Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 103402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
I waved a hand in the air. “Please, as if you would have had any trouble finding dates. All you have to do is flash that big smile and say a few words with that sexy accent of yours and everyone’s tripping over you.”
“You think my accent’s sexy, huh?”
“That’s what you picked out of that?” I laughed and took a drink of the wine, my glass almost empty as I set it back down.
“I was just worried you thought it was annoying.”
“What? Never. Oh my God, annoying? I could record you reading the terms and conditions for Candy Crush and listen to it just to smile.”
That got an even bigger laugh out of Beckham. He kicked his foot out under the table. He wasn’t wearing any shoes or socks, his bare foot landing on mine. Neither of us moved. We kept talking, the time ticking away, the connection between us solidifying like a block of cement.
After a little more fawning over Beckham’s accent, I decided to move the party to the couch, thinking it’d be a little more comfortable (and a lot easier to access things I wanted to access).
I ran to the bathroom and came back, pouring us new glasses of wine and joining Beckham on the couch, who was already scratching Mason’s chin. I’d never seen Mason so attached to someone after just meeting them. Normally he was standoffish even to friends I had known for years, and yet with Beckham he was cuddling and purring and acting like I’d just brought in the cat whisperer.
“You can put him on the floor if he’s too much,” I said, giving Beckham an out.
He didn’t take it. Instead, he leaned down and buried his face in Mason’s fur.
It was the cutest fucking thing I’d ever seen, and I’d seen some cute stuff in my life.
“We’re mates already,” Beckham said, thanking me as I handed him his wineglass. I noticed his gaze drift over to the row of picture frames I had near the window. My family was smiling back at us in almost all of them.
“That your mum and dad?”
“Yup,” I said, grabbing a gold-rimmed wooden frame before sitting down. “This was us on Jonah’s thirteenth birthday. We went to Disney. Stitch is obviously my favorite character.”
Everyone in the photo looked normal except for me, who was wearing a big Stitch hat that made my head look like it belonged to a blue alien experiment. But it didn’t end there, oh no. I was a committed Stitch stan. I had the Stitch gloves, big blue furry things, and a blue shirt that matched with my blue shorts.
“What’s your favorite Disney character?” I asked, now watching Beckham as he looked at the photo, a peculiar expression crossing his face.
“I, uhm, it’s Mickey. I know, I know. You’re going to call me—”
“Special, beautiful, funny, smart, handsome?”
“I was going to say basic, but I’ll take any of those, too.”
“How about all of them?” I said, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek. His stubble scratched against my lips and made my pulse quicken.
“You’ve got a beautiful family,” Beckham said, his attention turning back to the photo in his hands. “I can feel the happiness through the glass. And all of the photos are the same. The four of you beaming, having the time of your life, being together.” He paused for a moment. Swallowed. “Being a family. That’s something I feel like I missed out on. Not so much prom, but the chance at having a supportive unit. Folks who always have your back no matter what. I never really had that.”
He handed the frame back, his eyes looking cloudy. Like thinking about his family had suddenly rocked him. I grabbed the frame and put it back in place, returning to the couch, this time sitting a little closer to Beckham. I was finding that any distance between us was too much distance.
He was anxious. I could see it in the wrinkle between his brow that wouldn’t leave.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Huh?”
Obviously, Beckham was caught off guard. He looked to me, the brow wrinkle getting deeper.
“It’s just, I feel like you’ve got something on your mind. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me asking dumb questions. Forget it.” I waved off my dumb question. “I overthink things sometimes—just forget it.”
Beckham scratched the back of his neck and let out an exhale, sounding an awful lot like someone with a lot on their mind.
Just saying.
“No, you’re right.”
“Oh?” I sat up on the couch. Our knees were still touching, small tendrils of warm electricity still shooting out from the contact point. My heart started to beat a little faster. “What’s been on your mind?”
Oh shoot, oh shoot. Did I just open up a can of “I’m about to break up with you” worms?
“I’ve been thinking a lot—don’t worry, it’s got nothing to do with us.”