13. The Class Structure, Dash

One week later

"Are you sure you're doin' it right?" Beau asked seconds before I placed the raw, seasoned fajita meat on the indoor grill. Winter had finally crept its way into the DFW area. Between the cold wind and icy temperatures, outside felt like someone shook a snow globe.

With the marinated skirt steak ready to go, I hesitated with my hand above the grill. The juicy beef dripped on the hot surface below. The aromatic droplets dance over the grill. Beau had me second guessing myself. Even though I was new to grilling in general, it seemed pretty straightforward.

"What am I doing wrong? The temperature's set. The meat's been marinating all day. I have the meat thermometer out, the tongs ready…" I said, looking down at all my supplies. "The smoke's normal."

Beau looked up from slicing the bell peppers. "I don't know. I was makin' conversation. I don't cook or grill, whichever we're doin'." His silly grin and playful banter were new. The wink he gave made everything right in my world.

Instead of firing back with a witty reply, I focused on the cooking, laying the meat down onto the grill. Instantly, smoke from the sizzling beef began to fill the kitchen. I pushed the vent button on, and it sucked all the smoke from the room. Impressive. Who knew it did that so well?

"Stop trying to flirt with me and tell me about the job interview. You really think you got it?" I asked, looking at the clock. I'd read to keep the meat on one side for six minutes then flip it and do the same.

"Yeah, I got it," Beau said, his rusty knife skills making the slicing of the bell peppers and onions take much longer than necessary. "As long as my background check comes back clean, I'm good."

"You're happy with the hours and compensation?"

"Yeah, I guess. Why wouldn't I be? What do you know that I don't? Did you get me the job?" Lots of accusations in all those words.

"What?" I started. "No, I didn't get you the job. I don't know many people with blue collar employment…" The grin I tried so hard to hide wouldn't be denied. I'd just tossed the gauntlet to begin our nightly ritual. Almost anything said turned into teasing banter, complete with goofy expressions and lots of laughter. Beau was my perfect match, always up to the challenge.

"Har, har, har. You need to leave the jokes to me."

I sidled up next to Beau as his pocketknife sliced smoothly through the last piece of pepper. "In less than a week, you'll have the job you've always wanted. The universe's working in your favor." I brushed the back of my fingers over Beau's shaven cheek, a move I made over and over again, anytime he was near.

"Have you cashed the check from my mom yet?" Beau asked, a new addition to our daily routine since the check had arrived in the mail.

"No, I haven't and don't want too." I replied with the same response every time he asked. Beau reached for a hand towel, rubbing it over the knife's sharp blade. I felt the irritation wafting off him. And here we went again. I walked into him as he shifted to press his ass against the granite countertop, allowing me to maneuver between his parted thighs. The knife was forgotten, absently placed on the counter.

My nerve endings prickled, zinging across my body as the tips of his blunt fingernails trailed up then down my arms. I had to find balance with Beau if I planned to make anything more of my life. The palm of my hand rested over his heart, taking in its beat, matching mine.

Beau's answer was to manhandle me in exactly the way I craved, tugging me by the waist, drawing me snuggly against his hard cock. The pesky thing was always hungry for more. I lifted the hem of his T-shirt, teasing his hard belly with my fingers, hungry for the skin-on-skin contact.

"They'll start me out at fourteen dollars an hour. My mom sent my money to pay for the truck you bought, which is way more money that I would have spent. You cash the check then get the bills together that I'll be responsible for. You're bein' hard-headed for no reason," Beau said, all sweet and sensible and the exact opposite of what I wanted to hear.

That was a new approach to a weeklong argument in the Brooks/Richmond household. How did I tell him that he couldn't afford the utilities in this house? Fortunately, the steak needed attention, and I busied myself there, trying my best to avoid this conversation.

The steak flipped successfully. I was the new grill master. Cool.

This time Beau initiated the contact, pulling me back into the circle of his arms again. A loud thunderous crash from above had our eyes lifting to the ceiling. From the way the movers were going, I was surprised nothing had fallen through the ceiling by now. They seemed more like a demolition crew than a professional moving company. That same knocking around continued all the way down the stairwell.

Beau slipped out of my grasp, swerving toward the tinfoil to roast the vegetables on. I wasn't clueless as to the reason he left me. Seconds later, the jingling of keys landed on the kitchen island. Chandler stood in front of them.

"It's a disaster up there, but hey, the sun's setting, so I'll call it done," Chandler said with his usual flair. "Beau, it's been a blast living with you, but seriously, dude, you talk my ear off."

Beau had still never had a meaningful exchange with Chandler, but a mischievous smirk crept to Beau's lips. All Chandler caught was a side view of Beau's chin lifting in acknowledgement.

"You didn't have to be so speedy," I said and left Beau to handle the cooking. "The meat comes off in about five minutes. I'm going to walk him out."

"'Course."

Chandler, my steady friend through thick and thin, deserved more than the silent treatment, but Beau didn't see it that way in the least.

As we went for the back door, my hand found my friend's shoulder, and I gave a squeeze. "You've been my anchor for as long as I can remember," I said, my tone thick with appreciation. "Thank you for everything. You didn't have to move so fast."

"Yeah, I did," Chandler chuckled. "I'm roasted in my spot every time he puts that death glare on me. Dude's possessive of you, and I hit him the wrong way. He won't let me make it up to him."

"I get why it seems that way, but he's really a good guy," I said, feeling like the class structure between him and Chandler was more Beau's problem these days than anything to do with me. With his hand on the doorknob, I stopped Chandler, gripping his forearm. His questioning gaze met mine. How did I tell him how much his support meant to me? The quick shake of my head brought no words forward. My feelings were indescribable. "Thank you."

Chandler waved off my appreciation as if it were nothing more than a nuisance. "No need for that. I thought you were crazy like everyone else, but I figured someone's gotta look out for you." His perfectly manicured brows lifted. "And Beau came back just like you said he would. Showed us all." I continued to stare into eyes that were as familiar to me as my own. He'd been a tremendous best friend to me.

"Get over here," Chandler said, pulling me into a bear hug. "You deserve the best, but you have to ensure your happiness too. You constantly give more than you receive in everything you do."

With my eyes shut tight, I held on. An era was ending. He let go of me before I was ready and moved out of my hold. "I'll never be far," Chandler whispered. Maybe there was a tear in his eye just like mine.

"Me too," I murmured, watching him slip out the back door. The cold wind stole my breath as Chandler jogged toward the moving van parked haphazardly along the side of the house. With a cleansing inhale, I locked the door and started in the direction of my new life.

"I didn't listen but figured this might be difficult for you. You good?" Beau asked, standing like a sentry in the middle of the living room.

"Yeah." I went for my guy, wrapping my arms around him. He drew me close, both his arms circling me protectively, giving me a perfectly pressured hug. "I'd be better if you bottomed sometimes."

I lifted my gaze to watch his eyes roll. He let his arms drop from around me. "You let nothin' go. I need time. Stop buggin' me about it. So, when're you cashin' that check?"

We were cut from the same cloth. Touche .