Chapter 29

29

Sarah

Charlie doesn't mention the kiss as she accompanies me in a black Audi driven by a bodyguard on the drive home. Nor does she ask how the date went. Or even tell me stories about Beck or his family or his business.

Nope.

We chat about my bees. She's thinking of getting a hive someday, whenever she's finally ready to slow down and find home, since she's seen enough of the world to know she can go anywhere she wants but she's still narrowing down exactly where that is.

And I pretend my lips aren't still tingling from kissing Beck, and that I can stop myself from continuously reaching up to touch them to make sure they're still the same lips they were pre-kiss.

It's not like it's the first time he's kissed me.

But this one was more .

And if we hadn't been interrupted, I don't think we would've stopped at kissing.

When we pull up to my house, the lights are all on.

My parents must still be here.

And when the bodyguard walks me to my door and sees me inside, I realize they aren't alone.

Nope.

Mackenzie's here.

And the Fireballs are tied at two in the bottom of the twelfth inning.

"Sarah! Sarah, sit. Eat popcorn. You have to try the popcorn, because we cannot lose this game after we've fought this long to get here, and the popcorn is good luck. Wait. What's that look? Why are you making that face? Did he try something? Do I need to go kick his ass?"

My dad goes on alert instantly, his dark eyes raking over me like he has an internal mind reader app in his brain while he shoots to his feet. My mom, though, claps her hands. "Oh, sweetheart, I knew he was more than just a pretty face."

"Whatever. He's just doing this to save his face," Mackenzie says. "I mean, he seems like a nice enough guy, and if there wasn't that whole fame factor, I'd be into letting him date you, provided he's actually as nice as he seems, but you know Hollywood. No offense, Sunny and Judson. Did he touch your boobs? Do I need to call my friend Bubba-Shark to take care of things?"

" Bubba-Shark ?"

"He's this guy my dads know. I don't like to talk about him because reasons , but desperate times, desperate measures. Did he show you his peepee?"

"Strike out!" my mom cries.

"What? He got the strike-out? Go, bullpen! I didn't see that coming."

With Mackenzie distracted, Mom winks at me.

Dad makes the Bat-Dad growl.

And I realize I'm touching my lips again.

I sink into the recliner, then bolt up again when Cupcake squeals indignantly beneath me. "Who put the pig in my chair?"

"Ssh!" Mackenzie says. "She's good luck. And I'm totally getting the rest of this story out of you as soon as we get this last out."

"Anybody else want ice cream?" I ask them all.

"Right! Ice cream is good luck. Crap. Beck was good luck. Was it so bad that you can't text him and ask him if he'll do that butt wiggle he did last time we got a final out in an inning?"

I don't bother telling her that he won't text back, because he has seven million and growing unread text messages, but instead, I step into the kitchen and do as she asks because I hope he does reply.

And when he replies right away, I smile so big that I know my heart's in serious danger.

With or without my pants on? And do you need video?

My brain whispers without , but my mom steps into the kitchen behind me and heads for the cabinets, making the bowls rattle loudly while she whispers, "Was it a good kiss?"

"Yes," I whisper back.

She beams. "I had our PI look into him and his family, and your father and I officially approve."

"Mom. He's doing this for the contract." He's not doing this for the contract, but I can't stop the old habits from rearing their ugly heads. You like HER? You know she's adopted, right? There's no way that geek came from Sunny Darling's loins. And she saves her ear wax to make statues with it.

Apparently my issues run a little deeper than just that moment that the owls invaded prom.

"Mm-hmm," Mom murmurs. "You know that's how your father and I met."

" What? "

"Yes, his agent approached mine because he'd been caught in a compromising position with a rather scantily-clad woman who needed a ride in a certain part of LA, and they wanted my name attached to him to clean up his image."

"You said you met when you were an extra on the set of his first movie."

"Oh, no, dear, he had a trailer on the right side of that movie set, and I was barely allowed to even say my one line. By the time rumors were flying that he hired escorts, I'd started to make a name for myself, and Hollywood ate up the story that we'd been secretly dating for months. And now, we've been happily married ever since. Also, the poor girl he gave a ride to was an undercover detective who was so charmed by his manners and his ability to resist her come-on lines and offers of paid sex that she came to our wedding. Who do you think I called to look into our dear Mr. Ryder?"

I plop the vanilla ice cream on the counter and go digging in my cabinets for sprinkles.

Tonight definitely calls for sprinkles.

"I like him," I whisper, because I can't make myself say it any louder.

"The biggest rewards require the biggest risks."

"Isn't that a line from one of your movies?"

"Yes, but it's still true."

And the exact opposite of me wishing that the things we love were the easiest things in the world.

Maybe she's right. Maybe I do need to fight for him. And stand up for him more when people call him an asshole, and quit hiding from social media and get out there and take a stand.

Dad lumbers into the room, studying both of us through narrowed eyes. "Did that motherfucking asshole flash you?"

My phone dings, and a text pops up with a video attached.

A video of Beck's ass, in black RYDE briefs, as he shakes and wiggles and flexes it in a very, very fine booty dance. I'm hypnotized by his back though. All that lean muscle, that long length, the dimples at the base of his spine, the birthmark, the width of his shoulders.

How the hell does he eat like he does and still have a back made for back porn?

"OH MY GOD, DID YOU SEE THAT PLAY?" Mackenzie yells. "Third out! Third out! Third out!"

We all stare at my phone.

Then the living room.

"Shit," Dad mutters.

"Play that again, sweetheart," Mom urges.

Mackenzie leaps into the kitchen, startling Meda, who shoots off into the living room from her hiding spot under the table and who will probably hide under my bed for the next week. "Did he do it? Did he do it?"

Mom grabs my phone and shows her the video before I can stop her.

" Yes! Tell him to stand by. Cooper's up first at the top of the inning after the commercial break."

"Go on," Dad growls at me. "Tell him we need our team to win."

Our team. My dad's a tried and true Dodgers fan, but he's adopted the Fireballs. "I'm making ice cream," I inform him with a smile.

Dad bumps me out of the way and grabs my spoon to take over ice cream duties. Mom shoves my phone back at me. I start to text Beck, but Mackenzie squeals again. "No! Don't text him! You need to call him. This only works when you two are in the bathroom together , and since you're not together, you have to be on the phone. It's the next best thing."

"I—" I start, but she sneaks in and hits the call button at the top of my text message with him.

And now I'm committed.

Because it's not like I can hang up and expect he won't call me back.

Not after that kiss.

Holy shit , that kiss.

And his I'll call you .

"Don't you have to work tomorrow?" I ask her.

"Sarah. The Fireballs might win their third game in eight days. Nobody's gonna care if I fall asleep at my desk."

Beck answers before the first ring has even finished. "Hey. It worked, didn't it? Tell Mackenzie I'll do that every night if she'll convert fully to Team Beck."

‘Team Beck? What's Team Beck ?"

"I'm totally on Team Beck so long as him dancing in his underwear results in the Fireballs winning," Mackenzie says, like she's on this phone call and not me.

I take a heaping bowl of ice cream topped with uneven whipped cream and chocolate syrup and half a container of flower sprinkles from my dad, and I head for the bathroom. "The Fireballs are up," I tell Beck.

"I know. I'm watching on my tablet in the bathroom. Are you in the bathroom?"

"Esh," I answer around a mouthful of ice cream.

"Ah, man, you're eating something. Not popcorn. Popcorn's too loud. I really didn't want to stop kissing you. You're just so—so?—"

I cringe, waiting for him to say different . Because that's what I am.

I don't wholly fit into the geek community, but I don't fully fit into my parents'—and also his —lifestyle either.

"Special," he finishes quietly.

Warmth spreads through my chest, out to my fingertips, and I put my ice cream down so it doesn't melt, even though I'm familiar enough with thermodynamics to know that it's impossible for my skin to heat enough to instantly melt an entire bowl of ice cream through the ceramic.

"Everyone's special," I say quietly.

"But you're Sarah special. That's specialer."

I laugh softly. " Specialer? "

"It's my word. I like it. I'm keeping it. Can I see you after our two weeks are up? I meant it. I hate the contract. I just want to date you ."

"Why?" I catch sight of my goofball grin in the mirror, and instead of blushing, I grin bigger.

"Because I like you. Like you like you.

" Why ?" I press.

Not because I don't like him like him too, but because the lifestyle he comes with isn't one that's ever appreciated my brand of specialness before, and I had eighteen years of living it before I finally escaped to find where I thought I fit.

"Because you have excellent taste in movies and TV shows, your friends love you enough to threaten me with things that'll send me to therapy for years, and you didn't have to ask to know that fried onions are the best extra topping ever invented for a hamburger. You know how to use a taser, you keep bees to try to save the world, and the only thing you want from me is for me to step up to the plate and do my duty as a citizen of the Earth to help save it. Also, you haven't asked me for free underwear, or if I'll sign your boobs—though I totally would for you, because I'm shameless and I'll take any excuse to touch you—or if I'll get you hooked up with free tickets to Levi's concerts or Cash's movie premieres. And also because you have high enough standards to demand that I deliver a double orgasm in the bedroom. Nobody ever wants me to be better . They just want me to be naked . You're…real. And unimpressed. And it makes me want to impress you."

"What happens when that novelty wears off?"

"You're too fascinating to ever not be fascinating. Aaaaannnd I'm the dumbass who just said that really lame sentence. Sorry."

I smile at my melting ice cream. "No, you're actually really sweet and adorable."

"And sexy and hot and you want to strip me out of my teddy bear robe."

"You are not wearing a teddy bear robe."

My phone gives me a text alert, and I pull it away from my ear to glance at it.

Sure enough, that's a picture of Beck. In a fluffy white robe with brown teddy bears all over it.

I bust out laughing. "Is that your normal evening wear?"

"I wasn't watching what I grabbed when I saw you were calling. Tripp's kids gave it to me for Christmas. James was on a bear kick. And now we know it's good luck for the Fireballs, so I'll have to wear it every time they play a game."

"Do you have any idea how attractive it is that you love your family as much as you do?"

"Not a clue. You're going to have to spell it out for me. Use lots of complimentary words. My ego needs a boost."

"HOME RUN! OH MY GOD, SARAH, HE HIT A HOME RUN!"

"Hold on," I tell Beck, and I put him on hold while I play my toilet flushing app. "That's great," I call back to Mackenzie.

"Stay! Stay in the bathroom!" she shrieks back. "And whatever you're doing, keep doing it!"

Beck's chuckling when I lift the phone back to my ear. "We have to keep talking, don't we?"

"Yep."

"Awesome. What's her email address? I'm sending her season tickets tomorrow."

I blink.

Then blink again, because my eyes are getting hot. "You know most guys would say flowers , right?"

"I know I sent you some earlier, but the truth is, I hate sending flowers. You grow them, they're happy and all connected to their roots and eating and drinking and basking in the sunshine—or a grow lamp, I guess—but then you cut them, send them to someone, and they die well before their time. Season tickets are the gift that keeps on giving. Until October, anyway. Or until she decides going in person is bad luck. Shit. What if she decides going in person is bad luck? Then I'll have ruined baseball for her."

"She won't decide it's bad luck to be there in person," I tell him. "She's more likely to decide her seats are wrong, but she won't say that, because she's more polite than she is superstitious. But you do know you don't have to do this, right?"

"Sarah?"

"Hmm?"

"I'd really like to be kissing you right now."

"AAAHHH!!! A DOUBLE!" Mackenzie yells. "DARREN GREENE JUST HIT A DOUBLE!"

I swallow hard. "Did you see that?" I whisper.

"Yep." His voice is softer, but also deeper. "Sounds like we need to keep talking about kissing."

"My best friend is totally setting us up."

"She clearly has awesome taste in men. And since it means I get to keep talking to you about how delicious your lips are, I'll take this little gift from the universe and go with it. And your lips are delicious."

"It was the onion rings."

He chuckles softly. "No, Sarah. It's you ."

"You weren't half-bad," I tell him, even though the truth is that he was amazing . I know what actually dating dating Beck would mean for my future—and my relative privacy—but that part of me terrified of having my life torn apart is doing the talking for me again. I clear my throat and try again. "I mean, you were at least seventy percent of the way to giving me an orgasm just from kissing me."

"If we were alone, I'd kiss you from head to toe, and I'd learn all your favorite spots, and I'd pretend like I didn't know what you meant when you told me to go lower, or harder, or faster, just so I could build all the anticipation until I finally hit all your magic buttons," he says, his voice low and husky and making my skin tingle all over.

I toe the bathroom door shut and sink to the floor with my back to it so no one can walk in. "What else?" I whisper, even though the doors are paper thin and my parents and best friend are still on the other side.

"I'd strip you out of your socks and blow on your toes," he whispers, and it shouldn't be a turn-on, but my toes squirm and I get a straight jolt of lust between my thighs.

"And then I'd caress your ankles and lick a trail up your calf and test to see if your knees are ticklish before spreading your legs and having dessert."

Holy honeybees . My knees drop open, and I reach under my shirt to rub at one aching nipple. "You think you're any good with dessert?"

"I'm terrible. I'm going to need hours and hours of practice."

I'm going to need some serious private time with my fingers in a minute here. I pinch my nipple, and a hot arrow of pleasure rockets from my breast to my lady bits. "Hours?"

"Hours. With my face between your legs."

I whimper.

Because what are words again?

"Dammit, I'm doing this wrong. I was supposed to talk about how much I want to kiss that mouth again first."

"Not…wrong," I manage.

I can hear him smiling. "Sarah Dempsey, are you turned on?"

My head drops back, my eyes squeeze shut, and my hand drifts lower. "Just…little."

"Oh. Only a little? I'm hard as a cast iron frying pan."

And now I'm picturing him with an erection straining his black boxers, and there's an overexcited buzz happening in my pussy. My pussy is the yapping chihuahua of pussies right now, wagging its tail and calculating a plan to ride across town with my head hanging out the window so I can attack his boner.

I whimper.

"I'm doing this wrong," he says. "You want me to stop?"

" No ."

"Ah. So you would want me to kiss those lips again. And strip you down to your bare skin. And suck on your earlobes."

I hate having my earlobes touched, but offering them as tribute if that's what Beck wants to suck on sounds utterly divine. Especially if I got to hang on to his broad shoulders and bury my face in his hot skin and taste the very essence of him. "What…about…you?"

"There's not a single inch of my entire body that wouldn't be completely turned on if you were touching me."

I smile. It's a breathy smile, and I want to rub my clit so bad.

"I really want to kiss you again," he whispers. "And I want to peel you out of your clothes and worship your body and learn what you like and taste you and stroke you and love you until you can't remember a time when you were unhappy about anything ."

I suck in a shuddery breath, my skin alternating between flaming hot and icy cold. "I don't think you actually need lessons in anything."

"Don't rob me of my fantasies here. Any of them. Not the ones in my bedroom. Or my hot tub. Or on my patio. On a picnic blanket surrounded by fried chicken and biscuits and peach cobbler."

I laugh softly while I rub my jeans over my clit. "Strawberry shortcake."

"Donuts." He groans softly. "Banana pudding donuts."

I picture him using a donut as a cock ring, and I'm suddenly so turned on that my panties are dripping, but I'm also laughing.

It's a weird mix, but I like it. "Cream cheese Danish," I say.

"Fuck, Sarah, warn a man." He blows out an audible breath, and I wonder if he's honestly as turned on as I am. His ragged breath suggests he might be.

"Okay. Control. Okay," he rasps. "Pepperoni pizza."

"Mint tea and gazelle cookies."

"If I were next to you, I'd be slamming into you so hard right now, neither one of us would be able to walk tomorrow."

It's not his words.

It's the way his voice has gone completely hoarse and shaky, like he's a man on the verge of losing control.

"Are you touching yourself?" I whisper.

"Do you want me to?" Gritted. Harsh. Like he's not in control.

"Yes."

"I wish you were touching me."

"I wish you were touching me too."

"Where?"

"My nipples are very sensitive."

"Sarah," he groans.

The bathroom door suddenly jolts against my back. "Sarah! SARAH! The booty dance! TELL BECK WE NEED THE BOOTY DANCE!"

The game.

Shit. Dammit. Hell.

I leap up, my legs wobbly, my nipples pebbled so hard they've probably turned inside out, my head light, my heart pounding. "No! No booty dance!" I shriek.

"Sarah?" Beck's voice is pained, half-moan, half despair.

And then there's silence. For half a second before Mackenzie pops the door and peers in at me with one eyeball.

One very wide blue eyeball.

"Oh my god," she whispers.

I make some motions with my hands that I hope mean go away and do not tell my parents and I might hate you right now but I'll still love you tomorrow .

"I mean, if that's what it takes for them to win, I guess you're going to be really fucking satisfied by October. Good for you, girlfriend. But can you text me that video?"

" No! "

"Okay, okay. Sheesh. Just asking." She pulls the door shut again. "No, Judson, she's taking a bath. Leave her alone. She gets all shrieky when people see her naked."

"Did you use the bath salts we sent for Valentine's Day?" my mom calls.

I drop my head to the bathroom door, suddenly missing orgasms more than I have at any time in the past year.

"I owe you something better than chocolates for this, don't I?" Beck says in my ear, making me jump.

"You totally got off, didn't you?"

"You like waffles? Or omelets? I make a killer waffle-omelet sandwich. I could come make you breakfast in the morning. Or right now."

"It's fine. I have a vibrator."

"Fucking hell, I'm going to be thinking about that all night."

I wince. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm going to enjoy the hell out of these fantasies."

"You're adding funnel cakes and barbecue to them, aren't you?"

"Sarah Dempsey, I'm going to talk you into marrying me one day."

I laugh.

He doesn't.

Probably because he's salivating over the idea of me masturbating while surrounded by food.

"You sure you have plans tomorrow night? We could head out to my place in Shipwreck. I've got a telescope out there."

My heart squeezes behind my still tingling nipples. "Maybe next weekend?"

"Done. You're on my calendar. No backing out now."

"Did you just text Charlie?"

"Nope. I put it on my calendar all by myself. Right next to eat at that Indian place down the street . But I can move that."

"Wait. Which Indian place? The one with the garlic naan that you can smell baking halfway through Reynolds Park?"

"Is there any other Indian place in this city?"

"Technically, yes."

"It's a date. Indian, then Shipwreck. And banana pudding donuts."

"OH MY GOD, WE WON! WE WON IN EXTRA INNINGS! WE WON WE WON WE WON!"

I smile at the white wooden door and Mackenzie's shrieks in the living room. "Thanks for being the Fireballs' good luck charm again," I say softly.

"Anytime. Especially if it gives me an excuse to talk to you."

The belly flutters join the warmth in my heart and the frustration in my lady bits.

This feels real .

And fun.

And easy.

I just hope it can last.