“Why?”
“Because it is!” she cries. “I don’t have a choice.”
“You could sell it. Just sell it and take the money and open a business you actually want to run. You’ll have the business degree.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“I’m not telling—I just want you to be happy.”
She turns on her heel and walks away.
“Beckett, come on.”
She doesn’t stop.
I catch up to her, ignoring the looks I’m getting from the couple of guys from the team who are still out on the field. I really ought to go inside, warm up and debrief about the practice with Coach, but like hell am I letting Bex walk away mad.
“You deserve everything you want,” I say. “Okay? That’s all I meant. If the diner is really what you want…”
“It is.”
“Okay.” I reach out and take her hand. Her fingers are like little icicles. “I’m sorry. But call her, please. Even if it’s just a hobby, if it interests you, you should do it. I watched you way more than I should have during practice, and I could tell how much fun you were having. Even in the snow.”
She looks up at me. I don’t like the guarded edge to her expression, like she’s afraid of revealing too much. We’ve gotten seriously honest with each other lately, and now I’m terrified that I fucked that up. As much as I want to just handle it all for her, I know I can’t. Not if I want her in my life.
I hope that by graduation, she figures out that she shouldn’t feel obligated to continue a business she never asked for in the first place. She’s loyal to her mother and that’s admirable, but if her mother really cared, she’d be helping her set up her own life, not guilting her into wasting it running the business she began with the husband who left her.
“I’ll see you later,” she says. “Tutoring session?”
“Sure. Definitely.”
She walks off to her car. I stand there for a moment, rooted in place, before the reality of the moment hits me.
I don’t want her walking away mad, and I don’t want her walking away without a kiss.
I run over to her and pull her into my arms. She makes a surprised noise as I kiss her, our cold lips slotting together perfectly. I knocked off her hat in my eagerness; my hand comes up to cup the back of her head and she shivers. To my relief, she kisses back, her hands fisting in my shirt.
“What’s this for?” she whispers when I finally break away.
“Wanted to do that all practice.”
She snorts. “I know what I look like in this coat. I’m a marshmallow.”
“Cutest marshmallow ever.” I kiss her again. “Sexiest, too.”
The knot in my chest loosens when I feel her smile against my lips. I pull away, moving my hands to her face so she’s looking at me. “I’m sorry. I’ll back off. But only if you promise two things.”
She looks at me warily. “What two things?”
“Call Angelica.”
She presses her lips together tightly.
“Just think about it,” I urge.
Finally, she nods. “What’s the second thing?”
“Say yes to spending Christmas with me and my family.”
31
BEX
Laura thrusts the flyer into my hand with a flourish. “You’re welcome.”
I barely glance at it before setting it down on my desk. As soon as I finish the last paper I’m writing, I’ll be done with the semester. Finally. Taking six classes is not for the weak. As finals season has winded down, the tension has leeched from me bit by bit.
It’s being replaced by the panic I feel every time I remember I agreed to spend Christmas with James’ family, but you know. Variety is the spice of life, and all that. It was easier to agree to it and let him get excited about that, rather than argue more about what he thinks I should do with my future.
Laura drops down on my bed, making the mattress bounce. “Really? I’m about to leave, you know. I’m not going to see you for a month. The least you could do is say goodbye, if you’re not going to even look at my super-awesome parting gift.”
“And I’m still green with envy,” I say, spinning the desk chair around so I can look at her. “Is Barry really coming to Naples?”
“Yep. It took some convincing, but he’s in.” She grins. “My brother is going to eat him alive. Are you still going to Port Washington?”
I play with a bit of fuzz on my sweater. Port Washington. Even the name sounds fancy. “Yeah. And every time I think about it, I feel like I’m getting an ulcer.”
“You have to take some sneaky pics, I’ll bet the house is spectacular. If his parents don’t hire someone to professionally decorate for Christmas, I’ll eat my hat.”
“I thought you never wear hats because they make your head look big.”
“Well, if I had a hat, I would eat it. His mother is so glamorous. You better get ready for glam Christmas.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is this supposed to make me feel better? I’m already freaking out, so thanks.”
She bounces on the bed a few times. “Look at the flyer. I’m sending your real Christmas present to James’ house, but this is like a mini present.”
I sigh as I turn to grab the flyer. The second I start scanning it, heat erupts on my cheeks. “Laura—”
“You don’t have to be a visual arts major to enter,” she says quickly. Of course, she preempted all my arguments. “It’s for anyone who wants to try. And it’d get your work in an actual gallery in the Village!”
I force myself to read the flyer. It’s a contest sponsored by McKee’s Visual Arts Department, offering prizes in various categories… including photography. All the finalists will win a thousand dollars and have their work displayed at the Close Gallery in the West Village, and there’s a grand prize for the set of pieces the department deems most exceptional. The amount nearly makes my jaw drop. Five thousand dollars. That could be a huge help with the apartment rehab.
“Wow,” I whisper.
“You could use the pieces from the diner,” she says. “Or those new ones you showed me from the football practice, those were amazing. I still don’t know how you made a bunch of cold dudes running around in the snow look so good. Tell me you’ll at least try?”
I fold the flyer carefully and stick it into my planner. “Yeah. But don’t expect anything. It’s probably one of those things where they really prefer someone from the department to win it.”
“You’ve taken some classes. That one professor tried to convince you to double major!”
“It’s not the same.”
“Don’t count yourself out.”
“I won’t. I’m just—being realistic.”
I haven’t told Laura about the offer from Angelica. After I called her, which I did because I promised James I would, she called this guy named Doug Gilbert, who handles media across all McKee athletics, and he looked at the photographs I took of the practice. He was impressed, and now I have a student press badge to use if I want, provided I give any photographs to him to look over and possibly use—with payment—in promotional material for the teams.