Page 20 of Begin Again Again

She obeyed, kneeling on the bed, and he folded her into his arms.

“Be up soon,” he said. “Just stay, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Cool.” He cuddled her close, Beth’s stomach skittering at his renewed touch. But it was a false start. He slumped back into the mattress, and within seconds his body was twitching.

Beth lay folded in his arms like an unhappy stuffed animal. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be having sex. Her almost-lover shifted, exhaling into her hair. Beth grimaced. He’d tasted fine while they were kissing, but he sure didn’t smell that way now.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered, half-hoping he’d wake up.

He didn’t.

“I don’t want to be here.”

Nothing.

Then it came to her. She was waiting. Waiting for something to happen so she could leave. But if she wanted to leave, why couldn’t shejust fucking leave?

But that would be rude, ditching him without saying a proper goodbye. Beth listened to Byron snore and thought longingly of her bed at Lara’s. She’d washed the sheets yesterday, and they still smelled of flowery detergent and sunshine. She could take a hot shower, put on her retinol cream and Kiehl’s moisturiser. Put on clean underwear and start her diffuser with the sleep essential oil blend.

But if she stayed, she and Byron might have sex. They could do it later tonight, or tomorrow before work. There might be shared showers. Second dates made. If she left, she might not see him again. Never know why this man who was fascinated by strangers wanted to get to know her.

It was a classic toss-up. Coulds and maybes. Shecouldsleep in her own bed, but if she stayed the night,maybeByron would fuck her and shower with her and ask her on a proper date. Coulds were sturdy guarantees. Maybes were… trickier.

BETH! would have stayed. She lived for the one-in-a-hundred maybe. New Beth? She wasn’t sure. What would Byron do if he was in her position? She didn’t have to dwell on that. He’d go. Shoot her a text in the morning. He probably wouldn’t eventhinkto blame himself for not being nice enough or hurting her feelings.

Beth lay beside him, skin twitching. She was too hot, too made up, and far too frustrated to sleep. Awake, Byron was interesting and beautiful. Now he was heavy and boring and he smelled pretty terrible.

God, what if he pisses the bed?

This was ridiculous. She couldn’t stay on the off chance that leaving a sweaty drunk stranger in his bed would jeopardise their non-relationship. She wriggled out of Byron’s grasp and slid off the mattress. He snored on, oblivious.

“Good.” Beth adjusted her sundress and found and re-tied her sneakers. She turned to see Byron shirtless, and pale gold against his dark sheets. Now that she couldn’t smell him, he was gorgeous again. A Nordic prince passed out after battle. She half expected the butterfly to reappear and make his sleeping form look even more otherworldly.

“Bye,” she whispered. “Text me, I hope.”

She crept downstairs, checking her phone. It was 2am. She opened the Uber app and ordered a car. The alert said a Kia Sorento was three minutes away. She headed for the door to wait on the moonlit street. A little risky, but she hardly wanted to hang around Byron’s house and from what she knew, Richmond was pretty safe. The front door was chained and deadbolted. Unclicking the locks as quietly as she could, Beth eased the latch across and slid the door open. Cool night air spilled into the hall.

“Oi!”

She whirled around. A huge—afucking enormous—man strode up the hall. “Who’re you?”

Beth took a step backward. “I’m leaving. Don’t worry about it.”

But the guy kept right on coming. His dark hair was shaved, and his strange pyjamas turned out to be tattoos—so many it looked like he was wearing a jumpsuit. He moved toward her, his body so powerfully muscled, he rippled like a sheet in the wind.

“Bethany,” she said, holding up her hands. “Beth Myers.”

“Bethany?”

She took another step backward. “Yeah, I came in with Byron. I’m heading out.”

He halted. “Byron brought you in?”

If Beth was on form, she might have said yes, she was Byron’s personal shopper and he needed a special night-time delivery of sequined boxers. But she wasn’t on form. It was late and this guy—Derek, she remembered, what a dumb name—looked like a fucking convict.

“That’s right,” she said. “See ya.”

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