Page 77 of Almost Yours
Whitley snorts, and I suppress a laugh as I slide into the booth next to Beau. Jake pats the bench next to him, and Whitley takes a seat.
“We were just discussing how Beau here desperately needs to learn how to have fun,” Jake says.
Beau’s jaw tightens. “I know how to have fun.”
“Watching the History Channel in your underwear isn’t fun,” Jake retorts.
Whitley laughs, the sound bright and unrestrained. “Oh, I don’t know. Depends on the underwear.”
Beau’s eyes flick to her for a split second before returning to his beer, but I catch the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“How’s Rowan?” Jake asks, his tone softening as he turns to me.
I take a sip of my drink, the sweetness of the orange juice barely masking the burn of tequila. “Called last night but the signal wasn’t great. He sounded like he’s doing alright.”
The truth is, I miss him so much it physically hurts, but I’m not about to admit that in front of everyone. Our calls have been brief, mostly him assuring me he’s safe and me pretending I’m not counting the days until he returns.
“Good,” Jake nods.
Whitley leans forward, elbows on the table. “So, Beaumont,” she says, completely changing the subject. “What exactly do you do when you’re not scowling in corners?”
Beau’s eyebrow twitches. “Still not my name. And I’m a mechanic.”
“Hmm.” She takes a deliberate sip of her drink, eyes never leaving his face. “And do you enjoy it? Fixing things?”
Oh lord. Here we go.
“Mmhmm.”
Jake snorts, and for a second, I think the conversation might die there, but Whitley is nothing if not persistent.
“So, good with your hands then?” she asks, and I nearly choke on my drink.
Beau’s eyes narrow slightly, but there’s a glint of something that wasn’t there before. “I manage.”
“He’s being modest,” Jake chimes in. “This beast can fix anything with an engine.”
Whitley’s smile turns appreciative. “Is that right?”
“Jake talks too much,” Beau mutters, but I notice he doesn’t deny it.
Whitley shoots back without missing a beat. “I don’t think he talks enough.”
I swear, the tension between those two could knock over a drink if it were any thicker. I share a glance with Jake, and we both try to hide our amusement.
“Are they gonna fuck?” Jake mouths silently to me.
I blush and try to cover a laugh, shaking my head at Jake. He’s impossible, but I can’t deny the electricity crackling between Whitley and Beau. This is either going to end really well or in absolute chaos.
It’s beentwo and a half weeks now, and I’m standing in my kitchen, staring at my phone. Rowan was supposed to call at eight last night, same time as every other day, but my screen remained stubbornly blank. No missed calls. No texts explaining why.
His calls have gotten shorter and more distracted. Sometimes he sounds distant, as if his mind is somewhere else entirely. I try to keep everything light and make it sound like I’m okay when we do talk, even when I’m not.
It’s almost that time again, but I place my phone face down on the counter. Staring at it just causes fear to creep up my spine.
“Maybe he’s just busy,” Whitley offers from the doorway, her voice gentler than usual.
I force a smile. “Yeah. Probably.”
