Page 64 of Beautiful Deceit
Chapter 18
Icall, "Beau" through the door, before realizing I have the monitor on the wall to look at the camera angles in the hall. I tap the screen to wake it up and select one of the six camera icons on the screen.
Beau is sitting on the floor next to the door with his head back exposing the line of his throat. His wrists rest on his bent knees. If I hadn't heard the tapping, I'd say he was sleeping because his eyes are closed, and he hasn't moved in the time I've been watching him.
I'm not sure if I'm happy he stayed or pissed he didn't leave.
The slight tapping happens again, but he hasn't moved to cause it. I see him lean to the side, pulling his phone from a back pocket. He tosses it to the floor, and it lands between his legs. He does this without opening his eyes. The phone lights up causing the noise I heard and assumed was knocking. From the way it vibrates in an on/off pattern he must be ignoring a call. I decide to test the theory. I rush to my phone and open the messaging app.
Why areyou sitting on the floor?
I look back to the screen to see if he'll ignore the s message. After only a moment he cracks his eyes open and rubs his palms up and down his dark wash jeans. He's changed cloths from earlier.
My tummy tips. The image of him dressing with Tasha around or in the same room, unsettles me. I shake my head to clear it and watch as he reaches down and flips the phone over without picking it up. He pushes the circle and looks at the screen. He snatches the phone up and looks around. His eyes settling on one of the cameras in the hall. He looks back at the phone and starts typing.
Because I'm an asshole.
I almost laugh when I read the message. Before another comes through.
It’s not safe for you to be alone.
I respond quickly, thumbing the touch tone keyboard.
Beau, what are we doing?
It's harder to watch him now that he knows. I stare at my phone, waiting for a response instead. It takes a few seconds before it vibrates again.
I'm hoping you'd let me apologize.
Should I?I type instead.
What if it doesn't matter that you're sorry?
Being sorry for something rarely changes the outcome. I've found that being sorry for getting caught isn't the same as regretting it. The screen on the wall monitor is black. I'm tempted to tap it, to see if he's still there. At least five minutes have passed since my last message was typed. He hasn't responded.
There's a sharp rapping on the door, and I have my answer.
I unlock and open the door to find Beau standing on the other side. His hair is disheveled and his shoulders slumped.
I stand back and let him through the door. He doesn't pass. Instead he crowds in close, wrapping his arms around me. I'm surprised by the quick turn. I find myself accepting his embrace. As soon as my arms go around his neck, he lifts me up and moves us a few feet, so he can kick the door closed. He sets me back down. He puts both of his hands on my face and forces me to look up at him.
"I should have been more up front about where I was staying. I should have made it clear to her that I didn't and still don't want a relationship. I should have handled everything that happened tonight after we left here differently." He blows out a long breath and brings my head to his chest wrapping his arms around my back. "I was so fucking mad at the shit she was saying, I just snapped. When I started yelling at her, she just smiled at me with this big satisfied grin. I freaked out thinking about what you'd think of me, yelling at her, and when I turned around to explain, you were gone.”
I pull back and look up to his face. He looks down and our eyes meet.
“I had no idea when you had left so I grabbed my bag and threw my shit in hoping you'd be waiting for me downstairs.” His hands hold onto my shoulder, and he gives me a slight squeeze. “I couldn't find you. I called a cab to bring me here, but you didn't answer so I called Brian." I am unsure of his explanation because I didn't hear him yell a single word at her before I left. Did he really? I didn't want him to yell at her, but it’s nice that he at least defended me in some way.
"I stayed with him for a while and tried to get ahold of you. I want your fucking phone number by the way. I was worried." He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow, "Brian just told you not to go off by yourself, and you didn't answer your door or messages. I started panicking, thinking something happened to you. Don't do that again." He scolds, "I don't care if you're mad at me or what's happening. You can't run off alone." Beau admonishes me, and it bugs me even though I know he's probably right. I roll my eyes to let him know I think he's being a little over the top. "I'm serious Samantha. Don't do it."
When I push back from him, his face softens. "Please," he adds gently.
I huff, but nod. I'm still conflicted about everything that happened, but at least he's offering a real explanation.
I take a few steps back from Beau and walk towards the kitchen with him following. It's almost four in the morning. My lack of sleep is catching up to me. When I look over at Beau he’s yawning. It’s obvious he hasn't had any sleep.
“We still have some stuff to talk about, but I think we could both use some sleep," I mutter while turning my coffee maker off and grabbing two waters from the fridge. I hand him a bottle then walk over to my bed and grab an extra blanket from the trunk at the end of it. I grab a pillow from my bed and walk back to him.
He looks at the quilt in my hand and then over to my bed. He doesn't say anything as I place it on the sofa.
