If You Hate Me: Chapter 16

I make sure Flip is in the bathroom before I pin Bea against the counter with my hips. She’s cutting fruit for her lunch. Her hair is down, so I sweep it over one shoulder and lean in to press my lips against the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Did you leave a bag upstairs for me?”

“Behind the privacy screen.” She tips her head, as if she’s waiting for my lips to keep moving along her neck.

It’s tempting, but once I start, it’s hard to stop. “Good. I’ll pick you up after work.” These stolen moments when I get to touch her like she’s mine are my favorite part of the morning.

I step away a few seconds before the bathroom door swings open and Flip comes out. I need to watch myself. There have been a few close calls recently. Hence the reason for tonight.

“Can you make me a coffee, Rix? I’ll be ready in ten,” Flip calls as he heads for his bedroom.

I bite my tongue so I don’t call him out for his lack of fucking manners. “You’ll have to take breakfast to go.”

“You’re driving then.” His bedroom door closes behind him.

This morning Flip and I are volunteer coaching a special-needs hockey team with my brother. Brody and I have done it a bunch of times. These kids get so excited about playing, and Hemi loves the positive promotion. She gave me a bunch of team swag, including water bottles, pucks, and baseball caps. They’re already in my car.

I notice the newspaper on the counter is open to the ads section. I’m quick to squash apartment options by sending her articles about crime in the neighborhood. Truthfully, all I want is more time with her. Also, I don’t intend to stick to the plan of this thing ending when she moves out. Maybe I’ll broach that subject later tonight, when it’s just the two of us.

She finishes separating the fruit into plastic containers and heads for the coffeemaker.

“Flip can get his own coffee,” I say behind the rim of my mug. Lately it irks me how much he takes advantage of Bea. She’s not his personal fucking assistant. And she never complains.

“I’m already pouring one for myself.” She fills two travel mugs. “Can I pour you one, too?”

“Fill yours first. I’ve already had two cups.” In the weeks since she’s been living here, I’ve noticed that Bea always makes sure everyone else has what they need first. She’ll take the smaller portion and wait until we’re finished eating before she goes back for seconds.

She fills hers three quarters of the way and pulls out a travel mug for me. I cover the top with my hand. “Yours first.”

“I need room for cream and sugar. There’s enough left for you.”

We stare each other down.

She gives me a look. “Really? You want to argue about who gets the most coffee this morning?”

“Do the two of you ever stop fighting?” Flip asks.

“Occasionally.” A grin tips the corner of Bea’s mouth.

I move my hand and avert my gaze, because that expression makes me want to do dirty things. Well, I always want to do dirty things to her, but I’m getting a hard-on, which isn’t convenient with Flip in the room.

“Flip, you’ll have to doctor your java. I’ve gotta run, and I’m out tonight, so you’ll be on your own for dinner. There’s lasagna in the fridge and directions to reheat it here.” She taps the Post-it stuck to the fridge.

Flip’s eyebrow rises. “You got a date or something?”

“I’m out with work friends for dinner, and Hemi and Hammer invited me over later. Depends on how late dinner goes, though.” She tucks her phone in her purse and slides her feet into her shoes. Her cheeks flush pink and the tips of her ears turn red with the lie.

“Right. Okay. That’s great that you’re making friends at work.” Flip lifts his head. “You’re liking the job, then?”

“Yeah. It’s good. You guys have a good day.” She heads for the door.

“Your coffee.” I hold it out to her.

“Right. Thanks.” Our fingers brush, and our eyes meet for a second. If Flip wasn’t here, I would kiss her. Instead, I watch her walk out the door.

Tonight, she’s all mine. No interruptions, no being quiet, no her sneaking back up to the loft, no feeling guilty that we’re lying to Flip. Or less feeling guilty. It’s getting harder to remember not to touch her when he’s around.

“We should go, too.” I put the lid on my travel mug and grab my car keys.

“Sounds good.”

“Thanks for agreeing to come with me today,” I say once we’re on the way to the arena.

“No problem. It’ll win me points with Hemi.” He digs into the fruit and yogurt parfait Bea made this morning. It’s got all his favorite fruits, high-protein yogurt, and a separate container of granola and nuts to preserve the crunch. “How are you feeling about our next exhibition game?”

I tap the wheel. “Okay. I get why Coach wants to start Hollis on the first line.”

“You know it has nothing to do with you not being the better player, right? They want to be careful with Hollis this season and playing him on first line when he’s fresh is better for him,” Flip says.

“I know. It’s a rough transition from last year. I’m still hoping I’ll be on the starting line for the opening game of the season.”

“You will,” Flip assures me.

I want to believe he’s right, but I don’t know where I stand. Hollis has been visiting Coach regularly. Lots of private meetings. He’s upped his PT to make sure he’s in good condition for the start of the season. It’s tough not to worry about where my value to the team will fall. If Hollis makes a comeback, will I slide down the ranks again? Was last year the highlight of my career?

I sigh. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

“It’ll be fine,” he says through a mouthful of yogurt. “Man, this is good. I should have taken two.” He scrapes the bottom of the container with his spoon.

“I’ve got those almond muffins in my bag, if you’re still hungry.” I thumb over my shoulder.

“Really? I didn’t even know Rix made those.”

That’s because I asked her to, and because I hid them so Flip wouldn’t eat them all before I could. “Save me at least one.”

He pulls the plastic container out of my bag. “Damn, you’ve been holding out!” He pops the lid. “You want one?”

“Sure. Yeah.” He passes me a muffin.

He eats the first one in two bites, crumbs falling into the container in his lap. “You and Rix seem to get along better these days.”

He doesn’t know the half of it. I accidentally inhale a crumb and start coughing. Thankfully, we hit a red light, so I set the muffin on the dash and cough into my elbow. When I’ve got myself under control, I wash it down with coffee. “She’s helpful around the condo,” I offer.

“Yeah, it’s been nice having meals prepped, and not having to do the groceries and stuff. I know it’s been a lot having her in the loft, and she’s looking for an apartment, but I don’t want her to end up in the same position again. She was looking at some place a few blocks from her work, but the neighborhood wasn’t the best, so I told her to skip it.”

“It’s fine if she stays a while longer. We’re traveling soon anyway, so we won’t be there half the time.” My stomach tightens. I don’t want her to move, but the guilt is eating at me.

“I appreciate you being cool about it. I know you two rub each other the wrong way.”

I grip the wheel tighter and fight with myself not to confess. If I do, this thing with Bea ends, and I want that less than I want to unload my conscience. “I don’t mind her.”

He snorts a laugh. “You don’t mind having someone picking up after us.”

“Nah, man. I mean, that part is nice, but she’s cool to hang out with. She’s got good taste in movies, and she’s smart as hell. I just didn’t want someone else to look after.”

“She’s too proud sometimes. I wish she’d let me help her with rent. Then she could get a decent place.”

“She doesn’t want to mooch off you.”

His expression reflects surprise. “She say something to you about it?”

I scramble for something plausible. “I overheard her talking to Essie. You paid for her university, right? Maybe she thinks that’s enough. Plus, she’s living with us rent free.”

“Yeah, but she’s taken over as our personal chef and housekeeper. And she’s managing my finances, and the change has made me like twelve grand in interest since she’s been living with us, so it’s not like she’s loafing around, playing video games. And I only paid for what her scholarship didn’t cover. She worked a part-time job throughout university to cover her rent and stuff. I think I gave her twenty grand,” he says.

“Twenty thousand is a big deal to her, no?” I reply. “This new job she has. What does it pay? Like sixty grand a year or something?” I don’t even know the answer to that. And I feel like I should. We spend most of our time together naked, but sometimes we talk after, before she falls asleep.

He frowns. “I don’t know. I never asked.”

“Renting an apartment in Toronto is expensive.” I tap the steering wheel. “A nice studio is around two thousand a month. If she’s making between sixty and eighty thousand a year, twenty-five to thirty of that goes to rent. She’s pretty careful with her money. She price matches groceries every week.”

He glances at me. “How do you know that?”

“The flyers are always covered in Sharpie, and she makes a spreadsheet. She leaves them on the counter.” I’ve also tried to entice her into sex when she’s been in the middle of price matching more than once. She gets really fucking annoyed.

“Huh. I didn’t realize that.”

I bite my tongue. If he hung out with her more he might have a goddamn clue about his sister. Then again, he might also realize what’s going on. It’s getting harder to keep this secret for a lot of reasons. I pull into the arena parking lot, which thankfully ends the conversation.

My brother is already dressed in his gear, so we get changed and meet him on the ice.

“Damn, Brody.” Flip claps him on the shoulder. “You’re filling out, eh?”

He grins. “Been spending a lot of time at the gym lately.”

“Yeah, you are. Bet the girls are all over you,” Flip says.

“Sorta, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Can we take a couple of pics for my socials?”

“For sure.”

We flank Brody while he takes selfies.

“You’re gonna be eighteen soon, right?” Flip asks while Brody posts a photo.

He sets his phone on the bench. “Yeah. Thanksgiving weekend.”

“Next year we’ll take you to the bar to celebrate, show you a real good time.” Flip winks.

Brody looks to me like he’s unsure.

“Your version of a real good time won’t win any points with our dad,” I say. “But we can definitely take Brody out for dinner and feed him too many beers.”

“There’s always booze at hockey parties. It’s not like I’ve never been drunk before,” Brody gripes.

I’m not surprised. I was drinking at parties at his age, but I worry about what he’s getting himself into.

The kids show up. I brought my Polaroid so we can autograph pictures and add them to the swag bags.

We spend the next two hours on the ice. It’s great to see Brody with these kids. He’s a natural, and they adore him. And he’s a skilled teacher. Flip is good at encouraging the kids and giving Brody pointers on how to help them.

Halfway through, a few girls show up to watch.

“Looks like you got some fans.” Flip tips his head to the group sitting on the bench.

They look like they’re ready for the club, not watching hockey. And they’re a bit of a distraction for the kids on the ice.

Brody mutters an expletive under his breath but spins it into fudge. He gives them a tight-lipped smile and waves but refocuses his attention on the kids. It’s good to see he’s got his priorities straight. For now.

At the end of our practice, we pass out the swag bags and take a team photo before we hit the locker room. Brody is hickey free this time, but when we pass through the lobby, the girls are waiting around for him. A dark-haired girl breaks rank and rushes over to throw her arms around his neck. He gives her his cheek when she tries to kiss him.

A girl with strawberry-blonde hair stares uncomfortably at her feet. She’s wearing a hoodie with the name of Brody’s high school on it.

Brody introduces us, and it isn’t until after we sign a few napkins and give them leftover swag that Lana, the girl who’s all over my brother, asks if he’s going to the party this weekend. He’s noncommittal about it, saying he has games and homework, but maybe if he can swing it.

“Got yourself some real fangirls, eh?” Flip says once the girls leave.

Brody stuffs his hands in his pockets. “The one who was all over me is that girl I told you about.”

“The pushy one?” I ask.

He nods. “And Enid, the redhead, is the one I like. Liked. It’s just awkward, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it.”

I clap him on the shoulder. I wish I had some advice, but my relationship history isn’t great. Realistically, if he’s drafted, he’ll end up playing for a university team before he gets called up. The attention he gets now will only compound. But I don’t tell him that. “I’m sorry, Brody. It’s a shitty position to be in for sure.” I invite him out for a bite to eat, hoping I can get him to open up more about the situation. But he has a school project, so I drive him to his friend’s house instead.

“He’s a good kid, eh?” Flip observes as Brody waves goodbye.

“Yeah, he is.” I’m worried about that girl who won’t back off. He doesn’t seem comfortable with her, and she seems clueless about it. “I don’t think he’s ready for what it’ll be like if he makes the pros.”

“He’s solid on the ice,” Flip observes. “A few years playing university level and he’ll be ready for the pros.”

I’m about to tell him that’s not what I meant, but I decide to leave it alone. Flip doesn’t mind the attention. And for a while, I was right there with him. But now I see what Hemi meant about consequences, and not just with my brother, but with Bea, too. That Stacey situation was shitty. I hated everything about it. And then there was Essie’s visit. I know Bea needs time with her, but it made me hyperaware of how much I wish I could touch her just to touch. It’s too risky with Flip around, though.

After practice, Flip and some of the guys suggest going out for dinner, but I tell them I have plans to meet my dad.

What I actually do is drive across town and get everything ready for my night with Bea before I pick her up from work. When she comes out of her office building, she’s wearing sunglasses even though it’s overcast, and she rushes to the car, throwing herself inside and sliding down.

“What are you doing?”

“Being incognito. You drive an expensive, flashy car.”

“It’s not that flashy or expensive.” Not compared to the cars my teammates drive. Although next to Flip’s ride, my Mercedes is pretty sweet.

“You should go.” She motions to the windshield.

I slide a hand under her hair and curve my palm around the back of her neck. “Come here.”

“What?”

I lean in and tug her toward me, but she resists. “I want your lips.”

“What if people see us?”

“The windows are tinted. Come here, Bea.” I caress her cheek with my thumb.

She relents, and I claim her lips. I curve my other hand around the front of her throat, and she moans.

“I would finger-fuck you right here if there wasn’t a police car parked across the street,” I say against her lips.

She wrenches her mouth free. “What? Where?”

“Maybe I should anyway.” I drop my hand to her thigh and bite the edge of her jaw.

“Fuck that. I don’t want an indecent-exposure charge.”

“I’m kidding, Bea. There’s no police. But I wouldn’t mind fucking you in my car sometime.” Then it would smell like her, and I’d have that memory until I traded in my car. Or maybe I’d keep it forever.

“That would probably be tragically awkward.” She fastens her seat belt.

“You’re bendy. We’d make it work.” I adjust my hard-on and signal into traffic.

“What’s the plan? Are we going to a hotel so we can order room service and fuck like bunnies?”

“That’s later. I have something else planned first.” Do I want to be inside her? Absolutely. But I want this time with her more.

“I’m still in my work clothes, though. And we can’t go out in public. You’re way too recognizable, and people would take pictures. Then Flip would find out. We can’t have sex if he kills you, or me, or both of us. Besides, I haven’t found an apartment yet—not that I would need it if Flip killed me.”

I push down the guilt over the lies we’re telling, and the uncomfortable feeling that comes with having to hide what’s going on. “Don’t worry. We’re not going out in public, and the place we’re staying is private, so you don’t have to worry about Flip.” A few times over the past week I’ve considered what would happen if I told Flip. He’d be pissed off at first, but eventually he’d get over it. Wouldn’t he?

But I don’t want to put that on Bea, or strain their relationship. Not with her parents hours away and her best friend in Vancouver. Besides, I don’t have a great track record with actual relationships, and I can’t imagine she’d want more from me than fun between the sheets and maybe the occasional secret date night. Hopefully she wants that.

She seems to relax a little. “So where exactly are we going before we get our fuck on?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?” She shifts in her seat, angling her body toward me, eyes lit up with excitement. “Can I guess?”

“If you want.” I like this. Making her happy feels good.

She taps her lips as we drive across town. That I pulled this off is a damn miracle.

“Are you taking me to an escape room?”

“No. Not an escape room.”

“Drive-in movie?”

I snort.

She bites the end of her finger. “So, it’s not in public, and it’s not an escape room or a movie. What about a virtual experience? Like a virtual sex show or something.”

“I don’t know if those things exist, and even if they do, we could just get those VR headsets and watch it in the privacy of a hotel room,” I point out.

She keeps lobbing ridiculous ideas at me, and I keep knocking them down until we arrive at the restaurant. It’s cozy, with only twelve tables, but they have the most amazing dining experience and a chef who’s also a certified dietician. She’s worked for some of the best hockey players out there. She retired a few years ago and opened this place. It’s by reservation only. I park in the back and get out of the car, rounding the hood in time to open Bea’s door.

“Are we playing underground poker or something?”

“Nope. You’re out of guesses. Come on.” I extend my hand.

She stares at it for a few seconds before she finally takes it. I lead her down the stairs.

“Please tell me you’re not taking me to some secret underground sex club,” she says when I knock on the door.

I snort. “No one touches you but me.”

“And Essie. She’s my cuddle friend.”

I make a noise in the back of my throat. Can’t say I was sorry to see Essie go.

The door opens, and Eliza Van Horn smiles widely. “Right on time, Tristan. Come on in.” She ushers us inside and turns her bright smile on Bea. “And this must be Beatrix. I’ve heard such lovely things about you.”

Bea’s gaze shifts to me and back to Eliza. “Really?” She extends her hand. “That’s, uh… It’s nice to meet you. I go by Rix mostly.” She side-eyes me. “Or sometimes Bea.”

Eliza introduces herself, and I see the moment it clicks for Bea. Her head whips my way. “Is this for real?”

I nod and tuck my hands in my pockets as she turns back to Eliza. “You were the lead nutritional consultant for professional hockey players in Ontario. I’ve read two of your books. I love your recipes.”

“I hear you’re quite talented in the kitchen.” She motions for us to follow her through the restaurant.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. This guy was living on stale pizza and sugary cereal, so anything is a step up from that.” Bea gives me wide eyes and mouths, Oh my God.

“She’s being modest,” I say.

“I’m not—oh!” Bea comes to an abrupt halt when we reach the entrance to the kitchen. It’s set up with ingredients laid out on the metal work surfaces. “Are we cooking? With you?” she asks Eliza.

“She’s teaching us how to make her famous stuffed ravioli.”

Bea’s mouth drops open, and she brings her hand up to cover it. “You set this up for us?”

“I thought you might like it.”

She waves her hands in front of her face. “I get to cook with Eliza Van Horn! Like, what?”

“And me. Don’t forget that part.”

She shoves my shoulder and wraps her arms around my waist. I give her a squeeze and kiss the top of her head. Yeah, it’s totally worth the guilt and sneaking around to see her this happy.

“You two are so cute.” Eliza hands us aprons and shows us around the kitchen.

Bea keeps squeezing my hand and grinning. She’s giddy, and it’s fucking adorable.

Bea is naturally gifted when it comes to cooking pretty much anything. It turns out, I’m not. Which I already knew since the only thing I’m proficient at are boxed frozen food from the grocery store, grilled cheese, and egg sandwiches. I kind of like the way we work as a team, though, and how patient she is when I don’t get something right the first time. When I was a kid, my mom would freak out if I made mistakes. But you can’t get it wrong if you don’t try at all.

Bea slides between me and the prep table so she can show me how to knead pasta dough properly. “Gently, but firmly, Tristan. You don’t have to pound everything into submission.”

Eliza’s in the back getting more fresh Parmesan. I wrap my arm around her waist and whisper, “Should I take notes for later?”

“Even I appreciate a gentle touch on occasion. Especially when I’m getting railed every night of the week.”

The fridge door closes. I release her and step to the side before Eliza appears.

Bea gives me a sidelong glance.

“Duly noted on the gentle touch,” I murmur.

We make three types of ravioli, marinara and vodka sauce, a salad, and chocolate lava cake for dessert. Bea and Eliza chat like old friends, and I love how animated they are. This is her passion, like hockey is mine. They talk about the science of feeding athletes. When our diets need more protein, when simple fuels and complex carbohydrates are best. Why loading up on cereal meant to entice small children is terrible before a game. This explains why, even when I was being a giant asshole, she still made meals for me and Flip. She loves doing it more than she hated me.

When we sit down to eat, Eliza brings us a bottle of wine and disappears into the kitchen, saying she’ll keep an eye on dessert and bring it out once it’s ready.

Bea’s smile fills her entire face. I can’t get enough of it.

“I can’t believe you set this up,” she says. “No one has ever done anything this thoughtful for me before.”

“No one?” Hasn’t anyone else ever paid attention to what makes Bea tick?

“Not really. I mean, I’ve gone out for nice dinners, but this is…it’s really sweet.”

“I had some help,” I admit.

“From who?” Bea cuts into her ravioli and drags it through the sauce. She pops the bite in her mouth, and her eyes flutter closed on a soft moan. “Oh, this is fantastic. I’ll never eat store-bought stuff again.” Her eyes open, and she looks at me expectantly. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Keep moaning and we’ll be visiting the bathroom together,” I warn.

She rolls her eyes. “You have me all night.”

“I know. My plans for you later are extensive.”

“No doubt. So, who helped you plan this?”

“Roman has worked with Eliza in the past, and Hemi has connections, so I called in a favor.”

She pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth.

“Do you think Roman would say something to Flip?” She worries her bottom lip.

“It’s not his business to tell. And I trust him.”

She nods slowly. “Okay.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if we can amend the pact, but Eliza comes out with sparkling water. When she leaves us alone again, the moment and my nerve have passed.

“You should really rethink the whole dietician thing. I think you’d be great at it,” I say.

“I’d have to go back to school for four more years, though. And come up with the money for that. Besides, I have a perfectly good degree that makes me a solid salary. It would be a waste of money to walk away from that.”

“What if you didn’t have to walk away entirely? You can still manage Flip’s portfolio. You could use your accounting degree and work in nutrition with sports teams. There has to be a way to pair those two things.”

“I can’t afford another four years in school.” She cuts her last ravioli into four small bites and spears one. It must be cold by now. “It’s too hard financially.”

“Money shouldn’t be the thing that prevents you from achieving your dreams,” I argue. Flip could put her through school, and so could I, but explaining that would be hard. And she wouldn’t accept it from me. “Eliza teaches some courses. What if you started with just one? Or a night course? Not too expensive and then at least you could see if it’s something you wanted to pursue?”

“Maybe something to consider in the future. Some people spend their lives chasing dreams. I’ve spent mine chasing financial stability,” she says softly.

“It’s okay to change your mind and decide you want to chase something else,” I counter.

“What else do you want, aside from an illustrious career as a professional hockey player?” She pops the last bite of her ravioli into her mouth.

You, I want to say. For this not to end. For the things I’m afraid of not to ruin this. To give you the things you want. To make you smile like this every day.

But I don’t say any of that. “To win the Cup before my career is over.” I don’t want to talk about hockey right now, though, not when things feel unsteady there. I glance toward the kitchen to make sure Eliza isn’t around and drop my voice, changing gears. “And to hear you scream my name when we’re alone later.”

“Well, I can definitely guarantee you the second if I don’t end up in a food coma.”

“Should we take dessert with us? Save it for later?” I want to be alone with her. If there’s one thing I’m skilled at, it’s making her feel good in bed.

She bites her lip. “Might be a nice midnight snack.”

We thank Eliza, and she invites Bea to come back any time for a free cooking class. She sends us off with leftover ravioli, sauces, and our desserts. I don’t know that the whipped cream with the cakes will make it, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

I drive us to the house I rented for the night—another favor I called in. Hotels are great, but we’d have neighbors, and I don’t want Bea to hold back. I want those moans, and sighs, and shrieks, and giggles.

“Whose house is this?” Bea asks when I pull into the garage.

“A friend.”

“What kind of friend?” She side-eyes me.

“A guy I used to play hockey with in New York.”

“You went to a lot of trouble to set this up, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t trouble, and it was totally worth it.” I grab our leftovers from the back seat and extend my hand.

She slips her palm into mine. I like this kind of easy contact. I wish I could do it more often.

I lead her through the house, put the food in the fridge, and grab the bottle of champagne I had in there. “Let me show you the rest of the place.”

“You mean the bedroom, right?”

“If that’s what you want to see first.”

I stop at the second door and flip on the light.

“This is like something out of a freaking fairy tale.” She bites her lip and hugs my arm. “You better be careful, or I’ll start thinking maybe you actually like me.”

I skim her cheek with my fingers. “I do like you, Bea.”

“You like my vagina.” She nudges my arm with her shoulder. “The rest of me annoys the shit out of you.”

“I am a big fan of your pussy, but”—I curve a hand around the back of her neck, brushing my lips across her cheek—“the rest of you is pretty great too.”

Before I can claim her lips, she spins out of my grip and grabs her bag from the end of the bed. “Hold that thought for like two minutes.”

“What?” I move toward her.

She holds up a finger as she races across the room. “Two minutes. I need two minutes.” She disappears into the bathroom and slams the door. The lock flips as my fingers wrap around the knob.

I knock a few times. Gently. “Don’t make me break this door down, Bea.”

“Two minutes. I promise it’ll be worth the wait!” she calls.

I brace a hand on either side of the door. I want to spend all night worshiping every inch of her. No worrying about Flip. No going back to her own bed. I want to wake up beside her. I need to amend this pact we’ve made. Two minutes later, the door swings open.

“Sweet fuck.” She looks like my favorite sin. She’s dressed in black, strappy, lacy lingerie.

“Worth it?” She bites her lip and ducks her head, looking up at me from under her lashes.

“More than worth it.” I take her hand and lead her to the bed. I tap the edge, then wrap my hands around her waist. “Up you go.”

She folds her legs under her and kneels at the edge of the bed in front of me. I drink her in as she raises a hand, trailing her fingers down my arm. When she reaches my hand, she moves it to skim her waist, lifting it so my fingers graze the swell of her breast. She drags it higher, over her collarbones until my palm rests against her throat. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment as she adjusts the position, and then her fingers rest over mine, pressing them into her delicate flesh.

“Fuck, Bea.” I curve the other hand around the back of her neck and brush my lips over hers. “I’m sorry if this lingerie doesn’t make it through the night, but I will definitely replace it if I ruin it.”

I move my mouth over hers but remember what she said about being gentle. I should probably start off easy if I don’t want to wear her out in the first hour.

So I’m soft with her. I kiss her like I’m not in a rush, like she’s my favorite ice cream and I’m savoring her. When I stretch out between her thighs, I’m all soft strokes of tongue and teasing nips, and when I push inside her, I fuck her with long, lazy strokes. She comes on whimpers and sighs, and I find I want her soft pleas for more. I want her wrapped around me when she unravels. I like how gentle feels with her. I want to stay here, in this bubble where the guilt doesn’t eat at me and there doesn’t have to be an end.

When we’re both spent, I gather her up and arrange her so I can breathe in her shampoo. I kiss the back of her neck. “Stop looking for an apartment for a while.”

Her fingers drift over the backs of mine. I lace them together. “We start traveling soon. Just stay until the end of October at least.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I kiss the back of her neck. “I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

Her breath evens out a few minutes later.

“I wish I could keep you happy like this forever,” I murmur. “I wish I deserved to.” But I don’t know if I’m capable of making anyone happy long term. So I’ll keep her as long as she’ll let me.

I wake up at six in the morning and pat the mattress, but all I find are cold, tangled sheets. “Bea? Come back to bed!” I call.

But I get no response. I sit up and scrub a hand over my face. My phone is on the nightstand. I have a text from Bea. A long one.

She said she would stay, and she’s gone. She fucking left me. Memories surface, the kind that make me want to punch things. To rip the whole house apart.

My stomach twists, and panic makes my throat tight. My hands shake. I hate this weakness. Hate that I’m suddenly sweaty and nauseated. I grit my teeth as I scan the first few lines.

I read the message over three times. For a few seconds, it felt like someone had put my heart in a vise. I rub my chest, trying to relieve the ache. I get her reason for leaving, but the secrecy is harder to deal with. I’d rather have more last nights and waking up with her beside me than the promise of a BJ.

Maybe Roman is right. Maybe these feelings for Bea are real. I guess I bought myself some more time to figure shit out.