Page 11

CHAPTER TEN

CHARLIE

After our Target run a few weeks ago, Beck created a schedule for the bathroom and private bedroom time for changing and studying. I will mostly go over to the sorority house to work in the study hall room, but on the chance I don’t, I need space to think without thoughts of him distracting me. It’s hard enough, smelling him all around me. And if it’s not him, it’s the peony. He’s left one on my pillow every day. I’ve been placing them in a small vase on the kitchen table. We don’t talk about them or even acknowledge their existence. It’s like our little secret, although there’s no doubt Casey knows where they’re coming from and for whom.

I went back to the store today to grab some more groceries and a whiteboard to create a kitchen schedule for the house. We don’t eat every meal together, but I thought it would be fun to have at least one meal a week as a “family.” And also, I’m not going to get stuck with all the cooking and cleaning duties. Surprisingly, the guys are pretty neat and clean. At least in the main living areas. I’m not sure what their rooms look like.

That said, tonight is my turn to cook. I did get my premade meals ordered, but these guys eat a lot, and despite the cheat food I picked up, they are on a pretty strict diet with the team nutritionist, so I need to accommodate that.

Archie is in the kitchen, looking at the whiteboard I put on the fridge. His hands are in the pockets of his gray sweatpants, and he’s rocking back and forth on his heels. “So, this is going to be like a scheduled thing? We each have days?” he asks while nodding. “I dig it. What are you making us tonight, Chuck?”

“I have chicken marinating in the fridge, and then I was going to roast some veggies and red potatoes. That’s all on the food plan from the team, I think, right?” I guess I should have asked Casey before I made a plan, but I figured I’d model what I saw him eat over the summer.

“Yep, that all sounds great. Did you check to see if we had propane in the grill? I think we do, but I’ll go double-check,” he says, already walking out to the back porch.

“Shit, I didn’t even think about that. Thanks, Arch.”

Walking over to the fridge, I pull it open and bring out the chicken, veggies, and potatoes. I set everything on the counter and open some cabinets in search of the cutting board. I know they have one because Casey took my mom’s old one when they moved in. I can’t find it in the lower cabinets, so I open one of the upper cabinets and see it on the second shelf. Lifting on my toes, I try to grab it, but I’m too short.

I mean, who puts a cutting board on a second row in a top cabinet? Oh, right, boys. Tall boys.

“Need a hand?” I hear a deep, gravelly voice ask behind me.

I turn my head slightly to gaze over my shoulder and see a shirtless Beck standing directly behind me. Close enough that if either of us leaned in just a little, we’d kiss.

“Uh, I think I can get it, but I might have to grab a step stool or something.”

Beck smirks. “We don’t have a stool, Boss. Let me grab it for you.”

I pull my arm down and start to lean to the side to give him room to grab it, but he blocks me in with his body.

His left arm is on the counter, practically touching my hip, and his right arm reaches over me to grab the cutting board. Since I have a crop top on, I can feel the heat from his body radiating against my back, sending shock waves straight down my body and to my toes.

And he called me Boss again. There’s something about that nickname that still makes my stomach flip.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

“Anytime. So … what’s cooking?” he asks so close to my ear that I can feel his breath tickle me.

Clearing my throat from being slightly flustered by his closeness, I say, “Grilled chicken and stuff.”

He laughs. “Do you need any help with … stuff?”

The last thing I need is Beckham in my space, but really, it will make this go faster.

“Yeah, you can wash the potatoes for me while I cut the veggies.”

“Don’t you need to clean the veggies too?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah, good point. You do that while I get the chicken on a pan to take out to the grill. In fact, I’ll go check on the grill, and you can start washing. Make sure you get all the black spots off the potatoes. No one wants to eat dirt.”

“Huh, is that what those black spots are? I didn’t realize that,” he mocks.

“Ha-ha, funny guy. I’ll be right back,” I say, walking toward the sliding door that leads to the porch.

Archie is standing by the grill and texting on his phone when I walk outside.

“Hey, Arch. Do we have enough propane?”

“We have enough propane, and I started it for you. Should be getting pretty warm by now. Is the food ready?”

“Not yet. I need to cut up the veggies and potatoes, but I can get the chicken on while I do that.” I lift up the grill hood and feel the heat immediately. “Yeah, I think this is ready. Thanks, Arch.”

“Anytime, sugar. Thanks for making dinner. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten in, like, two hours,” he says, rubbing his stomach, which makes his shirt ride up, exposing his six-pack—or maybe eight-pack.

I haven’t seen him shirtless yet, but I’m sure he’s solid, like the other guys.

I pat him on the shoulder. “It’s coming, big guy. I’ll be back out in a few with the chicken. I don’t expect you to man the grill though. I might be a girl, but I can handle some heat.”

“I just bet you can, Little King,” he says, laughing.

I shoot him a wink over my shoulder when I walk back into the house. Beck is standing at the sink, washing the potatoes, and the veggies are sitting on the cutting board.

“Wow, you work fast. Thank you.”

He just nods while he scrubs a stubborn dirt spot on one of the potatoes.

“Oh, hey, I need a bowl to put these veggies in with some olive oil and seasoning. Where are the mixing bowls? Oh, and I need a pan to put the chicken on. I didn’t see one when I was looking for the cutting board.”

Wordlessly, he leans down, reaches in front of my leg, and opens the cabinet.

“It’s in this one. I think we have a few different sizes. If you don’t see one that works, I’ll see where the popcorn bucket is. The pans—if you’re talking about, like, a cookie sheet—are in the drawer under the oven. Like where your mom keeps hers,” he says and then turns back to the sink to keep washing.

I bend down to peek inside the cabinet and find a medium-sized bowl I can mix the veggies in and a larger bowl for the potatoes. Pulling both out, I set them next to the cutting board. Then I go around to his other side, where the oven is, bend down, and pull out one of the larger cookie sheets. I found the foil in the pantry last week when I made meatloaf for the guys, so I walk over, open the door, and grab it.

Setting the pan on the counter, I start to roll out some foil and place it on top of the pan, then open the drawer in front of me to get a fork.

“We’re running out of room on the counter here,” I say with a slight laugh.

“Am I in the way?” he says with a teasing tone as he leans toward me.

Okay, if he wants to invade my space, I’ll invade his right back. Two can play this little game he seems to be starting.

Pressing into him so our arms are now touching, I say, “I’m sure we can make it work.”

His chest rises, and his lips part. I watch as his tongue darts out and licks his bottom lip.

I gently nudge him with my hip. “Just don’t put your hand in my way, or you might get cut.”

His body stiffens. I glance over at him, and he’s got an odd expression on his face.

Then he glances down at his hand and flexes it a few times.

He looks from his hand to my face, and his demeanor shifts. He takes a step back and shakes his head, seeming to snap out of whatever was on his mind. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I take my own step back and scratch my head.

The chicken is marinating in a ziplock bag, and I pull each piece out with the fork, placing it on the pan. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get this on the grill.”

Beckham nods. “I’ll be here.”

Literally, what is happening right now? It seems like he’s making some kind of effort to keep things nice since we’re stuck living together. But I feel like I have whiplash.

I’ve been thinking more and more about how things between us ended so … abruptly.

Once upon a time, Beck was the boy who threw pebbles at my window late at night just so I could come to the window and blow him a kiss. He said he had nightmares sometimes, and I was the only thing that brought him peace on those nights. I never asked what his dreams were about. I just wanted to be there for him.

After the breakup, he avoided me like the plague. Maybe that was him treating me the way I was treating him.

My heart was shattered, and I couldn’t drop the wall I’d built around myself.

I know things won’t go back to the way they were before, yet I’m trying to figure out if I should allow myself to become emotionally invested in him again or stay guarded.

Slowly, I feel that wall falling down.

Outside, I find Archie sitting in one of the outdoor chairs on the patio. Still on his phone, but no longer texting.

“Whatcha looking at?” I ask him.

Lifting the lid, I start placing the chicken on the grill.

“Sugar, that sizzle tells me this meal is gonna be top-tier.” When I look over, he winks at me, smiling, then goes back to his phone. “I’m just looking at Instagram. One of my little brothers plays hockey on a junior league in New England, and he made the highlight reel from his game last night. He’s badass.”

“That’s awesome. I remember Casey saying something about your brother, but I don’t think we have ever met him, have we? Which one is this? You have a few brothers, right?”

“Yeah, I have five younger brothers. This one is Aiden. Our schedules don’t really line up because he starts training around the same time I do. We talk all the time though. When my season ends, I try to make it to as many of his nearby games that I can. Out of all of my brothers, we’re the closest and the most alike, so it’s been tough, not being able to see him play the last few years, but it’ll be worth it. Looks like he’ll get drafted at the end of the season this year,” he says with pride.

“That’s amazing, Arch. And you’ll enter the draft this year, too, so that’s big time for your family. Two boys going to play professional sports. Pretty unique.”

“Yep, my mama fed us well.” He laughs.

“Sounds like it. Okay, I’m heading back in to get the rest cut up.” I shut the lid, grab the pan, and walk back into the house.

Beckham has laid the potatoes on a paper towel next to the cutting board. He’s still in front of the sink, leaning back, but he’s got his phone in his hands now.

I set the pan down, roll up the foil, and toss it into the garbage bin next to the sink. Then I grab a knife out of the butcher block and start cutting some red pepper that’s already sitting on the cutting board.

“You get the chicken on the grill?” Beck asks while pocketing his phone into his track pants.

“Yep, it’s cookin’. Archie was just telling me about his brother Aiden, who’s probably going into the draft this year. I guess he’s a hockey player.”

Beck nods. “Yeah, kid has sick skills on the ice. Seems to have a good head on his shoulders too. They get those kids young though. I hope he’s ready for diving into pro life.”

“How old is he? I thought he was only a year or so younger than Archie.”

Shaking his head, he says, “No, he’s a few years younger. I think he turns eighteen soon though.”

Finishing the peppers, I move back to the fridge to grab an onion. I chop it up and add it to the bowl of peppers. “Can you grab the olive oil, salt, and pepper for me?”

“Yep.” He turns around and pulls them out of one of the cabinets on the side of the range hood and sets them on the counter next to the bowls.

“Thanks,” I say quietly.

“Do you want me to go check on the chicken?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, I’ll go out there in a second. I just want to cut the potatoes real quick and get them wrapped in foil.”

He doesn’t say anything, but stands close, watching me. Well, watching my hands.

I lay out a new sheet of foil onto the pan, then set it aside for the chicken. Rolling out more foil, I scoop up the potatoes I cut and set them on it. Then I drizzle some olive oil and sprinkle salt and pepper on them, and I wrap the edges of the foil together, making a packet. I set that to the side and do the same thing to the peppers and onions.

“Okay, I think I’m all set. I’m going to check on the chicken and get these on the grill.” I pick up both packets and start for the door.

“Let me get the door for you, and I’ll bring out the pan for the chicken if you’re ready for that,” he says from behind me.

I look over my shoulder and nod. “That works. Thanks.”

So, I guess this is what it’s like, living with your ex-boyfriend and being friends-ish. I just hope my heart doesn’t start to get other ideas because while I can be civil with this new version of Beck—the roommate—I can’t completely separate him from my old Beck.

After the food was done cooking, I called the guys in for dinner.

We’re all sitting at the table. They’re talking about their upcoming game, and I’m listening—sort of. I’m also lost in thought. My first exam is tomorrow, and it’s open book, but I’m running through my coursework in my head, making sure I have everything I need annotated.

“What do you think, Char?” Casey asks, shaking me from my thoughts.

I look over to my left, where Casey is sitting. “I’m sorry, what? I didn’t hear you. I was just thinking through my exam tomorrow.”

“I just said that we should go to that taco place after the game with Mom and Dad.”

“Oh, yeah, that works,” I say, nodding.

“My dad and Brooke are riding down with them, so they’ll come too,” Beck mentions.

“Sounds good. Do you boys want to come with us, or are you doing your own thing?” Casey asks.

Archie shakes his head and says, “No thanks, man. My dad might come up for the game, so I’ll grab something with him after if he has time to stay.”

“Yeah, I think my parents might come too. But I don’t know if I want them to if I’m not playing. I wish Coach would announce who he’s starting soon. I hate not knowing,” Liam says.

Liam, who is the current starting quarterback, has some competition this season. Bo Callaway was heavily recruited by some of the top schools in the country. Of course, I only know this because I’ve overheard Casey and Beck talking about it. Liam is good, but apparently, Bo is Heisman material already.

Archie nods and puts a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “I feel you, brother. Coach won’t leave you hanging long. I hate to ask, but I have to. What are you going to do if he gives Callaway more playing time than you this season?”

With a heavy sigh, Liam says, “I don’t know, man. I still want to go high in the draft next year. I won’t be able to if I’m not starting.”

“Heard. We’re here for you, man. I just want to get this season going!” Archie says with a clap of his hands.

Casey drums his hands on the table and says, “Yeah, baby! I finally get my chance to stand with you fuckers on the starting line this year.”

Liam raises his fist to bump Casey’s. “You know I’ll give you the ball if I’m QB, brother.”

“That’s what I’m talking about! I know you have my back,” Casey says with a nod.

Archie grins. “This is awesome, boys. I’m into this family-dinner shit. I even dig the flowers. It’s great having a girl in the house.”

I blush and look over at Beck.

He shifts in his chair and agrees, “Yeah, the flowers are a nice touch, Charlie.”

“Thanks,” I state. “They make me happy. Really happy.”

Beck leans back with a small, crooked smile on his face.

The rest of dinner goes by quickly. These boys eat a lot, and they eat fast.

I stand to go into the kitchen so I can start cleaning up. “You guys can bring your own dishes in, and I’ll wash, but just remember that when it’s your turn to cook, you clean it up too.”

Standing from his seat, Beckham says, “I’ll help you clean up.”

Casey mumbles something I can’t hear, but Beck responds with, “Fuck you.”

And the guys all laugh.

I’m already scraping my plate in the trash when Beck walks in. “What did Casey say to you?”

He shakes his head with a smirk. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

I let it go, and we work in silence for the next few minutes. After we load the plates and silverware into the dishwasher, I fill up the sink with soapy water to wash the pan and bowls I used for marinating.

Beck moves to stand behind me and puts his hands into the soapy water, right over mine, sliding his fingers between mine under the water. “Let me wash, and you can dry. Just like old times. Then I want you to tell me about your day.”

I nearly drop the plate in my hands. Luckily, I keep it from slipping, along with keeping my surprised reaction to Beck’s comment to myself.

“What could you possibly want to know about my day?” I dry the plate and leave it on the counter.

He hands me another. “What was one thing that made you smile today?”

With a half laugh, I bow my head. “Getting a sense of déjà vu.”

“Yeah. This used to be our thing, wasn’t it? Hanging with you, well …” He pauses briefly as he moves his hand right over mine. “Sometimes, being with you, it feels like old times.”

My breath catches, and I can’t speak, so I just nod and pull my hand out of his and continue drying the plate in my hand. I mean, if he’s talking about old times, literally anything we did together, including dishes, turned into kissing, then making out, and eventually … sex. I don’t think that’s what he’s talking about though.

And if I say the wrong thing, he’ll go cold on me again.

That seems to be a new trait of Beck’s.

Although I can’t figure out exactly what it is I say that makes his moods shift so easily.

“Beck, I …” I can’t find the words to answer him.

He stares at me with a look in his eye that I can’t quite read.

He must see the confusion on my face, so he breaks the awkwardness. “It’s okay. You can just admit it now. Being here, washing dishes with me, is your favorite part of the day.”

Is it? Maybe. Or perhaps it was an hour ago, when we were cooking together and being close. Or even when I woke up this morning and saw him still sleeping but with a soft smile on his face.

I huff, “You wish.”

We both start laughing. Like everything is normal. Like he doesn’t keep saying and doing things to make me want to smile at him again.

When we were younger, I got into the routine of asking him about his day and to tell me something that made him smile. I’d started doing it because my mom would ask Casey and me the same at dinner, but also because Beck would get a distant look in his eyes sometimes, and I wanted to bring him back to me.

Bring him back to me …

A thought I shouldn’t have anymore.

After the kitchen is clean, I go to the bedroom to take a shower and collect myself. Beck has me feeling out of my element, and I need a minute to regroup.

I’m lying in bed, reading, when he walks into the room.

“I’m gonna jump in the shower. Do you need to get in there before I do?”

“No, I’m good. Do you mind if I read for a while? I won’t need a light. I have the backlighting on my Kindle, so it shouldn’t bother you.”

Beck shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll be out in a few.”

When he comes back into the room, I can smell his body wash, which is the same scent as his shampoo and conditioner. He’s a low-maintenance guy. He’s used the same scent since middle school, and it makes me want to be close to him.

He pulls his covers back from his bed, plugs in his phone on the nightstand, and climbs in bed. I don’t dare look directly at him, but I can see it all in my peripheral vision.

He moves around in his bed and then quietly says, “Thanks for dinner. I’ve … I’ve missed you.”

Not sure I heard him correctly, I just respond with, “Welcome.”

Then I stew on if what I thought I heard was that he admitted to missing me.

But that can’t be right.