Page 5 of Beckett the Bad Boy (Suitor’s Crossing: The Caldwells #4)

BETH

Damn this week, and damn this fucking headache that’s trying to kill me.

Cursing is supposed to alter your perception of pain. Make it seem less than agonizing.

A lot of good it’s done me so far.

Changing tactics, my inner tirade transforms into a polite plea for relief as another sharp pain pierces my temple.

Kennedy relieved a lot of my stress by agreeing to host the Chili Cook-Off at Hearthstone.

She even volunteered to find extra people to help me set up everything, since most of the lodge staff were busy with another event, yet these damn headaches keep plaguing me.

No matter what I do.

Tons of water and electrolyte-filled Gatorade have been sloshing around in my stomach. My only reward? Numerous visits to the bathroom to pee and a slight feeling of nausea.

I’ve worn my hair down—no efficient ponytail to tug on my sensitive scalp, not even a bobby pin to hold my hair back from my face.

And nothing.

All of my usual go-tos for defeating headaches have failed. Including hot showers, classical music, and the weird magical powers of drinking nasty Coke soda.

Which means it’s time to break out the ibuprofen and acetaminophen.

Something I avoid at all costs because I hate swallowing pills.

My brain shuts down, and the pill sits on my tongue, slowly dissolving into a gross flavor that makes me want to gag, because it takes me so long to trick my mind into swallowing.

I don’t know why I struggle so much, but it’s been a problem since I was a kid.

I remember the very first time my mom offered me a Tylenol when I was twelve years old and got my period. It took so long to swallow that I ended up crying out of embarrassment and irrational fear.

Oh, yeah, and don’t forget the painful cramps and headache!

“Suck it up, buttercup,” I scold myself and remove the travel-sized pill organizer from my purse. It holds my emergency stash of ibuprofen, acetaminophen, and an antihistamine for when allergies are kicking my butt.

Popping two pills in my mouth, I scream in my head, Swallow !, praying the firm directive will force my body to follow the command.

“Nice pep talk,” someone says from behind me.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

My shoulders slump as my eyes flutter shut in defeat. I do not need a witness to my illogical response to swallowing pills. Especially not this witness.

Of the sexy firefighter variety.

What’s he doing here?

It’s his family’s lodge, but still… It's not like he lives or works here. Shouldn’t he be at the firehouse across town?

The pills slide under my tongue as I garble, “Hey, Beckett.”

“Are you alright?” He steps in front of me, and I frantically nod, sipping at the water bottle in my hand.

I shake my pill organizer in explanation of my nonverbal response and grit my teeth.

Swallow!

Swallow, or else!

Finally, the medicine works its way down my throat— score one for threats —and I chug the water to get rid of the awful taste in my mouth.

“I’m fine. Just a minor headache.”

“Are you sure? Seems more than that.”

I drag a bright smile to the forefront, attempting to mask my discomfort. “What? No. You caught me off guard. I hate swallowing pills, and you appeared right as I took them, and—” My lips smack together as I cut off my rambling.

What the hell is wrong with me when it comes to this man?

For some reason, my composure flies out the window, and I can’t keep my mouth shut. It’s weird and out of character because I’m usually overthinking and overly cautious with my words.

Beckett obliterates that filter when he should be the one who causes me to clam up even tighter.

Because I want to impress him.

I want him to like me.

I inwardly groan at feeling like a middle schooler with their first crush.

“They make powdered packets of ibuprofen and acetaminophen. Other meds, too. Have you tried that?” he asks, concern dotting his expression.

No.

No, I have not.

Because I didn’t know that was A. Fucking. Thing!

I really should research more.

“Nope, but I’ll look into it. Are you here to help prepare for the fundraiser?” Switching subjects seems best if I want to hang on to a shred of my dignity.

You know, the teeny scrap that is left.

“Yeah, Kennedy asked us.” He must be referring to his brothers—the rest of the Caldwell siblings, who I haven’t seen yet, but I’m guessing are filling the banquet room with tables and chairs. “Here, let me help you while we’re waiting for the pain meds to kick in.”

Beckett eases closer, his large palms moving to either side of my head, before the confident massage of fingertips against my throbbing temples sends a river of goosebumps over my skin.

“Um… You don’t have to do t-that,” I stutter, frozen in place under his firm but careful ministrations.

This close, the silver of his eyes is a bullet straight to my racing heart, and it’s a good thing I’m not a fucking werewolf because I’d be dead on the floor.

Death by a handsome fireman.

What a way to go…

Why does he affect me so strongly?

Beckett has an identical twin.

Ezra has the same steel gray eyes and black hair, though he’s more polished. His hair styled rather than left shaggy like Beckett’s. More likely to be found in a suit than tees. He’s more serious, and by all accounts, we share a lot of similar personality traits.

But he’s not the one I want.

I mean he’s taken now by Lauren, but even when he was single, he’s never been the Caldwell twin I’ve been drawn to.

It’s always been Beckett.

From the first time I saw him across the street hauling hoses across the firehouse’s front lawn during a training exercise. Then again, when he’d surprised me by appearing at the Reaper’s Wolves MC clubhouse with Ranger during a book club meeting.

“Actually, I do. It’s part of my job description as a first responder: always provide whatever aid is necessary.” He winks, and a flicker of excitement wings to life in my belly.

Is he flirting with me?

Is he not totally scared off by my nervous chatter and slightly stalkerish admissions?

“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…