Page 19 of Solitude

He’s filled out so much. Definitely an inch or so taller. His arms bulge, and I wonder if I could even wrap both of my hands around them. Is that why he had to cut off the sleeves of his shirt? His thighs are massive, too, straining underneath his athletic shorts. It’s more than just his body, though. His jaw is more defined with a hint of facial hair he hasn’t shaved yet, like he’s lost those boyish features.

Even his eyes seem brighter.

Eighteen-year-old Beck was so far out of my league. It was a pipe dream to think he might’ve seen me as desirable in the slightest at sixteen.

Twenty-year-old Beck is somehow even farther out of my league. He’s hotter than ever with the confidence and swagger to match, and I’m sure women fall at his feet in Texas. Beyond that, he’s going somewhere with his life; making plans that are bigger than the here and now. He’s accomplished more in the last two years than I could ever imagine.

Beckett Hale has always burned hotter than any flame to mewith his blue eyes and dimples. He’s dangerous to my sanity, and now there’s a knot in my belly that tells me the more I want him, the more he’ll burn me.

It’s that thought that makes my hands fall off his shoulders and back to my sides. I take a step back and clear my throat, ready to make an excuse and take off for the fence.

“Winnie–”

“Wow, look at the time!” I say brightly, looking down at my wrist where a watchshouldbe. I drop my arm quickly and release a nervous, breathy laugh. “I should go. Quickly. I need to feed my cat.”

Beck raises a brow, arms crossing over his chest as his lips twitch. “You have a cat, huh?”

“Yup,” I answer, lips popping as I rock back on my heels. I point towards the fence. “He’s waiting for me, so…”

Beck motions toward the opening, a smirk on his full lips. “Right. You should go feed your fake cat.”

“Fake cat? I… Snowball is very real.”

Snowball is Gwen’s monstrosity of a cat. He’s big and orange and vicious. Every time I’m near the thing, he scratches the hell out of me. Snowball is the entire reason I don’t like cats actually.

“Yeah,” Beck snorts. He leans into my space, a glint in his eyes. “I’ve met Snowball, sweetheart. He’s a fucking devil cat.”

The corner of my mouth twitches against my will, and I try to ignore the way my heartbeat quickens at how close his face is to mine. “He is a jerk, huh?”

“Gwen’s had that cat as long as I’ve known her. He’s always been a dick.” Beck scratches his fingers through his dark waves as he stands back to his full height. He juts his head toward the fence once more. “Come on… The lady says she needs to go, so I should get her back safely.”

I try not to think too hard about the little smile on his face.

When we near the twisted chain link, Beck helps me through by holding the chunk back then he shimmies his big body through the hole, too.

“I remember that being much easier two years ago.”

My smile hurts, butterflies erupting in my belly. “Yeah, you’ve grown a lot in two years. Not the same kid anymore.”

Beck grunts, dusting his hands off on his shorts as we walk. “Better not be. I put in too much work for it not to be noticeable.”

“Is that why you haven't been home since then? Working too hard to leave?”

I’m not sure what possesses me to ask the question as we cross the street, but here we are, staring up at each other on the edge of our property lines. I’m leaning slighting on the privacy fence for support, and he looks around the yard before bringing his ocean blue eyes back to my amber colored ones.

The corner of his mouth lifts, his dimple indenting his cheek. “I think I just needed a break from The Hollow.”

I nod, waiting for more, needing more of an explanation as to why he hasn’t been back. Why he talked to me,acknowledged my presence, and let me believe that he might be a beacon of safety in this park when all along he was just planning to leave and disappear?

He doesn’t owe me anything, but I selfishly want it regardless.

Beck exhales and crosses his arms over his chest, his cut-off shirt shifting so the tan skin on his ribs is on display. There’s black ink there, just barely visible in the darkness, and I wonder just how many tattoos he’s hiding underneath his clothes.

“It’s suffocating here,” he confesses in a rush, like I pried the answer out of him through torture, and I wonder if he’s been waiting to get that off his chest. “There’s so much pressure to live up to all of this potential, and I hate the questions. How am I? Will I be drafted? Am I having fun? Do I have a backup plan? I don’t want to answer a million questions I don’t know the fucking answer to.”

“Betty and Tootsie are the worst, huh?”

Beck chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “They scare me. Did you know Tootsie carries a sock full of butter to beat people with?”

---