Patrick grabs a fresh beer and twists off the cap. “Okay,” he says, focusing on me. His eyes are bright, either from excitement or alcohol. He’s cute, though. “Are you ready, Graham?”
“For what?”
“A thought experiment that will blow your mind.”
“Oh God,” sighs Darby.
I take a sip of my beer. “All right, I’ll bite. Hit me.”
Patrick hops up to sit on the counter, long legs dangling. “It’s a regular day. A normal sunny afternoon. You’re outdoors, running errands or whatever. How many owls would you need to see before you got worried?”
“Oh, that is an excellent question.”
Beckett chuckles, but Darby turns to me with pleading eyes. “Please don’t feed their insanity.”
“What? It’s an objectively great question.”
“I’m just saying. You do not want to encourage it, girl.”
Nick nods gravely at me. “You really don’t.”
“Leave her alone,” Patrick grumbles at them. To me, he prompts, “So? How many?”
“Am I in the city or a rural area out in the middle of nowhere?”
“You’re here. In Hastings.”
I raise my bottle to my lips, giving the matter some serious consideration.
“Three,” I finally answer.
Nazem, who said to call him Naz or Nazzy, jabs a finger in the air. “Explain yourself.”
I take another sip first. “Okay, well, I see one owl, and I’m like, Hey cool, an owl during the day. Two owls, and I’m thinking, This is kinda weird; I never see owls around here, and now I’m seeing two? Odd. Then I see the third owl, and all my hackles are raised. At this point it’s an omen and I don’t fucking like it.”
Mya nods in agreement. “I would’ve said four, but similar reasoning.”
“What would you say?” I ask Patrick.
“Seven.”
“Seven!” I exclaim. “If I saw seven owls in one day, I’d be packing up the car and driving to Mexico.”
We talk about stupid stuff some more, until someone gets a beer pong game going in the backyard and everyone but Beckett heads outside. I might be cavorting with the enemy, but I realize I’m actually having a good time. I’m glad Mya dragged me out tonight.
In the back of my mind, I wonder what Ryder is up to. It’s been a while since his “neighbor” showed up. Maybe they went upstairs. That doesn’t bother me at all. Why would it.
Through the wide doorway that spills into the living room, I spot Mya and Kate on the makeshift dance floor created when somebody pushed the coffee table and armchairs aside. The hip-hop that was playing before has been replaced by sultry R&B. Mya’s jam. She moves her body seductively to the beat, using Kate’s lithe frame as her own personal stripper pole. Those two are unquestionably ending up in bed again tonight.
Beckett follows my gaze. “Wanna dance?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Thank God. I hate dancing.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Then why’d you ask?”
“Seemed like the less sleazy way of saying I want your body pressed up against mine.”
He winks, and my heart skips a beat.
I’m not afraid of the way he makes my heart react. It’s a normal flip, not the entire group of gymnasts unleashed by Luke Ryder at the booster gala last week. Your heart isn’t supposed to do that much gymnastics for a man. Too much anxiety isn’t healthy.
Passion, whispers a little voice in my brain. Not anxiety.
Anxiety, I firmly tell myself.
And Beckett Dunne doesn’t make me anxious.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he teases.
“It’s a bad habit.” I meet his eyes. They’re a shade of gray much lighter than my own. “Maybe you should help me stop thinking.”
His lips curve. “Mmm. How am I supposed to do that?”
“You seem like a creative guy. Come up with a creative solution.”
Those silvery eyes gleam half a second before he cups my cheek with one hand. I’m not drunk enough to be doing this. In fact, I’m sober enough to know it’s probably a terrible idea.
“Beck, toss us some more cups,” Shane calls from outside. “Dumbass over here just stepped on like four of them.”
“It was an accident,” I hear Patrick protest.
The interruption allows me to collect my hormones and my common sense.
Beckett drops his hand, a rueful smile on his lips. “I’ll be right back.”
“Actually, perfect timing,” I say as I watch him pull some red cups off the stack at the table. “I need to pee, anyway.”
“Use the bathroom upstairs,” he offers.
“Are you sure?”
“Yep. Turn left at the top of the stairs, end of the hall. That’s mine and Ryder’s.”
“Thanks.”
I set my empty bottle on the counter and dart upstairs. The music isn’t as loud up here. I welcome the muffled respite, needing to clear my head. I reach the bathroom door just as the one across from it swings open and a dark-haired girl slides out of the bedroom.
“Oh, sorry,” she exclaims after bumping into me.
We jump apart with awkward laughs.
“All good,” I say.
I tense slightly when I realize it’s Carma. I was right. They did go upstairs. I resist the urge to peer into the bedroom to see if Ryder is still in there. I imagine him adjusting his shirt. Zipping up his pants.
She notes my wary expression and quickly adds, “Don’t worry, I’m allowed to be up here. I left my necklace in Ryder’s room last time I was here, so I was just grabbing it.” She holds up a silver pendant with a tiny silver cross dangling off it. “Anyway…have a good night.”
“You too,” I murmur.
I watch her go, trying to ward off the prickly sensation pinching my gut as I duck into the bathroom to pee. While I wash my hands, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Wondering if I should have worn more makeup. I only dabbed on some concealer and lip gloss earlier. I look unnervingly plain compared to the woman I saw in the hall.
Then again, I can’t look that bad, considering Beckett has been eye-fucking me all night. I feel a tug between my legs at the idea of doing more than eye-fucking each other. God, some release would be nice. Going solo feels good, but sometimes a girl just needs a really good dicking.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Beckett leans against the wall waiting for me.
“Hey,” he says. “Thought maybe you’d gotten lost.”
“Nope.” I smooth out my hair before tucking it behind my ears. It’s rare that I wear my hair down. Usually I keep it in a braid.
Neither of us makes a move toward the stairs. Beckett’s gaze conducts a slow perusal of my body, this time lingering on my braless breasts rather than my midriff.
“You really do look incredible. Don’t think I can stress that enough.”
“Are you hitting on me right now?”
“Yes. Do you want me to stop?”
I slowly shake my head. “No.”
He moves closer to me. Those gray eyes dancing. He’s that type, I can tell. The guy who’s always down for a good time. For a laugh. A screw.