Page 97 of One and Only

With another look at my reflection, I shook my head. “You’ve got that right.”

“I’m glad he likes it because it gets my vote too.”

“Thank you.” I picked up the phone and blew her a kiss. “Love you. I’m gonna go.”

She waggled her eyebrows. “I bet you are.”

I hung up with a laugh, turning the phone screen down on the dresser so I couldn’t see anything else she might say because my sister’s sudden obsession with my nonexistent sex life was very inconvenient. If it had been Poppy on that FaceTime, she would have kept her mouth shut and her eyes wide open to see how all that played out.

By the time the dresses were hung and put away, and I tugged my regular clothes back on, Beckett had fled the house.

It was quiet in the kitchen, and I glanced through the windows into the backyard when I heard some noises from the barn. The sun was hanging low enough in the sky that everything looked soft and pink and warm, the beginnings of what would be an incredible sunset.

All week, I’d hardly spoken to him. Not more than a few sentences each day. Small talk. Safe topics. Like we were roommates who didn’t think about banging the bejeezus out of each other.

It was easy to respect what he’d told me when he wasn’t looking at me like he wanted to tear that pretty red dress off my body.

What would have happened if Adaline hadn’t been on the other end of that phone?

The question plagued me as I tidied up my piles of work papers on the table.

That same persistent sound came from the barn, and I let out a deep breath, sliding on my flip-flops so I could walk out to see what he was doing.

I didn’t want to ignore this.

Bam.

Bam.

Bam.

The sound intensified as I got closer, and just before I turned the corner, I recognized it as the sound of gloves hitting the heavy bag he had hanging in the corner. My brothers had one in our gym too.

Beckett was in profile, the dark navy shirt clinging to his chest as he moved around the bag. He wasn’t doing this for speed or perfect form.

The heavy smack of his fists on the bag were for power.

For the release of pent-up energy.

Bam. Bam.

Two hits in rapid succession, and the bag swung from the force of it.

He slowed when I walked into the barn but didn’t take his eyes off the bag in front of him.

His biceps were glistening with sweat, and the roll of his muscles underneath his skin had the blood humming in my veins. Instead of walking closer to him, I moved to the side of the barn, taking a seat on a stack of two plyometric boxes—the kind I’d seen him use when he was doing that jump type of training that looked like hell on earth.

From where I sat, I could see his face. And he could see mine.

He paused, studying my expression before he hit the bag a few more times.

Bam. Bam.

“I think we need to clear something up,” I said.

His eyes locked on mine for a moment, then moved away.

Bam.

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