Page 171 of The Charlie Method

“Any day of the week,” Beckett agrees. “Actually, no. I’ll be your lab rat as long as it doesn’t involve any scary-ass wires and electric shock.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be painless. Unless you count the pain of having to listen to me explain the minutiae of heart rate variability and signal processing.”

“You know what’s really sexy about this?” Beckett says.

I can’t help but laugh. “I wouldn’t associate my capstone with the wordsexy, but okay, I’ll bite. What’s sexy about this?”

“How hot you look when you talk about your work. I like it.” His voice is gruff.

Damn it. Every time he says stuff like that, I melt into a puddle at his feet.

I keep working while the guys watch the rest of the game, and after it ends, Beckett puts on that role-playing zombie game he likes while Will passes out on the sectional. Eventually, my eyelids start drooping, so I close the laptop and snuggle up against Beckett. He turns off his game and stretches out beside me, pulling me closer so I’m resting my head on his chest.

He doesn’t make a move to initiate anything physical. It’s late, past two in the morning, and we’re both content to cuddle on the couch, clothes on and genitals safely tucked away.

I reach under his hoodie and stroke his warm, hard flesh. Not in a sexual way. I just like touching him.

“Feels nice,” he mumbles.

Lying there with him, I think back to how annoying I found him last semester, how I believed he had such little substance, and guilt pricks at me.

“Beck?” I say softly.

“Mmm?”

“I misjudged you.”

“What?”

“Last semester. I thought you were a fuckboy.”

“I mean…” He shrugs, and I feel him smiling against my hair.

“And that you lacked substance,” I admit, then release an expletive when I realize how harsh that sounded. “I’m sorry. I just heard that out loud, and it sounds so shitty.”

He rolls onto his side so we’re facing each other, his eyes taking on a knowing gleam.

“Don’t apologize. You’re not the first to think that. Probably won’t be the last.” A wry smile tugs on the corners of his mouth. “People don’t take me seriously because I look like a blond surfer boy and sound like a dumb Australian. But that’s fine by me, actually. It gives me the upper hand. Catches them off guard when they realize I see a lot more than they think.”

“See what?”

“Them. I see people for who they are.”

“Yeah?” I stroke the beard growth on his face, and he sags into my touch for a moment. “Tell me what you see then.”

“Okay. Well…” He nods toward a sleeping Will, gravel thickening his voice. “Larsen, for example. He plays a role outside this house. The nice, unassuming good guy. The perfect gentleman.”

“And he’s not a gentleman?”

“No, he is. He can be. But he’s also got a filthy mouth. He’s an animal in bed. And he’s ruthless. Not like his dad—he wouldn’t crush someone to get ahead. But Will isn’t a pushover either. Push comes to shove, he’ll take what he wants. He’ll pick himself if it comes down to it.”

A groove digs into my forehead. “Would he pick himself over you? Over me?”

“No. But over some people, definitely. Friends even. But not the ones he loves. He’d give the shirt off his back for us.”

I smile against his chest. “He loves us?”

“Are you kidding me? He’s head over heels for you, Charlie. And I think he cares about me, yeah. I think he’d always have my back.”

---