Page 19 of Suddenly Beck

‘Uh huh.’ I lean in a fraction closer, my own gaze dropping to his mouth. I wonder what he tastes like, what it would feel like to have his stubble grazing over my skin and an almost unconscious sigh leaves my lips. He’s so gorgeous.

‘But my mum will probably kill me if I hit on you,’ he says a little ruefully. ‘So, what do you say we try being friends?’

‘I…’ I blink, pulling back. ‘Wait, what?’

He nods stepping back out of my personal space.

‘Yeah.’ He clears his throat. ‘I mean, I like you, you like me, we should be friends.’

‘Oh my god, have we just regressed back to Junior school?’ I reply dryly.

He huffs out a laugh as he rubs his face tiredly, pulling open the fridge and retrieving a beer. ‘You want one?’

‘No, thank you,’ I reply primly as I edge past him. I don’t know what it is about me but the more annoyed I am, the posher I sound.

Picking up the bucket, I cross the kitchen and empty it into the sluice sink by the cleaning cupboard, swallowing down a pang of disappointment.

‘Nat.’ He frowns. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘No,’ I answer as I retrieve the mop from where I dropped it.

Friends, I think silently in mortification. I’m such an idiot. While I had stupid little hearts circling my head like bloody Pepe le Pew, he just wants to be friends. Which is fine, I don’t have a problem with the friend’s part, what I don’t get is why he spent all evening flirting with me if he knew he never had any intention of following through. Embarrassment and confusion war with annoyance as I jam the mop into the cupboard and slam the door a little more forcefully than I intended.

‘Nat,’ Beck tries again.

‘No, it’s fine.’ I retrieve my jacket and yank my arms through the sleeves. ‘We can be friends, but it’s late, I’m tired and just want to go home to bed.’

‘Oh, okay,’ he replies as he watches me.

I’ve just reached the door when annoyance wins out over embarrassment, and all my common sense seems to desert me as I impulsively decide two can play the mixed signals game.

‘Oh, there is one thing, Beck.’ I turn back toward him. ‘In the interests of complete honesty between friends, I should probably tell you that I’ve wanked over the thought of you every night for the past week.’ I smile sweetly at him as his mouth falls open, and the bottle slides from his lax fingers. Then I turn on my heel and sail out of the kitchen to the symphony of shattering glass and stunned silence.

Chapter Seven

Nat

In the words of Jiminy Cricket, always let your conscience be your guide, unless your conscience is being an over-opinionated twat…

My lungs are burning, and my mouth is dry. I can feel a bead of sweat rolling down my spine as I kick up the pace. More accustomed to pounding the concrete paths and asphalt roads in my urban jungle, running on sand is a completely new experience for me. I could blame the change of conditions for the fact that I’m wheezing like an eighty-year-old on crack or the fact that my traitorous body is protesting by making me feel like my muscles are on fire, but the truth is I’ve pushed myself harder and faster today than I usually would’ve, coupled with the fact I haven’t exercised in over a week. I haven’t run since I left London, and I’ve missed it, missed the headspace it puts me in and the clarity of thought it provides. Unfortunately for me, what has always been a necessary and welcome escape is now merely providing me with a distressingly clear view of my behavior last night.

For god’s sake, what was I thinking? I drag in a laboured breath. The truth is I wasn’t thinking so much. I was a little hurt and a bit embarrassed. It had been pretty obvious all night we were both into each other, and I’d let my imagination run away with me only to have him slam on the brakes, which left me feeling a little rejected.

I huff out a sigh as I slow my frantic pace to a jog. The truth is, he didn’t really do anything wrong, maybe he’s just a naturally flirty person, and as excuses go his had been a valid one.

I’m a bit shocked that Melanie took a chance on me and gave me a job at the restaurant. Although she loved the roasted Brill with wild mushrooms and garlic I’d managed to throw together from the limited ingredients in the kitchen for my ‘audition’, it had to have been blatantly obvious that first night that I had no real experience in a restaurant environment. I kept expecting her to kick me to the curb and hire a real chef, which to be fair she could still do, but instead, she took me under her wing as a trainee chef. That first night, she spent all night in the kitchen with me, even though it had to have been painful for her since I know for a fact the last time she cooked in the restaurant had been with her husband. But every night since, she’s been there, allowing me to stretch my wings, but always there in case I stumble, and I’m really enjoying learning from her. There’s something so warm and comforting about Melanie, and I find myself wanting to do my best for her. So, I guess that if she really doesn’t want me getting involved with her son, I can’t really argue with that.

I do, however, owe someone an apology.

I almost groan out loud. Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut? I remind myself of the promise I made when I started this little rebellion, that whatever decisions I made, I would own them. Was what I said to Beck true? Yes… yes, it was. Should I have said it? Probably not, but it’s out there now. He knows I want him, and I’m pretty sure he wants me too; however, I think we’re both pretty much on the same page when it comes to his mum. So, I guess, friends it is. With that thought firmly in mind, I resolve myself to apologising to Beck next time I see him, which hopefully won’t be anytime soon.

Unfortunately, fate it seems has other ideas. As I head further down the beach, I see a familiar figure leaning against the wooden railings outside the surf school, a mug of what I assume is coffee in one hand and wearing a wetsuit, which is unzipped to the waist, with the arms tied around his middle, leaving his chest and arms bare.

I try not to swallow my tongue as I stare at his muscled torso and all that bare skin, his chest dusted with a light swath of fair hair. His hair is loose this time, hanging around his shoulders and rippling in the soft breeze.

As his gaze turns in my direction, I deliberately look away and pick up my pace once again. I run straight past the surf school, which despite the huge, brightly coloured sign mounted to its left is really just a large shack, with a rack of surf boards lined up outside with military like precision, and pretend that I haven’t seen him, even though I’m sure I’m not imagining his gaze burning a hole between my shoulder blades.

Good job owning your mistakes,my inner Jiminy Cricket picks that exact moment to insert his opinion, and I stop running abruptly, skidding to an almost comical halt in the sand. For a moment, I don’t move, breathing heavily with my hands on my hips as I close my eyes and lift my face to the sky, groaning quietly because Jiminy, despite being a disturbing figment of my imagination, is in actual fact correct, and as much as I really don’t want to admit it, it’s time to pay the piper.