.
I think it surprised him, too, based on the stiffening around his jaw. The jolt of his fingers on my skin.
Beckett clears his throat then drops his hold on me, retreating several feet away like I’m suddenly infected with cooties.
“Hopefully, that helped some. I should return to the banquet room.” He jerks a thumb down the hall. The sound of voices and the clanging of chairs and tables being unfolded reverberates in the air. “See you in there.”
“Yeah… See you.”
I give him a head start, not wanting to shadow his footsteps so quickly, despite going to the same place.
He’s already trying to escape whatever this moment was. I don’t need to make it even more awkward.
The back of my head lightly knocks against the wall where I lean for support.
Did I really think he was flirting?
What a fucking joke…
CHAPTER SIX
BECKETT
“Earth to Beckett! Anyone home?” My twin brother calls my name from across the six-foot folding table we’re adding to the line of tables against the north wall.
According to Kennedy and Beth, this is where the fundraiser contestants will set up their cooking stations.
“I’m right here. No need to shout.”
Ezra snickers and moves to grab the next folded table. “Then consider responding the first time I say your name.”
“Whatever,” I mumble with little heat.
I’m not in the mood to banter with my brother. I’m too distracted by the curvy woman currently smoothing out a wrinkle in the tablecloth she is positioning on a table further down the line from us.
Her round ass wiggles as she bends further, the back of her shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of soft, pale skin, and my mouth goes dry at the sight.
What the fuck?
This isn’t Victorian England.
One smooth strip of a woman’s back shouldn’t make my heart pound or my cock thicken in anticipation.
Anticipation forwhat, I’d rather not hazard a guess.
“Something going on there?” Ezra asks as he shuffles over to my side.
“What? Where?”Playing dumb.Always the best strategy when you want to avoid answering uncomfortable questions. Especially from family.
Ezra ignores my poor attempt at evasion. “You know what. That woman over there. Eliza? Lizzie?”
“Beth,” I correct him automatically, before immediately regretting it once I realize he was playing me. Pretending not to remember her name to force my hand.
“Yeah,Beth… Kennedy’s friend.” There’s a wealth of meaning in those two little words.