Page 18 of For You & No One Else (Say Everything 3)

He handed her the cup. “Feel any better?”

“A little.” She glanced down the hall where she’d dropped her bag to hustle to the restroom. “I have my office key card in my purse.”

“I’d rather keep an eye on you. Come on.” She followed him to his office, and he guided her to a dark-blue couch. “Just sit here and drink the coffee. You’re going to be hating life in the morning.”

She sat on the couch, the cozy feel of it making her want to curl up and lay her head down, but instead she took the coffee from him, the warmth heating her fingers, and drank a tentative sip.

Beckham grabbed his rolling desk chair and turned it to face her before sitting down across from her. He braced his hands on his knees, giving her an evaluating look. “So where’s the dickhead now?”

She shrugged as she took another sip of coffee. “Dunno. I got upset and left the restaurant. Got a ride with a waitress.”

“You did what? And he let—” Beckham pressed his lips together as if reeling his words in. “Okay, that’s not important now. You’re here and safe. Keep drinking. The caffeine will help.”

She took a few more sips of the coffee, already nearing the bottom of the paper cup.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

Beckham returned shortly with a fresh cup of coffee and some saltine crackers. He traded her empty cup for the new one. He sat there patiently, watching her like he was afraid she was going to pass out or something. After a while, she could feel the caffeine kicking in and pushing out some of the fog in her head, though her thoughts still felt slow and her stomach was still rolling. She looked up at Beckham. “You told me he was a jerk. Should’ve listened.”

A muscle in Beckham’s cheek twitched. “Apparently, I underestimated him. This guy is a sociopath. I can’t believe he purposely got you plastered and then let you walk out in this state in the city at night. You could’ve gotten lost or hit by a car or worse. What iswrongwith people?”

“Not people.Men.” She gave him a look. “You’re right. I don’t know why I bother with these apps. I keep convincing myself that these are actual dates. That someone is going out with me to get to know me. How delusional am I?”

“I—”

“Because it doesn’t matter what I do or who I am or what I’m interested in. If I’m the right body type, have no expectations, and am willing to get naked, that’s all that counts. Screwable or not, that’s it. I could literally have Marshmallow Fluff for brains and believe aliens run our government, and it wouldn’t matter.”

Beckham cleared his throat and scrubbed a hand over his jaw, his scruff making a scratchy sound. “Right.”

“Is that what you think?” She looked up, challenge in her voice.

He laughed softly. “I wouldn’t want to sleep with a woman who thinks aliens run our government unless she can lay out a compelling scientific argument to convince me. That could be an interesting conversation.”

She snorted. “You’re obsessed with interesting.”

Beckham sighed. “Look, I’m not going to lie to you and say that most guys aren’t highly motivated to get laid. But I promise not all of us are setting the bar as low as…warm and willing. In my opinion, sex is a whole lot more fun when you get to know the person and connect with them on other levels first.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Jan.”

“Don’t ‘sure, Jan’ me. I’m being serious. It’s why I don’t do the dating scene. My hookups tend to be with friends. It’s low-key. Everyone knows what’s what—no pressure to make it into something it’s not—but also, we’re friends because we have things in common and get along. So the sex is fun, but then afterward, the hanging-out part is cool, too.”

“Friends with benefits.” A little smile touched her lips. “You and your friends sound very twenty-five.”

He gave her a patient look. “Stop acting like you’re ancient, Eli. I don’t buy the old lady routine. You and I could friend-with-benefit the hell out of each other.”

Her attention snapped upward. “What?”