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CHAPTER TWELVE

CHARLIE

When we got to the party, I didn’t see my brother or the guys. I wasn’t even sure if any of them were coming, but it doesn’t stop me from looking for Beck and his beaming grin that he gets after a big win.

I should be annoyed that the first thing I do is look for him, but being around Beck hasn’t been so bad lately.

Okay, fine, living with Beck has been awful.

Watching him leave the bathroom in nothing but sweatpants and a naked torso, still damp from his piping hot shower … awful.

Having to watch his hands when he’s doing his laundry and remembering what they felt like, wrapped around me … the worst kind of awful.

“Come over here. I know these guys!”

Arbor knows one of the players on the team—a new guy I haven’t met yet. He brings us down to the basement for a game of beer pong. Now, I’m not trying to brag, but I’m pretty good at beer pong.

It’s a guy-and-girl team situation, so Arbor and I can’t be on a team together. I’m paired with Brian Haney, whom I met briefly last season. He’s a senior on the team this year and not likely to continue his football career after he graduates. Brian is a really nice guy, a lot of fun to talk to, and a killer beer-pong partner.

After a few rounds, I’m carrying my team—aka Brian—to a victory.

“Yo, Charlie, it’s your turn, babe. You got this. Two more points, and we win!” he whisper-yells in my ear, thinking he’s being quiet.

I fear he was dipping into the keg long before I arrived tonight. It hasn’t hurt his game, but I could do without the beer spittle in my ear.

“Bro, Brian, I got this.” I turn my crossbody bag to my back to give me a better range of motion. Then with the ping-pong ball in my right hand, I close one eye, lining up my target, and count to three. With a flick of my wrist, I watch that baby sail right into … the back-corner cup, just barely staying on the table.

“Yeah, baby! That’s my girl! Charlie, will you marry me and make me the happiest guy at Walker? I promise I’ll take good care of you and I’ll never stop you from playing beer pong.” Brian is now shouting to the entire basement, which pretty much has our whole group down here laughing.

I mentioned to Brian that a guy I’d briefly dated at State—aka Tony—didn’t like that my beer-pong powers surpassed his. It didn’t help that I’d gotten partnered with one of his frat brothers and ended up beating him and another girl, who I found out later was his ex-girlfriend. Anyway, that’s beside the point.

“Brian, you are the sweetest, truly. But I can’t accept your proposal. Besides, if my next boyfriend doesn’t let me play beer pong, is he really the one for me?”

“True that, true that. Hit me up,” he says, holding his fist out for me.

Arbor laughs at Brian, then says, “Okay, guys, it’s our last turn, so back it up and let us shoot our shot.”

Brian steps back, but then starts to walk toward Arbor and her partner. “Arbor, if you make this last shot, how about I take you out for dinner sometime? Make me the luckiest guy on campus.”

Arbor huffs a laugh. “Bri, you couldn’t pay me to go out with you. I think you’ve dated half the campus by now. Move away so I can shoot. Your distraction techniques won’t work on me.”

“You wound me. Well, if you won’t go on a date with me, how about we just go up?—”

He’s standing close enough to her now, and she puts her hand directly over his mouth.

“Do not even finish that sentence. Step back, Haney. Watch and learn,” she says, and then she takes her shot.

She misses, losing the game for her team, and she has to drink.

Brian basically leaps over to me, lifts me in a bear hug, and jumps up and down with me in his arms.

We’re both laughing, and I can barely get the words out to have him put me down when I hear, “Haney, you’d better put her down before I make sure you can’t play in the next game.”

Yep, I know that voice.

I know that angry tone too. Though it’s never been directed at me.

My feet hit the ground abruptly, and I stumble as Brian haphazardly lets me go. My elbow bangs harshly against the corner of the table, and all my body weight pushing on the tender tendon inside my arm makes me cry out in pain.

“What the fuck?! Did you have to drop me, Brian? Fuck, I feel like my arm is broken.” I glare at him.

Beckham is at my side immediately. “Charlie, are you okay? Let me see your arm.”

“I’ll be fine,” I mumble, trying to walk around him. The sharp, shooting pain is throbbing in my elbow and radiating up my biceps. I will not cry in front of these people down here, especially Beck, so I need to get upstairs and out the door ASAP. “Arbor, I’ll see you later. I’m going to grab some ice upstairs, then head home.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Charlie? Do you want us to leave with you? We can walk you home, or you can come stay with us tonight at the house,” she offers.

“I’ll walk her home, but thanks, Arbor,” Beck answers for me, which just pisses me right the fuck off.

If I wasn’t hurting so bad, I’d say something about it, but right now, I just want to get upstairs and out of the house.

I wave at her so she won’t hear the shake in my voice. I walk toward the staircase and start climbing the stairs toward the door at the top. I can feel Beckham behind me, but I can’t seem to move fast enough. I’m mad, but mostly embarrassed that I got hurt in front of him.

Why did he have to be here? Urgh.

“You don’t have to follow me, Beck. I’m fine.”

“You’re not okay. Let me get you some ice for your arm.”

“I don’t need a babysitter. This isn’t the long walk from psychology class.”

“You’re right. It’s more dangerous. A hurt, beautiful girl, leaving a house party alone late at night. Stop being so stubborn,” he says, and I feel his hand touching my uninjured arm to stop me.

“Leave me alone. I’ll be fine. I just want to go home.” I try to yank my arm out of his grasp, but he pulls me to a stop before we reach the top of the staircase.

Our chests collide.

I still, half loving how authoritative he is over me and half resenting him for it. I look down at our feet and fight the urge to push him away. Like I’ve been doing for the last couple of years.

For some reason, in this moment, it’s not coming as easily.

I blame my damn elbow.

I blame the last month and his ever-protective ways.

Beck places a finger on my chin and lifts my face toward his, forcing me to look up and into his blue eyes. “Come on, Boss. Just stop for a second and let me look at it.”

His fingers run along my arm, and I get lost in the feeling of it. The way the rough pads of his fingers brush over my skin, sending waves of gooseflesh up my arm and down to my core.

He’s standing one step below me, but it makes us nearly at eye level. He’s so close that I can see the dark circle around the blue of his eyes. It’s hypnotizing.

He’s hypnotizing.

Beckham’s left hand grabs my hip with a slight squeeze as his right hand trails up my arm before gently skimming my neck. Then he brushes his fingers over my cheek and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, lingering there until his hand moves to the back of my head, tugging me closer.

I can’t stop staring into his eyes. I watch his heated gaze move over every inch of my face. Like he’s memorizing me. Then he looks at my mouth, then my eyes, and back to my mouth.

“Charlie,” he breathes.

I feel like there is a magnetic force pulling me toward him.

One tiny move, and our lips will connect.

My injured arm is tucked tight against my side, but with my other hand, I tentatively touch the biceps of his arm. The move forces me closer into him until our breaths are one as we drink each other in.

My heart is pounding in anticipation. He licks his bottom lip, and I shiver at the sight.

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now,” he growls, desperation in his voice.

I’m thinking a million things. How much I crave his touch and how having his hand on my hip makes me ache for more of it.

I’m thinking about how I’ve missed his kisses, so smooth yet consuming. It’s taking everything in me to not steal one from him.

And I’m thinking how badly I’ve missed him . Despite the hurt, I want Beckham Linson.

“I’m thinking that the lines between us have blurred and I’m afraid we’ll both get hurt.”

“You’re right,” he agrees, and my heart drops. “You’ve done a damn good job of keeping me away. I should stay away. I should walk back down these steps and let you go.”

I feel an ache in my gut as his hand loosens from my hip.

My eyes hold his, and I wait for him to release our gaze. Wait for him to do as he said and walk away.

Because Lord knows I can’t.

He moves an inch, and I think he’s about to step away. I brace myself, expecting him to leave, when, suddenly, his eyes flash back to mine, determined, and his hand grips my hip once again and pulls me in with a fierceness that takes my breath away.

“Fuck it,” he says before crashing his mouth to mine.

I feel his tongue testing the seam of my lips, and they part on instinct as his tongue touches mine.

This kiss is hard, our tongues tangling, and his hand is firm on the back of my head, holding me in place. My fingers dig into his biceps, and I pull him closer to me so I can feel his chest brush against my breasts.

The pain in my arm is all but forgotten as I get lost in his kiss. The feel of his mouth on mine is like coming home. He tastes like beer with a hint of mint. I’m addicted to him, addicted to this kiss. I’m so lost in him that I barely register people moving down the stairs next to us.

His left hand moves to my ass, and he squeezes and pulls me into him even more. There’s a throb growing between my legs, and I feel like I could combust just from this kiss and his touch.

I start to move my injured arm so I can wrap it around his waist. I’m desperate to feel more of him. But when I begin to uncurl my arm, I wince, pulling us out of our haze.

Beck leans his forehead against mine, breathing heavily. I close my eyes and try to gain some control of myself—and I also try not to get teary from the pain in my arm.

When I open my eyes, Beck pulls his head away from mine, looking into my eyes.

“You okay, Boss?” He moves the hand from the back of my head and brushes his thumb lightly across my lower lip.

I can’t say anything yet, my words caught in my throat. So, I nod. I know what happened, but for real … what just happened?

“I didn’t know banging an elbow could hurt this much.”

“You’d be surprised how easy it is to injure an elbow. Let’s get you home,” he says, pressing his lips to my forehead and holding them there for a few seconds.

We take the last few steps to the top. When we open the door, we see Casey, Liam, and Schuster in the kitchen, taking shots. Casey sees us out of the corner of his eye and does a double take.

For a moment, I think my face must look like I’ve just been thoroughly kissed—swollen lips, flushed cheeks—but then Casey’s attention goes to me holding my arm.

“What happened, Char? You okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine. I just bumped my elbow on the beer-pong table. Hit it in just the right spot. You know, the one that hurts like a motherfucker? I just need to put some ice on it. I’ll be fine, but I am going to head home. I came, conquered, and once again claimed my Beer Pong Champion title. My day is complete.” I try to keep my tone light, but I’m feeling a little lightheaded from the kiss.

Beck reaches for my hand, twines our fingers together, and tugs me closer, like holding my hand is a normal thing. “I got her, man. Going to head home and crash anyway. I’m beat from today.”

Casey looks down at our hands, smirks, and nods. “Thanks, brother. I’ll be here for a while longer. I’ll head back with Pitz unless he leaves with someone.”

“Yeah, and you won’t be seeing Arch again tonight for sure. I think I saw him head upstairs with a girl before I went to the basement to find Charlie,” Beck says to Casey casually.

I look down at our joined hands and start to pull my fingers from his, but he lightly squeezes, holding me in place. His thumb moves once over the top of my hand, and I stop trying to pull away. With one last nod to Casey, we head out of the house together and walk home.