Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“That’s definitely a risk,” Blair agreed, and the others murmured in grudging agreement.
“But you guys, I can’t stop thinking about him.” I closed my eyes, my voice taking on a desperate tone. “And not just because he’s gorgeous and has that insane body. He’s so sweet with his dad, and we’ve got history, and you should have seen him with Elliott this afternoon.” I told them about batting practice. “Watching a man—a real man—interact with Elliott that way, teaching him something, being so patient and understanding and encouraging, it just . . .” I shivered. “It just did something to me.”
“I bet I know where,” joked Bianca.
I laughed, but it turned into a moan. “I’m just so scared to make a mistake. I do not make good decisions where men are concerned.”
The girls were silent as they pondered the situation.
“But this isn’t some asshole from your past.” Blair sat up taller. “This is Beckett. We know him. I vote you kiss him and see what happens.”
“I’ll second that.” Cheyenne swirled her red wine in her glass. “And I think you have to take the initiative. Guys like Beckett sometimes need a push to act on their physical impulses—permission to go all alpha male on you. Cole was the same way.”
“He was?”
She nodded. “I pretty much had to seduce him.”
“How’d you do it?”
“With an accidental sext.”
I laughed, but the thought of trying to seduce Beckett—over text or in person—raveled my stomach into knots. What if he turned me down? “No way. I couldn’t.”
“Offer to marry him if he’ll get you pregnant,” said Bianca, her eyes dancing.
I burst out laughing. “There will be no sexting and definitely no getting married or pregnant. Honestly, I’d be happy to spend one night with him. I just don’t want the price to be too high.”
Bianca reached over and covered my hand with hers. “We’re only teasing you. I love that you and Beckett value each other’s friendship so much—that you have this history of being there for each other. You’re right not to throw that away just to scratch an itch.”
“Well, he’s always been there for me,” I said guiltily. “It seems like I’ve always been the needy one.”
“Did you not just tell us tonight how you spent the day with his dad?” Cheyenne asked. “I’d bet you a million bucks that’s the nicest thing anyone could do for Beckett these days. Even better than a blow job.”
“I’m not sure about that,” said Bianca under her breath.
“Okay, maybe not a blowie,” Cheyenne admitted. “But just about anything else.”
“Thanks, you guys.” I smiled at all of them. “I’m really glad I came tonight. I needed this.”
A few minutes after nine, I texted Beckett. Hey, I’m going to be a little later than I thought! Sorry. Having too much fun. We’re paying the bill now.
Beckett: No rush.
Me: How are things going?
Beckett: All good.
“See? This. This is what he gives me.” Laughing, I flashed my screen around the table. “Two-word answers.”
“At least you get two,” sighed Blair. “Griff is all about the grunty one-word answers. Sometimes all I get is one letter.”
We settled the bill, hugged goodbye, and I used the bathroom one more time before hitting the road for home. On the drive back, it struck me that I’d had a more enjoyable evening with Bianca, Cheyenne, and Blair than I’d had with any of my friends back home recently. Since the divorce, many of them had pulled away from me, not that I’d been very close to anyone to begin with.
But finding new friends was difficult as an adult, although Bianca, Blair, and Cheyenne made it seem easy. And everyone had been so kind in town today. What had made Bellamy Creek feel so small and stifling when I was younger—the way everyone knew everyone else and was interested in their business—now felt kind of nice. People genuinely cared.
At nine-thirty, I entered Beckett’s house through the front door and pushed it shut behind me. I could hear the television on in the great room—sounded like a baseball game—and headed in that direction.
When I got there, I burst out laughing.
Beckett was playing Elliott’s favorite game—unicorn ring toss. This involved wearing a headband with a unicorn horn on it and letting Elliott toss pink satin pillow rings at your head, attempting to score.
Elliott, whose curls were damp, was wearing his pajamas. “Hi, Mom!”
Beckett, standing opposite him about six feet away, turned and looked at me. “Hey. How was your girls’ night?”
“Great,” I said, covering my mouth with one hand and wrapping the other arm around my stomach. “How was everything here?”
“Excellent,” Beckett replied as Elliott tossed a ring that hit Beckett’s head but missed the horn. “I’m really good at unicorn ring toss. But I’m not that good at being the unicorn.”
“He’s too tall,” complained Elliott.
“How about this?” Beckett dropped to his knees. “Now try.”