Page 20 of Playing With Fire

“Wouldn’t want you to worry.” He stands.

“No promises.”

Beckett disappears toward the bathroom.

His phone buzzes on the table. Then it lights up with an incoming call.

LANEY

I stare at it for a second before picking it up. My thumb hovers over the screen. Answering Beckett’s phone isn’t exactly crossing a privacy boundary when I’ve spent half my life walking into their house without knocking.

I swipe, and before I can even say a word, Delaney starts in.

“Okay, before you freak out, everything is fine.”

I open my mouth.

“It’s not fine, fine. But it’s mostly fine, and I already talked to Mom, except I didn’t exactly tell her all of it because she’d make Dad get in the car, and I do not need them driving three hours to rescue me.”

I close my mouth and settle back into the booth. Classic Laney, talking like someone lit a fuse beneath every sentence.

“So there was apparently a tiny mix-up with the fellowship.”

I lean back in the booth.

She proceeds to explain exactly what tiny means. Only Delaney could make one little word explode with so much detail. Apparently, she arrived in Chicago to discover she no longer had the fellowship she moved there for. Or the apartment. She does, however, have an internship. A good one, judging by how quickly her voice changes when she talks about the editorial department. She likes it. That part is obvious.

Then we’re back to the apartment, or lack thereof. She has a hotel for the night, but she doesn’t have one tomorrow—apparently, half the country’s foodies have descended on Chicago.

Ohhh, yeah. It’s the Chicago gourmet thing this weekend. I zone out and make a mental note to order from my favorite taco truck when I’m back home.

“Don’t judge me.”

Wait, what did she say? I look at the phone. I haven’t said a fucking thing.

“I know how that sounds.”

My mouth twitches. She has no idea how she sounds, but I’m here for it.

She keeps going.

And I fight back a laugh…

“Declan?”

And I lose. “Jesus, Baby Becks. Do you ever breathe?”

Silence. Complete silence.

I grin into my whiskey. There’s a certain satisfaction in being the one person who can finally render little Miss Delaney Beckett speechless.

“Bishop?”

The way my name rolls off her tongue hits me harder than it should, but I ignore it.

“Hey, Baby Becks.” I pick up my glass, suddenly far too entertained by this conversation.

“What are you doing with my brother’s phone?’