Page 18

“You couldn’t have developed an obsession for something like apple juice?” Beckett’s voice sounded through the sappy romance movie I was watching, and I lifted my gaze from the tear-streaked confession of love, to the man I’ve lived with for months.

Fresh snow fell from his hood to the entrance carpet as he flipped back the hood on his jacket. And as he let the bag of raspberry juice meet with the floor to remove his jacket, I couldn’t look away.

“I like raspberries.”

“They have apple juice at gas stations. Quick and easy. This stuff is like trying to track down good crack, and because crack isn’t good in any form, that’s not easy.”

“Loving something isn’t worth it if it’s forced—even if it’s convenient.”

“Very true, beautiful.” He said, his voice deep and raw sounding. And then he tipped his head and continued to undress from his winter wear.

Beckett had gone to the gym, and it showed.

It showed because he wasn’t wearing a big hoodie under his jacket like I knew he should, to make sure he didn’t get sick from the cold, but instead he was wearing one of those tanks with the inch of material over his shoulders.

Muscles bulged in his freshly worked arms and every vein was bright and blue.

He looked strong. And surprisingly delicious.

Again, I kind of understood the whole “I could lick him top to bottom” fad.

“We have a full jug in the fridge,” I shifted, tucking my legs up under my bum. “You didn’t have to stop for more.”

“I did. My next two days are going to be crazy with studying.” He kicked off his boots. “You go through this shit like crazy and I wanted to be stocked up.”

“You know I am capable of getting myself to the store for my own juice, right?”

“Know you got legs,” he grinned, eyeing what he could see of my legs. “Great legs.”

“Beck,”

“But a promise is a promise. I gave you my word that I’d keep you stocked.”

“I’m revoking you of your vow.”

His lips curled, “Now who’s been watching too much Game of Thrones? ”

“Oh,” I debated on tossing the throw pillow I’d brought from my apartment with Raina. It was teal and it so didn’t match Beckett’s dark bachelor living room. “Shut up.”

He chuckled and walked into the room, giving the television his attention. Then, with a crook to his neck he looked back at me, “What’re you watching?”

“Nothing as brilliant as our show.”

“This is romantic, peanut. You have to have a bit of a heart to watch something like this.”

“Oh,” This time when the urge to toss the pillow struck, I didn’t deny it.

“Oomph,” he laughed, and of course, because he was practically perfect—he caught the pillow. “Don’t get defensive, babe. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“I like to make fun of all the clichéd sap they put in these things. Raina and I used to do this a lot.”

“That’s damaged.”

“What?” Seriously, a girl couldn’t keep up with this man even if she was paid. And I most definitely was not.

“Damaged. That’s something those sad women on those Valentine’s Day movies would do. The ones who never have anyone to share it with, but really want someone to share it with, even though they pretend to rock being single.” He explained, his eyes never leaving mine. “It’s damaged.”

“Well, nobody said I wasn’t rocking the damage.”

“You’re not damaged.”

“Oh?”

“You play it like you are, and might even think you are, but it’s bullshit.”

“You’re making me miss the best part.”

“I am?” He waved to the TV. “Let’s hear it. Make fun.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“It’s not as fun without Raina.”

“Not nearly as damaged as you play to be.”

“Go study, Beckett.”

“Right on it, babe.” He turned and moved into the kitchen. I had to force myself to watch the remaining thirty minutes of the movie when all I wanted to do was crawl into my bed and pull my panda to my chest. And possibly cry a little.

But I didn’t do that. I watched the whole thing until the credits rolled, doing exactly what Beckett accused—playing at my damaged.

Then I stood, flicked off the system and padded into the kitchen.

It’s the Wednesday before Christmas and with two busier than busy days of school left, I utilized my day off from the Library to do a little grocery shopping for the ingredients I needed for my famous lasagna. Seriously, my lasagna kicked ass.

It was cheesy, meaty, and saucy. I’d told Beckett about it a few times, but had yet to make it.

I decided today that I’d get right on that, so that Beckett would have supper for the next two days while I worked and he studied.

Beckett loved left-overs and he never wasted food, so I didn’t mind making a little extra when I cooked.

And I had to admit, although I’d never do such a thing out loud, that I really liked to cook for Beckett. I liked knowing that I was able to give him something he didn’t already have.

“You made lasagna?”

“I did.”

“When?”

I glanced back at him after I’d preheated the oven. “When I got home from shopping after school.”

“I think I wanna marry you.” He teased and my heart did this totally unacceptable flutter. Unacceptable!

I scowled; packing all the punch I had behind it. “I’m not that easy.”

“I know.” He said matter of fact, and again, my silly heart flipped. It freaking flipped!

“You said you wanted to try it, so I figured why not make it now.”

“Well, thanks.”

“I’m going to have a bubble bath,” I said abruptly. “Oven’s preheating so it just needs to be put in when it’s ready. It’ll cook for forty minutes, if you don’t mind popping it in?”

“Got it, peanut,” he assured warmly. “Enjoy your bath.”

I didn’t say anything as I escaped into the hall.

I’d been doing this a lot since our night out when I gave him much more than I intended to give him.

I knew he sensed it, but he didn’t press for a reason I couldn’t give.

He just let me work through my crap the way I needed to work through my crap. I appreciated that about him.

Actually, I pretty much appreciated everything about Beckett. That’s what sucked.

What sucked even more was the fact that we only had two more days of school before we would be preparing to spend our week in Beckett’s parents’ cabin. I knew Raina had an exam on Monday, but Beckett and I were free to head out early with groceries and goodies for the weekend.

I was freaking out big time. Big. Time.

But I was trying to play it cool so not everyone would know the extent of just how messed up I was inside.

By everyone, I meant Mr. Golden Boy in the kitchen.

That’s why I was hiding in a bubble bath at seven o’clock in the afternoon while the lasagna I’d prepped for the man in said kitchen, cooked in the oven.

“Amara,” a knuckle tapped against the door and I stiffened, my heart going haywire in my chest. “You gonna be out soon? Pretty sure it’s almost done.”

“Yep.” God, go away! I’m naked, and it’s bad enough that I was already thinking about the man.

“Great.”

Yeah, someone up above was cursing me for sure, I thought, as I pulled the plug and stood from my bubbly water.

I decided there was no point in dressing up again because I wouldn’t do much after eating, so I donned my cute purple and white snowflake jammies, tossed my hair into a messy bun and joined Beckett in the kitchen.

He was at the stove, slicing the lasagna into large squares. “Did you find the garlic bread?”

“Sure did,” he nodded, still focused on cutting dinner. “Can’t have lasagna without garlic bread.”

“True,” I conceded, because I absolutely had to agree.

Beckett turned and his warm golden eyes dropped to my jammies. “Cute, peanut. Tell me you’ll bring those to the cabin.”

Where was that throw pillow when a girl needed it? “Ha. Ha.”

He laughed, always finding such enjoyment when he teased me. “Seriously, though, you look cute.”

“I’m not trying to look cute.”

“That’s probably why you look cute.”

“Argh,” my booty connected with the island stool. “Are you going to serve dinner, or what?”

Beckett bent to pull the garlic bread from the oven. My eyes landed where they had no business landing—you named it, on his freaking amazing ass. My cheeks felt like little ruby apple crisps.

“Yeah, yeah, hold onto your panties, will you?”

He just had to mention panties . . .

I rolled my eyes to the sound of tick-tick, click-click, as my fingernails tapped against the granite.

I was playing at nonchalance—and sucking at it.

I have no idea when I lost any and all control over my hormones, but it had happened, and I’d need to figure out a way to deal.

And soon. Staring at his behind and thinking lickable thoughts about his chest were not going to aid me in doing so.

Deep breath in, Amara, I thought as I asked, “So, we’re on grocery duty for the cabin, right?”

“Yep. You got a meal plan?”

“Why would I have a meal plan?”

“Because you and Kai are the only ones who really cook and Kai is probably thinking of nothing but his proposal.”

“So I’m left on cooking duty?”

“You really are good at it.” He tossed me a wink over his shoulder and my teeth started to grind. I was thinking; if my teeth were grinding maybe my heart wouldn’t be fluttering. I was wrong.

“I don’t know why you think flattery will get you anywhere. It has never worked before.”

“Are you flattered, beautiful?” He came to sit beside me, and the smell of Italy (as I imagined it) and cheese seduced my olfactory senses. “Because I happen to think you are.”

“No.” I dug in, preferring to scald my tongue on the lasagna than continue this conversation.

“You lie.”

“Whatever you say, Beck.”

“Yeah,” the lazy happy sound was back in his tone—the one that made me get all shivery and melty. “I like it when you say my name.”

“I have no idea what your game is, but you can quit playing. It won’t work.” Honestly, if I failed to get a handle on myself, the man was going to succeed in melting all my ice, like it or not. I, for one, definitely did not like it.

“It’s already working, peanut.” He said, stunning me speechless. And then he gave all the attention I didn’t, but kind of did want him to give me, to his lasagna.