Page 58 of For You & No One Else (Say Everything 3)

“Thanks for not making it weird after what happened this weekend. I really liked hanging out with you and your friends.”

“Even with ridiculous slumber-party games?”

“Even with that,” she said, a smile in her voice. “This experiment is making me realize how small I let my world get. And how boring, really. Being online all the time makes you feel like you’re connected to so many people, but really, I’ve worked so much for so long that I let a lot of connections fall away. I only have a small handful who are the true definition of a friend, people I can trust. I’m glad… Well, I’m just glad that now I can add you to that list and that I’m meeting more people out in the real world who may join that circle.”

Great. If that didn’t make him feel like a damn hypocrite, he didn’t know what would. A true friend. Someone she could trust. She didn’t even know his real name. And she definitely didn’t know that his purposes tonight were selfish.

He closed his eyes, breathed. Vowed to do better. She was telling him what she needed—a good friend. He could do that, be that. Well, at least he could try.

“I’m glad too, Eli,” he said softly. “See you soon.”

***

“Mabel,” Eliza said patiently but firmly. “Boundaries.”

Beckham laughed and lifted his Styrofoam container of shrimp étouffée out of Mabel’s reach. Mabel had jumped onto the couch and sat on Beckham’s lap, facing him and stretching for his food.

“Sorry, pups,” Beckham said, running a hand down Mabel’s back. “I don’t have any left. And your mom said no table food.”

Mabel panted and her tail thumped the couch cushion as if Beckham had said she was gorgeous and definitely deserved all of his dinner.

Eliza smiled and reached for Mabel’s collar. “Come on, girlie, give the guy some space.”

Mabel did a half huff/half sneeze, which was her version of frustration, and hopped back down to the floor.

Eliza crouched down to her level and scratched Mabel behind her ears. “All right. Go lay down. Bedtime.”

They’d been working on this command for a while, and blessedly Mabel trotted off to her kennel. At first, Eliza had been reluctant to have Mabel sleep in one, but the shelter had said that it would help her feel secure. Mabel did seem to like it, so Eliza had let go of her guilt.

“Wow,” Beckham said after Mabel had disappeared into the other room. “I wish Trent would listen like that. He’s the one who tellsmewhen it’s time to go to bed. He plops in the middle of my bed and yowls like he’s dying until I come into the room.”

Eliza laughed. “Trent missed his calling in theater. So dramatic.”

“One hundred percent.” Beckham put out his hand to take Eliza’s empty food container. “Here, I’ll go throw these away.”

Beckham disappeared into her kitchen for a minute, and she got up to grab the blanket she used when it got cold in this part of the house. They’d made it through half the movie so far but had paused it when Mabel started getting in their face about dinner.

Eliza had been more than a little surprised when Beckham called her with the invite this afternoon. They’d talked at work since the party, and everything had seemed fine, but she’d secretly wondered if the kiss had changed things, if they wereactinglike everything was fine when it really wasn’t. But she should’ve known better. Beckham had told her early on that his hookups tended to be with friends. He was obviously used to navigating that tricky space where you’ve shared some intimate moments with someone but there’s nothing romantic there. He was a compartmentalizing master it seemed. She was new to that kind of dynamic but working on it.

She hadn’t known what to expect, how tonight would feel for her, but so far, this had been nice. When she made herself put the physical attraction stuff to the side—wrapped it up in a nice little box in her brain—only to be opened in private, she realized that she just straight up liked hanging out with Beckham. He made her laugh. He made her comfortable.

Normally, if someone new was coming over, she would’ve curated every damn thing. What her place looked like, what books she had out, what outfit she wore, how she fixed her makeup and hair. And multiply that times a hundred if it was a cute guy coming over. When the knee-jerk instinct to do that had hit her this afternoon, she’d rushed home to prepare before Beckham came over. But halfway into picking an outfit, she’d frozen and recognized what she was doing for what it was.A performance.

Beckham had been right about her tendency to do that. She hated that it was her go-to behavior. When had everything become a show? A dance to impress other people? It made her wonder if for all the work she’d done on herself, maybe she’d never quite grown out of that ostracized seventh grader who obsessed about having the right shoes, outfit, everything to try to get an in with the people at her new school.

It was a thought she needed to sit with.

But at least she’d been able to recognize her behavior this time and stop herself. She’d halted her outfit perusal and had gone against her instincts. She’d walked into her bathroom, washed her makeup off like she would’ve done after work on a normal day, put on yoga pants and a tank top, and pulled her hair up into a messy bun. The only adjustment she’d made to her normal nightly routine was keeping her bra on.

She’d welcomed Beckham as a friend and as herself. That had felt liberating. And he’d seemingly done the same, showing up in black joggers, a soft-looking gray T-shirt, and his Vans.

Beckham came back from the kitchen and took his spot on the other end of the couch. He draped his arm out along the back of the couch, making his T-shirt stretch and the couch cushions squeak. Goose bumps prickled the tattoos on his arms. “Ready for the second half or do you need to get some sleep? You can kick me out at any time, you know?”

She smiled. “I’m good. I’m worried for the rebels.” She reached for the lamp next to her and clicked the light off. Now that they didn’t need to navigate food, they could watch the movie in proper darkness. She kicked her foot out, shifting part of the quilt his way. “You can share my blanket if you want. I know this room gets cold. Old house. Drafty.”

He eyed the quilt and then cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”

“Oh really, tough guy?” She cocked a brow at him. “You have goose bumps.”

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