Page 57 of Flare

“Call me.”

“Piss off.” Beck slammed it shut again, and this time leaned against it.

I bit back a smile.

“Sorry about that.” He took a deep breath, like he was steeling himself. “Grab a seat.” He waved me toward two deep cushioned armchairs parked in the fading afternoon sun. I sank into the closest and took a minute to just drink in the sight of him. Two days and I missed him already? How did that even work?

Aware of my scrutiny, he tucked some of that long dark hair behind a pink ear, and a flush crept high on his cheeks—cheeks I could now see a lot more of. Still, I’d been right about the shorter beard. Thank God, as it turned out, because I’d never imagined for a second he’d actually follow through on my advice.

But he had, and I wasn’t sure quite what to make of that. The beard was gone, and in its place, something barely more than a long scruff, though still thick and juicy. It did the job of sexing him up without detracting from his natural appeal. Not cover-model beautiful—Beck would never be that. Just six foot six inches of solid no-nonsense hotness, with safe arms and a big heart.

And if I thought he looked delicious before, now, with the strong angles of his face and that smooth, very biteable curve from his jaw to his shoulder tip revealed, he damn near took my breath away. But what really hit my heart was he’d listened. To me. Listened and then done something pretty fucking scary.

I felt a coward by comparison.

“You sent me flowers?” It seemed the logical place to start since that watershed moment in my life still hadn’t quite sunk in.

He tugged at the collar of his green-check shirt, a twin to the blue one a few days before, which was at least a size too big, hiding that ample chest. “Um, yeah.” He shifted his gaze to the crisp, blue winter sky. “I needed to apologise, and I wasn’t sure you’d see me, so...”

“Hey.” I nudged his foot and his eyes landed back on mine. “That’s on me, not you. And just so you know, no one hasevergiven me flowers.”

“Really?” A flash of genuine pleasure crossed his face.

“Really. They’re beautiful. Was the poetry yours?”

“Yes. Silly nonsense. And I owe you a lot more than flowers.”

“Not nonsense, and you owe me nothing.” I made sure I had his attention before I continued. “Wednesday wasn’t your fault, Beck. Not even close. It’s me who needs to apologise and explain. That’s why I’m here.”

“But—”

“No buts. And if I’d gotten my head out of my arse for longer than a minute, I might’ve seen how you could’ve misunderstood what happened. But I was so damn humiliated about how I’d behaved, I never dreamed you’d blame yourself.”

“But I overstepped—”

“You didn’t. I was really, really clear that I wanted you to kiss me, and a lot more, since we’re on the topic. I like you, Beck, in case I haven’t made that clear enough already. And I think I’m still trying to process the shock of that.”

He frowned, so I quickly added, “Not the fact that I like you, but the fact I likeanyoneenough to find myself back in this place again.”

“Thisplace?” He looked confused.

“Yeah, this place where I’m actually thinking about...” I waved a hand between us. “You know. Maybe anusthing.”An us thing? Could I sound more fucking ridiculous?

His lips twitched. “Ah, the oldusthing. You mean dating?”

“Yes, exactly.That.”

He smirked since, apparently, I could be more ridiculous.

I rushed on. “I haven’t dated since Nolan.”

“Nolan?”

A flapped a hand between us. “Long story, most of it unfortunate and ultimately doomed. Nolan and I met at university in our last year and were together a little over eighteen months. Suffice to say we didn’t have a happy ending.”

His brows knotted. “Ishethe reason you don’t kiss guys you actually like? You just fuck guys you don’t care about.”

I shrugged. “It seemed a sensible plan moving forward, at the time.”

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