Page 37 of Changing Lanes

I sadly abandon his torso to look back at my chauffeur. I almost forgot about the boy. Beckett’s scent has that effect on me.

Beckett’s everything has that effect on me.

“That’s right. Ivan, thank you for driving me home. Unfortunately, as Neighborhood Watch, Beckett takes his job very seriously in making sure nobody gets laid around here. So, unless you’re up for breaking your parents’ rule and sneaking me into your room, tonight just won’t work.”

“Jesus.”

Ignoring my do-no-good roommate, I lean back, arching my spine to gaze into the small back window of Evan’s clown car. In my descent, Beckett’s hands move along my bent spine to accommodate the shift, practically bearing all my weight as I hang precariously, my hair only inches from the ground.

This also brings his face in line with my cleavage but I don’t hear him complaining, save for a sharp inhale.

“Actually, I’m not a back seat kind of girl,” not when the front is so much more fun, “but I might make an exception this once.”

My head dangling between my shoulders is flipped upward abruptly, almost butting Beckett’s head as our noses come less than an inch apart. He’s now bowed over my body, yet I still feel completely at ease in his hold. The way he’s got me, it’s like I’ll never have to worry about falling.

And if I did, he’d go down, too.

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” Beckett’s sparkly blue gems bore into mine as he speaks to Evan, saying, “You can fuck off now. I got her from here.”

I don’t dare break eye contact to say, “I told you he was good at his job.”

“I’m good at a lot of things.”

Beckett’s soft whisper is a promise carefully wrapped in a threat coaxing me to see what’s inside. I’d happily start unwrapping if I could just figure out how to permanently shut that mouth of his. It ruins things more often than not and I can’t risk that right now.

A forced cough next to us reminds me of my original plan tonight. The plan to forget it all. To get lost in someone else for a few minutes instead of constantly obsessing about myself.

I am so tired of me.

But Beckett won’t allow that. He thinks he can direct my life like a boy playing with matchbox cars—unconventional terrain, surprise routes, and collision after fucking collision.

Keeping my eyes locked on Beckett’s, I sigh, “See ya around, Ethan.”

With one last mutter about his name, he finally takes off, leaving me and my roommate alone in a parking lot full of dead dreams and unheard wishes.

We finally rise together, locked in the same embrace Beckett’s strong arms were keeping us in, except our faces are now separated by several inches that feel more like miles. Unsurmountable miles.

Swallowing thickly, he says, “You’re trouble, you know that?”

I nod slowly, mesmerized by his Adam’s apple, finding that just like Eve I’m tempted to take a bite of the forbidden fruit.

Beckett’s fingers brushing my back brings me to my senses and I croak, “I know exactly what I am. That’s why you should stop trying to save me. If I wanted a savior, it wouldn’t be you.”

His light eyebrows furrow. “What’s wrong with me?”

“You tell me,” I shoot back.

Silence stretches with our gazes still connected, neither of us willing to relinquish the control each of us believe we have.

My palm grazes a rough patch of skin on his arm and he clears his throat to say, “I’m sorry for yesterday. I shouldn’t have thrown your keys.”

I study him for a long moment.

“I’m sorry, too. I had a lot going on and I shouldn’t have hit you. Or yelled. Or…”

Beckett’s watchful eye takes in everything and I have the sudden urge to cover myself, feeling stripped to my core. I don’t budge though, afraid I’ll reveal even more in the process. Instead, I silently take inventory of my hero in bare feet. Did he really run down here without shoes? Wait, how did he get down here so fast? Never mind. His legs and what he does with them are none of my concern, even if they look like they’d make for a hell of a test drive. Miles and miles of strong muscle.

I could take Evan on my worst day—which today may very well have been—and although I didn’t need Beckett coming to my rescue like he did, his outright bulldozing, landing me in his solid arms is no hardship. It beats where I was an hour ago—drunk and miserable at a bar, stirring up drama for the hell of it. At least Beckett has a sense of humor. Well, a rumored sense of humor anyway as I still have yet to see it for myself.