Page 88 of Changing Lanes

“Happy belated Birthday, although in my defense you didn’t say a word about it being your actual birthday yesterday.”

I can’t even form a response as I look from the treat to Beckett. How did he do all this? Better yet, when did he do it? I’ve been with him for the last forty-eight hours and I would’ve known if he was fixing my bike. Or…baking?

He passes me the cupcake with a grin tugging at his lips.

Why did he do this?

His words ‘good as new’ hit me like a bucket of cold water. First, his friends threw me a quasi-surprise party for my birthday when we’re not even, like, friends.

Wait, are we friends now?

Or does he think he and I are something more because of yesterday? What happened between us confused the hell out of me and once my family was added to the mix, I didn’t even know how to react. So much more came out than I ever wanted either of my roommates to know, not to mention a guy that I…like?

Ugh. It’s all so complicated now when that was the last thing I wanted.

Now he’s fixing my motorcycle up after my embarrassing explosion yesterday. He knows more than any other guy I’ve hooked up with at this point, and I don’t know how to feel about it. Should I cut and run now, saving myself from further humiliation? Should I wait and see how this all plays out? A part of me thinks I should move the hell out and in with one of my brothers. A bigger part of me abhors that idea.

I didn’t answer his question last night because I couldn’t. I didn’t have the guts to admit to myself, let alone to Beckett, how living here really makes me feel. How he makes me feel. I keep guys at arm’s length for a reason—several actually—and with the guy’s impressive wingspan, I thought that would be easy, but the situation took a sharp turn when emotions suddenly appeared. As much as I’ve tried fighting it, my feelings for Beckett have morphed from barely being able to stand the guy to tolerating his company to craving more from him.

More is something I’ve been training myself to go without though and my first instinct is to automatically reject it. To avoid the craving altogether so it goes away quicker. But how can I deny a six-foot, six-inch man in his underwear handing me an overly-frosted cupcake?

“Make a wish,” he urges.

Outwardly, I’m calm. Inwardly, it’s a whole different story.

Closing my eyes, I try to think of what I really want. What would turn my life around from what it’s become. What I haven’t dared to dream about.

I wish…

My gaze finds his and he smiles down at me reminding me that this little happy bubble of ours won’t last. I sleep during the day, working the nights that Beckett and I just spent getting cozy. That’s my normal. The opposite of his schedule. What happens when I go back to work tomorrow night? What happens when reality bites us in the ass with its constant harsh expectations?

The last couple days might’ve been a dream in their own right but soon we’ll have to wake up and face the decisions we’ve made. Will I regret mine? Will Beckett? I don’t have the answers but right now feels too good to pass up.

Raising onto my knees, I take the cupcake and place it on the desk.

Beckett, watching through hooded eyes, quickly shuts his laptop then seizes my unsuspecting lips making me forget all about the cupcake and that mysterious Pin. With a groan, he lowers us to the bed, careful to keep most of his weight off me.

Gathering all the feelings that are better left unsaid, left unidentified at all, I direct them into our connection and give everything I can, letting Beckett know what his gesture means to me without speaking a single word. Unexpectedly, he matches my intensity with one of his own. He’s revealing things I know he’ll never admit, maybe not even to himself, and I accept his confession greedily, suddenly desperate for what’s brewing between us.

Beckett repositions us further up the bed, only breaking contact for a second to rip my sleep shirt over my head, and begins kissing lower until I reach for him through his underwear ready to take things up a notch. He rears back out of my grasp so suddenly, I open my eyes, sure he’s disappeared into thin air.

“Nuh uh,” he scolds. “This is about you.”

Breathless, I ask, “Didn’t you already get enough?”

I’m not complaining about him going down on me twice in one day but a man like Beckett? I wouldn’t expect him to give so freely without wanting something in return.

His instant response of “never” rocks the room like an earthquake followed by an awkward pause that neither of us knows what to do with. We sit with it, we dine with it, we take it out for fucking ice cream.

Never…as in not ever?

How do I respond to that?

My back begins to sweat as does my conscience. Are we talking a for-fucking-ever, eternal desire here? Or more like a chocolate craving? The kind you know is always a good idea regardless what form it’s in. Like today Beckett’s hankering for semi-sweet but tomorrow he might want milk chocolate. Is that what he means?

I don’t get to find out though because Marc chooses that moment to knock on Beckett’s door, interrupting the loud silence.

“Come in,” Beckett calls out with more relief than annoyance while covering me back up before Marc can catch a glimpse of my exposed chest.