Page 70 of Beneath Your Beautiful

“Was he…he feels guilty, like it was his fault.”

“It wasn’t his fault. But that doesn’t make shit like that any easier.”

“I didn’t see the fight,” I said. “Or any of his fights. I’ve never Googled him.”

“You shittin’ me?”

I shrugged. “No. I never felt the need.”

“You’re the one who used to snoop around looking for the Christmas presents.”

True. The anticipation used to kill me. My dad kept finding new and creative places to hide the presents. One year, he set a booby trap. When I pulled down the ladder to the loft in the garage, I got doused with a bucket of cold water.

Sawyer was laughing, probably remembering the same thing I was.

“That was funny as hell,” Sawyer said.

Sawyer’s sea bag dropped down the chute and he grabbed it from the conveyor belt, slinging it over his shoulder. He walked tall and proud, shoulders square, head held high, and a whole lot of swagger.

We exited through the sliding glass doors into glaring sunshine. I slid my sunglasses from the top of my head to my face and Sawyer slipped on a pair of aviators.

“It’s the Jeep Wrangler.” I pointed to Killian’s Jeep parked by the pick-up area where nobody was supposed to park and wait but we did it anyway.

Killian met us on the sidewalk and Sawyer shocked me by pulling Killian into a guy hug, handshake combo. He was rarely demonstrative. That hug in the airport had been a stretch for him. He’d never so much as shaken hands with Luke but here he was getting all chummy with a perfect stranger. “Good to meet you, man,” Sawyer said.

“You too,” Killian said, opening the hatch and Sawyer stowed his bag inside. I looked at them standing side by side, with similar powerful builds, all lean muscle, and Killian was maybe an inch taller, but it was barely noticeable.

“Hey, Killian,” I said. “Give me the keys. I’ll drive.”

Sawyer snorted. “How brave are you feeling today?”

“Hey, I resent that,” I said. “I’m an excellent driver.”

Sawyer shook his head no. “She’s a shit driver,” he said, climbing into the passenger seat. No matter who was driving, Sawyer had already claimed shotgun. Typical. Actually, that wasn’t true. Anytime we went anywhere together, Sawyer claimed the driver’s seat.

I ignored Sawyer’s comment and wiggled my fingers for Killian to turn over the keys. “You’ve been driving for six hours, and I slept most of the way. You barely got any sleep last night.”

“Whose fault was that?”

I wrapped my arms around him, sweetening the offer. “You can sleep in the back. You’ll have it all to yourself and you won’t miss a thing. It’s a boring drive. And you might need your energy for later.” I gave him a big wink like it was a promise of good things to come.

He turned over his keys which surprised me—he must have been more tired than I thought.

“That was easy,” I couldn’t resist telling him.

“I’m like Samson. All my strength was in my hair.”

I snorted laughter. “That makes me your Delilah,” I tossed over my shoulder. I liked the sound of that. And I was getting used to his hair. He still looked gorgeous, just more grown-up, his face more chiseled.

I climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted it to accommodate my shorter legs. Sawyer was already eating the sandwich from Panera Bread we’d brought him. And I’d left a sweet tea in the cup holder for him. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

“You got a cold beer to go with this?” he asked.

“Don’t push your luck.”

“How’s your life insurance?” Sawyer asked Killian as I pulled away from the curb.

I gave Sawyer the finger and Killian chuckled. They talked amongst themselves for a while, and it made me happy they got along, just as I suspected they would. Fifteen minutes later, it got quiet, and I checked the rearview mirror.