Page 24 of Married to the Frenemy

We approach the host stand, and he doesn’t even need to give his name. Everyone around here knows Beckham. As we follow the hostess through the restaurant, several locals look our way and whisper amongst themselves. No doubt this will be front-page news tomorrow, especially given our past.

“I had Parker reserve us a more secluded table,” he says once the hostess has left us alone at a table overlooking the lake, the entire property twinkling with thousands of lights. “This way, we don’t have to worry about anyone hearing something they shouldn’t. Or worry about people looking at us.”

“They still haven’t forgotten, have they?” I absent-mindedly muse as I place my napkin on my lap and grab my menu.

“Have you?”

I dart my eyes toward his. “Of course not. I just… I figured people would get over it. Find something else to talk about.”

“Not sure this town has had another juicy story since then. It’s not every day the rich beauty queen is sent to the hospital by the town delinquent.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Plus, you weren’t a delinquent. Your dad was sick.”

He stares at me for several long moments, a response seemingly on the tip of his tongue. But instead of talking about it, he closes up, grabbing a large binder the hostess left.

“Red or white?” Beckham asks as he flips through the pages.

“You’re the expert,” I say around a sigh.

If we’re to spend the next several months together, I may as well get used to him being purposefully evasive about our past. Maybe some things are better left unsaid or forgotten.

“What are you thinking of ordering for your meal? If you want seafood, I’ll order white.”

“I don’t mind drinking red with fish.”

His jaw drops, a look of horror and disgust filling his expression. “You can’t seriously be okay pairing a full-bodied cabernet with a flaky white fish.”

“What’s wrong with that?” I feign confusion.

I’d never do that, but I need to do something to pull him out of his funk. To cut through the tension of the past lingering between us.

“Everything, Haley. Everything is wrong with it.” His voice is firm, determined. “The flavors, the texture. It’s all wrong. Just…” He trails off when he sees the smile I struggle to hide. “You’re fucking with me. Aren’t you?”

I pinch my lips together. “Maybe.”

“You’re going to regret that.”

His threat shouldn’t send a shiver of anticipation down my spine, but it does, especially as my sex-deprived libido considers all the ways he might exact his punishment.

Does Beckham like it rough in the bedroom? When we were together all those years ago, we were teenagers. Sex was new to both of us. At least to me. We weren’t sure what we were doing, but we figured it out together. I can only imagine he’s gotten better with age.

“Parker’s chef makes a fantastic filet,” I suggest in an effort to take my mind off Beckham’s proclivities in the bedroom. Then I inhale a sharp breath when I realize it’s one of the more expensive dishes on the menu. “I don’t have to get the filet. It’s kind of pricey. I’ll just get?—”

“Order whatever you want,” he interjects.

“It’s fine. I don’t?—”

“Get the goddamn filet, Haley. If you don’t, I’m going to order it for you anyway, so you may as well just do it yourself.”

I bring my eyes toward his and softly say, “Thanks.”

He gives a subtle nod as our server approaches. “What can I get you to drink? Will you be having one of your bottles, Beck?”

“I drink enough of it at work. We’ll have a bottle of the Grgich Hills cabernet.”

“I’ll go grab it, then come back to take your order.”

“Are you ever able to enjoy it?” I ask once we’re alone.

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