Page 43 of One Pucking Destiny

“I did them justice?”

She nods. “Oh, yeah. They were incredible.”

“I used all the special tricks you taught me.”

“I can tell. They really were perfect.”

I put my fork down. “Though, I think Bash is really mad at me. I shouldn’t have held him to the bet. I feel really bad about it. It was stupid. I just got caught up in the fun of it all. You know?”

“Oh, I know. It’s hard not to get caught up in the fun around this group. They make it nearly impossible.” She waves her hand in front of her. “Don’t even give it a second thought. Believe me. These guys are always doing something idiotic. If it wasn’t you making a bet, it would’ve been someone else. Bash is the nicest guy on the team. I’m sure he’s not mad, and if he is, he’ll get over it in no time. Or maybe he’s not mad at all, just tired.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said. He mentioned that he didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Well, there you go.”

“I know, but I still got this feeling that he was annoyed with me or something.”

“Ari, I really wouldn’t worry about it. Bash isn’t one to hold anger. You’ll be back to being buds in no time.”

Buds. Pals. Friends.

That’s what I want after all, right?

I dip my chin. “You’re probably right.”

Beckett comes up behind my mom and circles his arms around her shoulders. He presses his lips to her head. “How are my girls?”

Mom reaches up and squeezes his arm. “Good. Ari is worried that Bash is upset.”

Beckett laughs. “Are you kidding? This is the best thing to happen at a bye week in years. The story of the cookie tattoo will never get old. We’re going to talk about it for years.”

I huff out a breath. “Yeah, that’s exactly why I’m worried.”

“Seriously, Bash is the chillest dude ever. He doesn’t care,” Beckett says.

My mom tilts her head back, and Beckett peppers kisses against her lips with an obnoxious smacking sound.

“Seriously, you two. People are trying to eat.” I stand from the table, grabbing my plate.

“What?” Beckett feigns innocence. “Can I help that we’re in love?”

“Be in love in the privacy of your own room,” I retort.

“I’m sorry, but my love for your mother cannot be contained to one room.” He kisses her again.

I can’t help the smile that forms as I walk away. Iscrape my leftover food into the garbage and place the plate in the dirty bin set out by the caterers.

If Bash isn’t coming to dinner, the least I can do is bring him a plate of food. I grab a clean plate from the stack and pile it high with a little bit of everything. After a quick stop at the refrigerator for a bottle of water, I head upstairs.

I tap my knuckles against Bash’s door and wait. When there’s no answer, I try the handle. The door creaks open, and I step in.

He lies atop his bed, stomach down, and I internally melt at the sight of him. His feet are on the bottom right, and his head is toward the top left as if he walked into the room, plopped down, and fell asleep immediately. Everything from his waist up is void of clothes. The sun-kissed muscles of his back invite me to touch them, and God, do I want to.

Both of his arms are bent and cocked under his pillow. He’s so pretty when he sleeps, and I know I shouldn’t wake him.

The selfish side of me wins, and I ignore my better judgment. “Bash.” I say his name hesitantly before repeating it with more volume. “Bash.”

He stirs and rolls over so he’s on his back. His eyes squint as they assess the situation. He drags his hands across his face. “Ari? What’s going on?” His voice is husky from sleep.

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