Crave your name into my bedpost
Key words: dad’s bsf, age gape, smut, love confession
story: You always had a crush on your dad’s bestfriend who seems to hate every damn guy you take home.
My fingers ran along the different hangers, examining every piece of clothing carefully. Nothing appealed to me. Everything was too short, too flashy, too expensive. It was a waste of time. This was already the third store I'd tried and still nothing. Not one item made me want to bother trying it on. So I made my way over to find Benjamin, my boyfriend. I spotted his dark blue cap in the crowd waiting to get into the fitting rooms.
Because on top of not finding anything I liked, the store was packed and I was starting to suffocate. I needed air.
I waved to let him know I'd be waiting outside. It was almost his turn, and seeing that took the edge off the deep boredom of waiting around for hours. Knowing Ben, he wasn't going to try on much and he'd be quick.
I pulled myself out of the store and a wave of relief washed over me. Sure, I was still in the mall where people kept bumping into each other, but it was spacious enough to give me a little more fresh air than the store I'd just left.
I was about to pull out my phone to look at whatever, just to kill time until Ben came out, when a voice rang out.
"Kiddo?" The nickname pulled a smile out of me before he even came into view. I knew that voice too well, and that nickname especially — there was only one person who called me that.
I looked up in his direction. He was, as usual, decked out in jeans and cowboy boots. He walked with that easy confidence, that smile hanging on his face. He always smiled. That was probably one of the reasons I loved Beau. He made me want to smile too.
"Would it really be that strange for me to be at the mall?" His dimple peeked out from behind his beard, and it caught my attention a little too much.
I looked away to watch a couple walk by. Pretending to be interested in the way they held hands gave me something else to look at besides Beau and that gorgeous smile of his.
"Well, don't take this the wrong way, but you don't exactly seem like the shopping type."
His lips didn't stop curling up. He tilted his head a little without breaking eye contact.
"Fair enough. I'm too old for this crap."
I let out a small sound that came close to a laugh but was too muffled to really count as one.
"So why are you here? You on duty, Sheriff?"
He shook his head and wrinkled his nose without losing that grin.
"Please don't call me that."
I tilted my head to the side with fake innocence, pretending not to know he corrected me every time I called him that. Still, despite his many attempts to get me to drop the nickname, I kept using it, tossing it out all casual-like in some of our conversations.
I let myself do it because deep down I knew it amused him. Sure, he'd give me that tired look, that barely-disapproving stare, but I could see the spark in his eyes that told me it didn't bother him all that much. I liked calling him that anyway. It just rolled off my tongue.
"But you are the sheriff."
I played dumb, which earned me a raised eyebrow from him. The corners of his eyes crinkled from smiling so much, and even when he gave me that knowing look, the lines stayed put.
He was devastatingly handsome.
If I weren't who I was and didn't know him, I'd probably speed up on purpose, blow past the limit, just to see his sheriff's car show up behind me.
He made me want to get a ticket.
That was the whole problem.
I frowned like I was offended.
"So I don't get a sheriff?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
I crossed my arms over my chest, settling into a comfortable stance. Talking with him was comfortable. He always had that mix of funny and kind. He was easy to talk to. He watched you like he was actually interested, and every time, he gave the impression he was really listening. I loved that about him. But what made it stand out was that it wasn't just an impression. He really listened. He was attentive. He didn't just hear you — he genuinely listened, even when he didn't have to.
He kept looking at me with that not-quite-discouraging amusement.
"No. I'm your dad's best friend. To you, I'm Beau."
Like I was ever going to forget that little detail.
Beau had spent most of his free time at our house since I was six years old. I was as used to the sound of his truck in the driveway as I was to the theme song of my favorite show, just like I knew the sound of his laugh when he'd had one too many beers with my dad after a long day. Because when I got home, most of the time, Beau was there. When he had time after a shift, he'd swing by to see my dad, plant himself at the dinner table, and try to fix the world like saying it out loud over a can of beer would actually change anything.
Especially after my parents' divorce, and after his own divorce. Beau had told my dad he was planning on moving to Montana for a sheriff position in some small town — quiet enough for a simple life, but big enough that he wouldn't be bored just writing parking tickets.
My dad had decided to follow him, figuring the farther he got from my mom, the better off he'd be.
He wasn't wrong. My dad had taken the divorce pretty hard, and starting fresh somewhere new could only do him good.
And most of all, Beau was good for him. He was a good best friend. Always there to lend a hand, always there as a shoulder to cry on when my dad got a little too down over the divorce.
And he never just showed up for my dad, either.
When my dad finally went to bed after one drink too many and too much exhaustion from stewing over things, Beau always stuck around a little longer. He'd watch me quietly, help me tidy up whatever was lying around, and then always end up asking if I was okay.
I hadn't really suffered from the divorce, and he knew that.
After all, when my parents were together, even though they loved each other, all they did was fight. So I didn't take their split hard. It was almost better that way. It spared me the shouting at ten at night and the dirty looks they threw at each other all day long. I was just sad for my dad. Because even with all the fighting, he loved her.
He was the one who needed comforting, not me.
But Beau always managed to show me that even if I thought I didn't need it right then, if I ever did need someone to listen, he'd be there.
Like when he was the one who'd come find me after I got in trouble. He was always there to cheer me up when I wiped out on my bike in the yard. Always there with a joke to soothe my rebellious teenage heart. Always the one who sacrificed his time to teach me chess even though my dad had told me a thousand times it wasn't the moment.
Always in the town where we lived. Always in the kitchen at home. Always in my head for no reason at all.
Because he was my dad's best friend.
And he definitely shouldn't have been in my head all the time. A presence that felt that natural to me should not have been showing up here, of all places.
That was way more unsettling than him standing in this mall.
"Well, Beau," I stressed his name like I thought it was ridiculous he'd correct me on something so small. And yet I did it on purpose, just so he would correct me. Note the hypocrisy. "That still doesn't tell me why you're here."
His head tilted forward slightly, and just when I thought it was impossible for his smile to get any bigger, it did.
It was exactly the reason I used to run around the house at seven years old announcing that when I grew up, I was going to marry Beau.
Because yeah, most little girls that age claim they want to marry their dad, since he's the only man in their life — unfortunately for my dad, I'd always had other priorities. And I'd already clocked, tragically early, that my dad's best friend was gorgeous and way more interesting.
I was just a kid. I didn't understand what I was saying. Unlike me now, old enough to understand exactly what it means and to get tortured by the guilt of it. Back then I just thought he was handsome, and instead of saying it that way, I said it the way a kid does. I said we were going to get married.
I was young, but I remembered the way he'd smile and answer with something like, "Sure thing, kiddo."
My innocence and my naivety always pulled another smile out of him. I liked his smile a little too much.
And that was still true today.
Just like sometimes, if I thought about it too long, I'd land on the conclusion that I really would've liked to marry Beau.
Unlike my parents' relationship, which had been kind of a mess, I'd always found myself envying Carla. Well — not that I'd ever been a big fan of her, since my dad never had been either. He was of the opinion that she always looked down on Beau and that she was rigid. That wasn't entirely wrong. Every time I saw her, she managed to say something snide to her husband. Meanwhile Beau was the total opposite of all that. He praised her constantly despite her questionable attitude, and always made time to be helpful.
While my dad was threatening to run off and exile himself to Brazil to get away from my mom, Beau was bringing Carla flowers and apologizing for whatever ridiculous thing she'd accused him of doing.
Trust me, a husband like Beau was worth ten of one like my dad.
Even though I loved my dad.
But none of that mattered much in the end, since they both ended up alone with a nice thick stack of divorce papers.
Beau pulled me out of my thoughts.
"I wanted to get something for Emily for when she gets back from camping with Avery. Only I'm realizing I have no idea what to get her." He glanced at the store behind me, looking a little embarrassed. "I almost bought her a set of forks, thinking she could use 'em later."
He got a little laugh out of me.
On top of being a good husband and stupidly good-looking, he was a good dad too.
He was unbearably perfect.
"Emily's sixteen. I doubt she needs forks."
He ran a hand through his hair, looking desperate.
"I know. But how am I supposed to know what a sixteen-year-old needs?"
He was trying to make it sound funny. He had that gift, making everything feel light and warm. Still, I could see real distress in his eyes, hiding behind his usual good mood.
He pressed his lips together and looked back up at me.
"You know Emily pretty well. Maybe you could help me out?"
The question caught me off guard.
My boring shopping date with my boyfriend was suddenly opening up into something a lot more interesting. And I wouldn't have admitted it under torture, but that excited me a lot more than staring blankly at store shelves.
Except I was here with Benjamin.
"I'm sorry, I can't right now."
He looked pretty disappointed by my answer and leaned in with a confident tilt of his head.
"Come on, you're gonna leave an old guy like me wandering around a place like this? I'll actually get lost."
I couldn't help but giggle at that, shaking my head at the same time, reluctantly. My tongue was practically hanging out waiting to say yes.
"I'd love to, but I'm here with—"
Benjamin stepped into view before I could finish my sentence. I couldn't say why, but I felt a little uncomfortable. Probably because I felt Beau's whole attitude shift. He was still smiling, because Beau without a smile wouldn't be Beau, but his grin didn't quite reach his eyes anymore. They were fixed on Benjamin, more serious now.
And I recognized that look way too fast.
He was sizing him up, the way he always did. Running him through the wringer, clocking every little movement. He had his sheriff face on — steadier, more in-charge.
"My boyfriend. I'm here with my boyfriend."
I felt Ben's eyes land on me, curious, as Beau straightened up a little.
"Hey, I know you. You're Dan Hopper's kid? From the ranch?"
My boyfriend nodded while I watched the interrogation begin to unfold.
My dad was more in-your-face about it, while Beau knew how to be subtler. Probably because he had that likable, sociable side that masked how closely he was analyzing everything. But that didn't make him any less critical.
The first time I ever brought a guy home, Beau was there. He was supposed to be helping my dad fix the plumbing, but he ended up leaning against the kitchen counter, firing off a hundred questions at the lucky — or rather, unlucky — guy in question. He'd been funny and charming, like always. Because that's who he was. Except once the guy left, he told my dad he needed to keep an eye on me, because "that kid," as he'd liked to call him, wasn't good enough for me.
And it had been like that every single time.
One time, my boyfriend was too quiet, so Beau decided that was a front to hide the fact that he was probably a druggie or a sociopath. But the next one dared to drink and laugh, so obviously he was a shameless degenerate. Or the guy I brought home was too loud. Too boring. Not funny enough. He didn't look at me the way I was supposed to be looked at.
There was always something.
And every single time, I caught myself agreeing with him.
Not just in some shameful corner of my mind, either — in real life too.
Beau Arlen had a gift for making my boyfriends look like idiots.
And judging by the way he was sizing up Benjamin, he was already working out what was wrong with the way he was standing, or the way he talked to me.
"Yeah, that's him! You're the sheriff, right?"
He nodded without taking his eyes off him.
"That's right. Sheriff Beau Arlen."
"I thought you didn't want people calling you Sheriff."
His green eyes landed back on me, and for a second I cursed myself for opening my mouth.
Because none of my other boyfriends had ever made me feel like this.
"I don't want you calling me Sheriff. Everybody else, that's different."
I rolled my eyes, keeping my face indifferent while I was boiling on the inside.
Then Benjamin turned to me with an apologetic look that made me pull my eyes away from Beau, who hadn't stopped watching me since my dumb comment.
"I'm so sorry, my dad just called. He needs me. We're still meeting up tonight, right? You're staying over?"
I nodded with a smile that felt a little too forced for my liking.
In no time at all, Benjamin had planted a quick kiss on my mouth that tasted a little too bitter for my taste, and then left me alone with Beau.
Silence followed after he left.
Then it hit me that I wasn't busy anymore. I was almost glad Benjamin had had to leave, and I caught myself thanking fate for the timing.
"So, I've got nothing else to do. I can help you out if you want."
I made myself look at him again and had to fight down the feeling that stirred in my stomach when I realized he was still watching me, the exact same way he had been a few minutes ago. Like he hadn't looked away once this whole time.
"How long have you two been together?"
He ignored my last comment with obvious intent. He didn't look the least bit concerned about whatever gift he supposedly still needed to find, and my help clearly wasn't a priority for him anymore.
"And you stay over at his place? Must be getting serious."
The word serious hung there like one of his jokes. He didn't make it obvious, but he was mocking the word anyway, with an annoying kind of confidence.
"Yeah. He's got an apartment in the next town over."
His expression got harder to read. Still, his smile took on a mocking edge.
"Never heard you had a boyfriend. Your dad know?"
I straightened my shoulders, standing up a little taller. I could feel my tone turning defensive. Like I had to justify myself.
Like I'd done something wrong.
"He's heard about him but he hasn't met him yet. And my dad doesn't need to know everything."
He let out a short laugh.
"Yeah, your dad's probably better off not knowing."
I frowned, a little irritated by his attitude. I was never irritated with Beau, but somehow, right then, I was. I felt like a kid getting a lecture.
"What's that supposed to mean, exactly?"
He looked past me, thinking for a second before he spoke. I already knew I wasn't going to like whatever came next.
He didn't seem to have any hesitation about sharing his opinion, though.
"Your boyfriend's an idiot. Your dad would have a heart attack if he met him."
I'd seen it coming, and yet I was still somehow surprised by how predictable he was.
He looked me dead in the eye. I had the feeling he was trying to talk sense into me, and I couldn't stand it. I wasn't a kid anymore. I could make my own choices and date whoever I wanted without Beau Arlen handing down his opinion like some kind of verdict.
"You talked to him for like five seconds."
I tried to sound more tired of his attitude than actually hurt. If I looked hurt, he'd just throw it back at me with something like "the truth hurts."
"Yeah, well, five seconds is plenty."
Beau might've been the most laid-back man I knew, but he still had one ugly flaw.
The kind of stubborn where he'd decide in five seconds flat that my boyfriend was an idiot, and that was that — he wasn't changing his mind.
I could feel myself getting annoyed that he didn't like him.
Or maybe I was annoyed that the only guy who might actually meet Beau's ridiculous standards was Beau himself.
But that was, without a doubt, the worst idea I could possibly have.
Because Beau would never be an option.
That blinding smile of his was starting to grate on me just as much as this whole conversation. Because even saying something that mocking, he still managed to be charming and composed. He wasn't being mean or nasty about it.
Except what he said got under my skin in a way that felt way too intense.
"It's a nickname. It's cute."
He crossed his arms over his chest.
"Yeah, well, not when it's him. It's the way he says it. Makes him sound like an idiot."
I let out a sound that was closer to a laugh but too mocking to really count as one.
"You've always got an excuse."
I said it quieter, like it was more meant for myself than for him.
Still, he didn't miss the accusation in my tone. He kept looking at me with that advisor look of his.
Like I needed his advice about my love life.
"Not my fault you've got a habit of dating idiots."
I looked him dead in the eye before firing back, sharp:
"Maybe you're the idiot."
He went quiet, caught off guard. The smile dropped off his face for a second.
I'd never talked to Beau that way before. I'd never felt the need to. And yet I've got a temper, and I've never exactly been known for holding my tongue.
Still, Beau had never made me want to snap back like that before.
That was probably why he didn't call me out on it. He was too thrown off by what I'd said to come up with something fast enough to sound properly disapproving.
I felt the word idiot hang there between us. His eyes had changed — he wasn't looking at me the same way anymore. I couldn't tell if that spark came more from being offended or genuinely disappointed.
Either way, I felt guilty about it.
"You've never stayed with any of those guys. Guess I'm not that much of an idiot after all."
The way he said idiot came out bitter. It didn't match the smile that had settled back onto his face, like it had never left.
The worst part was, he wasn't wrong. I always ended up breaking things off.
But I was the problem, not usually them. I always got tired of it eventually. The pattern was pretty much always the same. I'd meet a guy, think he was cute, convince myself I'd fall for him with time, but I never fell — period.
I'd never really been in love. Butterflies in my stomach weren't a thing for me. Neither were those big romantic stories like in the movies.
I felt something, sure, something that was enough for a while but that always ended up not being enough.
And maybe the most infuriating part of Beau's whole lecture was that he was reminding me just how much I was starting to feel the absence of everything Benjamin had never made me feel.
"I haven't broken up with Benjamin yet."
I said it with confidence, to save face in front of Beau, but the little voice in my head was already whispering that it was only a matter of time.
His jaw tightened, and I could tell he was holding himself back from adding anything else. He wasn't the idiot I'd called him a few seconds ago. He was smart enough to notice it was getting to me.
Still, I hoped he wasn't sharp enough to realize that Benjamin wasn't really my problem.
"Because you actually love the guy?"
I'd been avoiding his eyes out of irritation, but I found myself looking straight at him. I stared, wondering if he'd really asked that or if my brain was just messing with me.
But the way he held my gaze, waiting for an answer, told me it was real.
I opened my mouth, ready to fire back an obvious "yes" so I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of the doubt he'd just planted. Instead, I couldn't do it.
A laugh slipped out of me, stunned on the surface but nervous underneath.
He looked away from me, past my shoulder, with a satisfied look. I could see on his face that he'd taken that as confirmation, and it made me want to scream.
Because I didn't want to give him that, and I hadn't been able to help it.
And now he was sure he was right.
"Stop looking at me like that."
I wasn't holding back the irritation anymore. It was stronger than me.
His eyes locked onto mine again with that unbearable confidence.
"Like what? Like you're wasting your time on a guy you're not even in love with?"
The truth hit me like a punch to the gut.
He was right. So right it was hard to hear, especially coming from him. Especially knowing full well that every time I dated a guy, I told myself, "It'll never be Beau, but he'll do."
I wasn't in love with Beau.
But some small part of me wanted him. And that small part had never once gone away.
Whereas with everyone else, there was always an expiration date.
"I never said I wasn't in love with him."
I was still justifying myself.
And doing it badly, on top of that. It was pathetic. I was ashamed to keep opening my mouth and digging myself deeper every time.
"You never said you were, either."
I shifted my purse on my shoulder to give my hands something to do. Maybe that would let me think about something other than this exhausting conversation.
"You know what. I should head back. I need to pack for Ben's and—" Saying his name made me feel sick. So sick I cut myself off. "I should go."
On top of stammering, I was repeating myself.
Nothing but obvious proof that he was completely right, and that I refused to accept it at all.
Maybe he thought I was in denial.
But I was ignoring it anyway.
His expression softened, and I felt something like guilt settle over him.
"No, kiddo, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" I saw a weak wave of his hand, like he was trying to brush his own apology aside before it could land. I tried not to look hurt.
"It's fine. I'm not mad at you. I really just need to go."
We looked at each other for a moment, and the air between us was nothing like it had been when he first showed up. It was tense, and no matter how much I pretended I didn't care, that was a ridiculous thing to try to pull off.
He looked at me with a suffocating kind of guilt. And yet I also knew that it wasn't going to change his mind about anything, about what he'd said.
I gave him a fake smile before turning my back on him, leaving him standing right there in the middle of that mall that suddenly felt way too big and too crowded. I turned on my heel like I hadn't, only minutes before he criticized my boyfriend, told him I could hang around because I had nothing else to do.
Funny how I'd suddenly found something to do in just a few minutes.
I'd seen it in his eyes — he knew I was running from him.
I'd put my brights on and I still couldn't really see the road. The rain was brutal. I'd never seen rain like this before. I felt like my windshield was going to give out under the relentless hammering of the drops. The noise was starting to give me a headache and I had to squint just to make out the little I could see.
Then suddenly a doe ran across the road.
I jerked the wheel. Except instead of stopping like I meant to, with my foot slammed all the way down on the brake, the wheels hydroplaned. I lost control of the car and I panicked.
I watched my life flash before my eyes.
When the car finally stopped, it took me a second to pull myself together and realize the car hadn't flipped and that I'd avoided the worst. I was on a slope, but by some miracle I'd stopped. I figured the mud must have grabbed my wheels just enough to keep me from rolling.
My heart was pounding and I was breathing so hard I was giving the rain a run for its money.
I should've stayed at Benjamin's. He'd offered to let me crash on the couch because it was pouring way too hard and it was dangerous to drive home that late.
But I felt too awful to stick around one more minute after the conversation we'd just had.
After running into Beau at the mall, I couldn't stop myself from thinking. My head kept replaying what he'd said, on a loop. Not the part where he claimed Benjamin was an idiot. The part where he told me I was wasting my time with someone I didn't love.
I'd tried, really tried, to dig up some disagreement inside myself, or even just a sign that he wasn't completely right. But it was pointless. He was right. I wasn't in love with Benjamin. Just like I'd never really been in love with anyone, and that made me sick. I'd tried to convince myself it would happen eventually, but before I'd left my dad's place to go to Ben's, I'd felt that knot in my stomach, and I'd known I couldn't do it.
So I'd left with the firm intention of putting an end to this charade, again.
I hated myself. Because my relationship with Ben was pretty much the one thing I wanted. I wanted a boyfriend who was kind and who wanted something real. That was what I wanted from the bottom of my heart.
I was the problem, and I felt like I always ruined everything.
That's exactly why I'd refused to stay at his place. He'd tried to talk me into staying, because contrary to what Beau thought, he wasn't an idiot. He was actually too good for me, and that's exactly why I couldn't stay there. It hurt too much.
And in some twisted way, I was chalking this little accident up to karma coming back around.
My eyes started to sting and I found myself crying like an idiot in my car. A mix of fear from what had just happened and guilt over Ben.
In a burst of frustration, my forearm slammed down on the wheel, and the little jolt of pain slowed my breathing down. Like it had snapped me back to reality.
I was in a ditch. I was alone. I was stuck.
And I hated crying like a little kid and wallowing in my own misery. I had to do something to get out of this godawful situation.
I grabbed my phone, praying I had enough signal.
Turned out I wasn't completely cursed. My phone showed two bars, and that was plenty to call my dad.
Except, scrolling to find his contact, I quickly remembered that my dad wasn't even in town. He was away for work, a good two hours from here. That was actually the whole reason I'd taken Benjamin up on staying over in the first place.
Maybe I was the biggest idiot in this whole mess.
I stared at my dad's contact, scanning the digits of his number, trying to decide whether to call or not. It was a bad idea. There was nothing he could do for me. He'd worry. It would turn into a whole thing.
But if I didn't call my dad, I knew exactly who the only other person I could call was.
And I wanted anything but to call Beau right now.
Especially after the conversation we'd had earlier.
Especially after I'd told him I was spending the night at my boyfriend's, that it was serious between us.
Especially now that my mascara had run, my eyes were swollen, and I'd gone and done exactly what he predicted.
Maybe I had signal, but that didn't make the situation any easier or any less awful.
Part of me almost wished I didn't have signal.
I thought about just waiting in the car and hoping someone would drive by and decide to help. But my dad had made me watch enough news and winter safety segments that the idea left my head fast. I didn't want to think about how many girls had gone missing on roads like this one.
Now I was scared of a stranger stopping too.
I hurried to pull up Beau's contact instead. I hesitated for a second before hitting call, when a loud noise from outside made the decision for me and I hit "call."
What if he didn't pick up? What was I supposed to do?
"Kiddo?" His voice crackled through, but it brought a relief I couldn't even put into words.
"Beau… I had some trouble on the road, I— I don't have anyone else to call. Dad's out of town and I—"
I paused, realizing he hadn't hesitated for even a second.
I'd never actually let myself imagine he might tell me he couldn't come, or anything like that, but it was still a relief hearing him confirm it.
"I was driving back to Helena. I'm somewhere on the main road but I don't really know where I am."
Through the line I heard the jingle of keys, then a slam, followed by the sound of rain. He was leaving his house. He didn't say anything for a second, probably making his way to his truck, but I stayed on the line, patient.
Maybe what I hated most about calling Beau was the ridiculous relief that only his help could give me.
The sound of the rain got farther away and a door slammed shut again. He'd made it to his truck.
"Okay baby, you with me?"
The nickname sent a warmth low in my stomach that had absolutely no business being there given the circumstances.
I swallowed hard before managing a barely-there "yeah."
Good thing he was on the other end of the phone, because he had no idea what that damn nickname did to me. If he'd been standing right in front of me, I wouldn't have been able to hide it.
Especially since he was right.
When Ben said it, it sounded dumb. Childish. Meaningless.
But when Beau said it, it sounded different. It lingered in the air and haunted my head in the most ridiculous way. His voice stayed lodged in my mind while the word just hung there, pathetically.
"You lock your doors. You wait for me, and only me. You don't open up for strangers, got it?"
His truck engine rumbled behind him and I figured he'd started it even though he was still on the phone with me. I could picture him driving one-handed, gripping the wheel.
One of the many signs that maybe I had a little bit of a thing for my dad's best friend was my uncontrollable habit of watching him drive. I loved watching him drive. I'd first noticed it back when he used to give me driving lessons whenever my dad didn't have time. Unfortunately for me, I'd spent way more time behind the wheel than he had, but whenever we swapped, I still watched him like a hawk. I told myself it was because I was studying his technique, but honestly, in the moment, I couldn't have told you a single thing he did with his hands.
Beau was way more interesting than any driving lesson.
Static crackled through the line and Beau's voice got harder to make out.
"Is it… stuck in the mud, kid?"
I could barely hear him now.
"I can't really hear you, Beau."
"The truck. Is it stuck?"
"Yeah, I think so. I'm in the ditch."
My phone was drowning between the rain, the bad signal, and the frantic bursts of static on the other end.
"Don't touch anything, okay? Are you… it's… okay? Don't try… the car."
I could sort of piece together what he was saying, so I didn't bother asking him to repeat it and just nodded along.
"I'll be there soon, kid."
I nodded like an idiot, like he could actually see me.
The rain was still hammering down just as hard, and being still made it feel even worse somehow. It was probably just the stress messing with my head. At least that's what I told myself to keep from really losing it.
A silence settled and I figured it was just the bad signal, until I caught his low, steady voice again on the other end.
"Don't mention it. I'll always be there for you."
I sat with that quietly for a second before hanging up, the static finally winning out.
Good thing I'd called him. Obviously I would've rather this happened on literally any other day, or better yet, not at all. But I'd been an idiot to think I couldn't call him. The thought had only crossed my mind because of some unjustified anger the situation had stirred up, but it was nonsense.
Especially since if there was one person to call in a situation like this, it was Beau.
I flipped down the sun visor and looked at myself in the little mirror. My face looked like a disaster zone. My eyes were red and puffy, my mascara had left two big streaks down my cheeks, and my nose was running a little. It was time for some damage control before Beau showed up. Because even though I'd changed my mind about calling him, I still didn't want to talk about our conversation earlier, or the fact that I'd just dumped Ben. Or the fact that at this hour I was supposed to be at his apartment and not out on the road driving home.
And I knew Beau well enough to know he had a good memory, and that he'd probably remember I was supposed to be with Ben right now.
I tried to look around, but it was way too dark and the rain was too heavy to make out anything. I didn't know if I was two minutes from town or ten. So I had no idea how long I was supposed to wait for Beau.
The car was also tilted pretty badly, and it wasn't until I'd calmed down some, reassuring myself with the thought of the Sheriff on his way, that I really registered it. I was alert enough to realize the car was in a pretty dangerous spot.
I couldn't really put a number on how long I waited because the low-grade panic of the whole thing made everything feel skewed. It felt like I'd been waiting a good thirty minutes, but really it had only been two and a half Taylor Swift songs. Which was honestly pretty ironic, stuck in the rain with "Dress" playing in the background. The vibe of that song didn't exactly match the dark, rainy mess going on outside.
Still, listening to it calmed me down a little. It was probably one of my favorite songs, and at least it kept me from bursting into tears over some breakup anthem.
Because trust me, I would not have been nearly as calm if "champagne problems" had come on instead.
Suddenly a bright light appeared behind me. I couldn't really make anything out, but it stopped. I froze, praying it was Beau and not some random stranger. I had nothing against strangers, I didn't like judging people I didn't know.
But I did have a thing against strangers, at night, on the road.
I thought I heard a door slam through the noise of the rain and I flinched a little.
It was only a few seconds later that someone knocked on the passenger window. My heart skipped a beat, but the second I caught Beau's green eyes in the dark, I didn't waste a second unlocking the doors.
He climbed in, and in the moment he opened the door, I got an even better sense of just how bad the storm outside really was.
He was soaked, his hair dripping a little onto his face.
Once he was safe and dry, he ran a hand through his hair before turning to me with that unmistakable smile of his.
I nodded and let out a loud breath, relieved. Just seeing him there was already enough to calm me down.
I still hadn't gotten out of the car, still stuck. But Beau was here. His presence alone made everything feel simpler, less scary. He had this image in my head, the one where he was always the guy who showed up and fixed things. Since I was a kid he'd give me that reassuring smile of his and crack his mediocre jokes to take my mind off whatever was bothering me.
I needed to get my mind off things.
I sank into my seat, relieved, and closed my eyes for a second to soak in the absence of the fear that had had a grip on me this whole time.
"So I've got good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?"
I made a little face before turning my head toward him and saying, "Bad."
Despite the mess I'd just dragged him into, he shot me an amused sideways glance and pressed his lips together.
"Well, the truck's really stuck in the mud. I'm not gonna be able to pull it out."
I swore, dragging a hand over my face.
"And what's the good news?"
"You get a nice little ride in the Sheriff's truck."
My head was pounding a little too much and my mood was questionable at best, but he still managed to pull a quiet laugh out of me.
He raised an eyebrow, still grinning.
"Course it is. People would kill to be in your spot."
I rolled my eyes, pretending I wasn't maybe exactly the kind of person who'd kill to be with him in this damn truck.
At this point, I was getting to be a pretty good actress.
He put his hand on the door handle and got out before I could even sit up straight.
"Wait, I'm never gonna manage to get out."
He ignored my protest, and right before he shut the door I heard him call out.
"Course you will. I'm gonna help you."
I let all my weight sink back against the seat, wondering if this day was ever going to end, because right now, it was really, truly, one hell of a bad day.
“I could have gone home.”
He set his keys on the little table by the door and shrugged off his jacket, which had taken the brunt of the rain. I wiped my shoes on the mat and crossed my arms, trying to warm up after the wave of water we’d caught just walking from his car to his house.
The rain still drummed outside and I shivered, remembering what it felt like to be caught under it. I wasn’t completely soaked, but my jacket was cold and damp, which left me colder than I should have felt inside his house. It was warm, and from the smell, I was pretty sure he’d had a fire going. Still, the fire must have had plenty of time to die out during his little midnight rescue mission for me.
Just like I felt guilty for softening at the smell of cedar and coffee, a mix that was way too familiar. It was warm and comforting. Probably because it smelled like Beau.
I’d been to his place before. Not often, though. I’d tagged along with my dad a few times to spend the evening here, and I’d come once or twice to help Emily with her English homework. She was really smart, but unlike me — I’d always been better with languages — she was built for math. I used to look through her notebooks and be pretty impressed.
Then again, it wasn’t exactly surprising. She’d always been logical like that.
Emily was a few years younger than me. She was sixteen, and I was twenty. Which meant that back when I was her age, Beau used to ask me to babysit her in the evenings. We’d always play board games together, and she had a real gift for beating me at anything that involved numbers.
I’d always loved spending time with her. She was, in a way, the little sister I never had.
But this house only made me think of Beau. It was just him, only him. Not like their old place, before he and Carla split. You could see a woman’s touch in the decorating there, and a kid’s stuff scattered everywhere.
Not here, though. Here it was just Beau.
And it was terrifying, being alone with him in a place that felt like him in exactly that way.
It was terrifying to like him this much.
I was completely out of my mind.
“I know you could’ve.” He kicked off his shoes and added, “But you live clear across town, and either way, tomorrow we’re going to get your car.”
I rolled my eyes, still planted in the entryway.
I’d told him to take me home. He’d stayed quiet and driven straight here instead.
It wasn’t that I minded being at Beau’s place.
I wanted to go home and wallow. I wanted to feel guilty for dumping my boyfriend over some stupid comment he’d made that made me realize I was pretty much destined to end up the lonely, bitter cat aunt.
Except I didn’t have a sister. So I could never even be an aunt.
Plus, at Beau’s place, I couldn’t sprawl out on the couch and eat myself sick on ice cream in front of The Notebook. No. At Beau’s place, I’d be constantly reminded that I was never going to find a guy as good and as gorgeous as my dad’s best friend, and deep down I knew that was exactly my problem. Because I could tell myself all I wanted that I liked him because he was a good person, because he took care of me, because he’d always been there — I knew perfectly well that no one else made me feel this way even if they did twice as much as Beau did.
Because in the end, the problem had never been that my exes were too boring or too over-the-top. The problem was that Travis didn’t have a Texas drawl and didn’t smile like he could make you forget every bad thing in the world. Sam didn’t crack ridiculous jokes and didn’t have that habit of driving with one hand on the wheel. And when Gale wished me happy birthday, he didn’t tack on “kiddo” like some kind of damn punctuation mark.
Those shouldn’t be dealbreakers. I never expected my boyfriends to do any of it. I didn’t expect anything from them, because none of it would have mattered anyway — they could have done all of it and it still wouldn’t have been enough.
They didn’t say my name the way he said it. Didn’t walk the way he walked. Didn’t laugh in that same easy way. Didn’t drink their beer with that same careless tilt he had.
They just weren’t Beau. Ben wasn’t Beau. None of them were Beau.
But there was nothing I could do about it. When I looked at him, and then looked at them, it was different. There was no comparison.
I definitely shouldn’t be thinking like this. I wish I didn’t.
Just like I wish I didn’t think he was unfairly attractive with his hair still wet and his cheeks flushed from the cold.
All of it was wrong. I was being straight-up wrong, and I was starting to suffocate under my own bullshit.
I needed to bury this feeling deep enough that it would pass, so Beau could just go back to being my dad’s best friend.
“You can grab some pajamas from Em’s room. Make yourself at home.”
He was sweet. He treated me with a tenderness I was nowhere close to deserving.
I’d left him to go find his daughter’s birthday present all on his own, and for what — because I couldn’t stop sabotaging myself over some completely inappropriate thoughts I couldn’t seem to shake.
If he knew even half of what I felt, what I thought about, he wouldn’t be this nice to me. He’d probably be disgusted and run the other way.
He probably thought of me like a daughter, or something close to it — definitely not the way I wanted him to.
I felt his eyes linger on me. I still hadn’t moved from the entryway. My feet wouldn’t budge, because every part of me knew this was absolutely the worst possible time to be at Beau’s.
He sighed and shook his head, resigned.
“Look, if you want to go home, I’ll take you. It’s just they’re saying the rain’s gonna turn into a storm, so it’s probably smarter to stay off the roads.”
He looked at me like being here was some kind of torture.
If only he knew — I would’ve rather that be true than feel this warmth spreading through my chest just from the smell of him soaked into these damn walls.
“But if you really want me to take you home, I will.”
I hesitated a second before shaking my head.
He’d just given up his whole evening to come help me, when he probably had a thousand other things he could’ve been doing. I wasn’t about to ruin the rest of his night by making him drive me home in weather like this.
Even if just knowing he’d come to get me made my heart race a little faster, and it definitely wasn’t from the stress — maybe I’d realize I was overthinking things, and that deep down my endless string of breakups had nothing to do with him.
Maybe I could convince myself that if Ben had come to pick me up, I would’ve felt exactly the same thing seeing him walk in.
He waved it off like it was nothing, like it was perfectly normal that he’d rushed out to his car to come help me at this hour.
I knew that for him, it was.
He thought it was completely normal to do something like this for me, because of course he did. Of course he cared.
The way you care about your best friend’s daughter.
Remembering that put a cramp in my chest that, once again, had no business being there.
I should’ve felt touched that he’d do this for me. I did.
He gave me one more of those smiles that hit me with that same damn feeling all over again.
It didn’t help. Not even a little.
I pulled off my shoes in one quick motion and headed toward Emily’s room. I needed to shower, change, and scrub away every trace of these indecent thoughts.
My fingers stopped on a loose t-shirt and shorts, a sweatshirt that seemed meant to be worn as pajamas.
As I changed I could still smell the shower gel I must have used. It smelled like Beau. Like this whole house did. Except this time, I was the one soaked in his scent. I’d hesitated to wash with that shower gel, knowing full well the smell would haunt me with a delicious kind of pain.
Because of course it smelled unbelievably good.
And of course having his scent on my skin like some damn tattoo wasn’t helping me get my mind off things.
When I’d smelled that damn scent I’d thought about Beau. Under that damn shower. Hair wet the way it had been wet earlier from the rain. Washing with that same shower gel.
And I’d turned the water as hot as I could stand it, and it hadn’t done a damn thing to cut through that mix of heat, steam, and Beau.
So pulling on Em’s pajamas, I genuinely hoped it would erase the smell. And if it could erase what I felt for Beau, or the thoughts that wouldn’t leave my head, that would be more than perfect.
Especially since I had to go back and find Beau in the kitchen before I ran from him like the plague, and I needed my head empty. Because usually, I was capable of thinking about something else. I was probably in some kind of denial that let me easily ignore this kind of thought. But right now I couldn’t. Since I’d talked to him, I’d spent two long hours torturing my own mind. I’d realized it. I’d understood it. I could no longer not think about it. I couldn’t have a normal thought in his presence anymore.
Like in his truck during the drive after my little accident. He’d been right there. In my head. He was everywhere. And I hadn’t been able to say a single word. I’d just kept quiet and tried to stop myself from staring at him like my life depended on it.
And I knew that once I joined him in the kitchen, I’d feel the same thing, think the same thing, and it would be worse. Because he’d actually be there. Just the smell of his shower gel was making me lose my mind, so him in person —
I glanced quickly at my reflection in the mirror. Trying to smooth my hair down. I hated myself for regretting having washed my makeup off. Because I wanted him to think I looked pretty.
I shouldn’t want something like that.
When I finally made myself leave the room, I took it in for a second. Because even though I smelled like Beau, this room was the one place that didn’t remind me of him. It was far from personal. You could tell it was a guest room that rarely saw much of Emily. I knew Em spent more time at her mom’s, and looking around the room you could tell she was just passing through.
But it smelled more like her than like Beau, and that was simple. I needed something simple that didn’t stir up a certain feeling low in my stomach.
I took a breath before opening the door and walking, slowly, toward wherever I figured he’d be. I could hear him doing something in the kitchen, so I made myself go find him.
Not without mentally briefing myself not to think too much.
I kept repeating to myself like a mantra that he was my dad’s best friend. He was just Beau. Nothing more, nothing less.
When I found him in the kitchen he was drinking a cup of coffee. My eyes dropped to the counter behind him. There sat a second cup that must have been meant for me.
I stepped closer to grab my cup and tried, as best I could, not to look up at Beau.
He was just my dad’s best friend.
I felt his eyes land on me as I brought the cup to my lips. I checked the contents before taking a sip and caught myself noticing he’d added milk.
I always took my coffee with milk.
The liquid was still a little warm but not enough to burn me. On top of the milk, I could taste the sugar softening the bitterness.
He’d put in sugar and milk.
Exactly the way I made it when I was alone.
I set the cup down, repeating my damn mantra again. I couldn’t let this coffee thing get to my head. It was nothing. Nothing at all. Definitely not something I should be noticing, or something I should feel as touched by as I did.
“You gonna tell me why you were headed home?”
I fought to hide the tension that shot through my whole body. I still wasn’t looking at him. Especially not after he’d asked the exact question I didn’t want to touch.
“Because I wanted to sleep in my own bed.”
I refused to look up, but I could picture exactly how he was looking at me. Probably an amused smirk, one eyebrow raised, showing his surprise at my obvious attempt to dodge the subject.
“I thought you were supposed to be sleeping at your boyfriend’s.”
The word boyfriend sounded strange coming out of his mouth.
It sounded strange, period.
Especially since he wasn’t my boyfriend anymore. He was my ex-boyfriend. And that reminder made me grab the cup again to drown the lump in my throat with a little coffee.
“Well, I changed my plans.”
I exhaled loudly before setting the cup down a little too hard on the table. The clink of ceramic echoed through the room and I felt guilty for it.
“Is that really necessary?”
This time I couldn’t stop myself from lifting my eyes to his, and I cursed myself the second his green irises met mine.
The more I tried not to find him gorgeous in that light, the more I did.
I hid behind a pleading look, silently begging him not to push, to let me ignore the subject.
He didn’t seem convinced in the slightest. If anything he looked even more determined, to my great misfortune. He watched me like he was going to find the answer in how I acted, and in some way he’d probably already guessed what was going on. He just wanted me to confirm it.
And he wasn’t going to let it go.
Like I said, he was stubborn as hell when he wanted to be.
“It’s necessary when I find you crying in a ditch after driving out on a bad road at night when you were supposed to be sleeping at your boyfriend’s.”
He wasn’t being aggressive, exactly. That wasn’t him.
He was firm. He said things calmly and laid them out fairly, in a way that made his point without needing to raise his voice. He was convincing. I couldn’t tell if that was because it was Beau, or simply because he was right.
I turned my head to stare at the window streaked with rain. It hadn’t let up outside — if anything it was worse, I thought I’d heard thunder while I was in Emily’s room.
I wanted to answer but couldn’t find anything to say.
I didn’t want to waste my breath.
“No, no. Not at all. Ben’s a good guy.”
He was studying me with a doubt shot through with confusion. He was trying so hard to understand that he was misreading it, imagining all kinds of things.
“He is. I promise you. He’s not an idiot.” I paused before turning back to the window and adding, more to myself, “I am.”
I regretted it instantly.
A comment that offhand couldn’t help but grab his attention and make him ask even more questions. Which was the last thing I wanted. Because the more questions he asked, the more I replayed tonight, the more I replayed everything, and the more I noticed his damn scent stuck to every inch of my skin.
“What happened? I just want to understand why you put yourself in danger like tha—”
Silence filled the dimly lit room. Beau hadn’t turned on the overhead light, just a big lamp by the couch a little ways off. There was also the light over the counter against the wall. It wasn’t harsh. Not like the white light that had been standing between us.
I expected some joke dressed up as an “I told you so” about Ben being an idiot, but I must have looked desperate enough that he held back.
“I just couldn’t… I couldn’t stay after breaking up with him like that. I felt guilty, so I got in the car.”
Bringing all that back up woke the lump in my throat again, and this time coffee wasn’t going to be enough to choke it down. It was there. As present as the feeling low in my stomach.
“Why?” I let out something close to a laugh, but it was too hollow to really count as one. “You were right. I didn’t love him. Like I don’t love any of them, and like I’ll never love anyone. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
I sounded harsh, cutting, even though none of this was his fault. Not on purpose, anyway.
It was because of him, sure, but not really his fault. He hadn’t done anything. I was doing this to myself, I was feeling this messed-up thing for him and that was a problem. My problem. But he had nothing to do with it.
“You’re saying that ‘cause you’re shaken up over the breakup, but you’ll see tomorrow tha—”
“No. I’m not shaken up. I’m completely screwed. And I tried. I really, really tried.”
I was talking too much. None of it was making sense. I couldn’t stop making comments circling the real reason, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually name the problem.
It was unbearable. His voice kept bouncing around in my skull, and the more he tried to understand, the more I lost my grip.
I faced him head-on, stupidly. The counter still separated us, for all the good it did. He was still right there. I was losing my mind. Just him watching me was suffocating. Because his eyes took up more space than the scent of that damn shower gel. That’s all I could smell.
He was watching me with real restraint. He wanted to push, wanted to know more, but he was holding back. There was almost a sadness in his features, probably because of how I was acting. He wanted to understand me, but all I could think about was how beautiful he looked right now, and that was awful.
“You know you can talk to me. I just want to understand you, kid. It’s killing me seeing you like this and not being able to help.”
His words were perfect, full of good intentions and this heartbreaking kindness.
He almost made me want to tell him everything, because it felt like he meant it, like I really could tell him and he’d understand. I told myself maybe he’d find a way to fix it, because Beau always found a way to fix things — like tonight, he’d helped me, he’d come and found me and figured out a damn solution.
But I knew that was true for everything except this.
He could never understand this.
He couldn’t help me with this.
It would change everything.
It was killing him to see me like this?
Well, it would kill him a lot more to know the truth.
“But you can’t help me with this, Beau.”
He leaned against the counter, hesitating, before coming around to stand with nothing between us.
Maybe that was better for him. For me, it was worse.
“I’m sorry if this is about what I said at the mall.”
“It’s not about you. I’m the problem.”
“You don’t have a problem.”
He said it with a certainty that left no room for argument. He was sure of himself, sure of what he was saying.
If he knew, he wouldn’t be so sure.
But that didn’t change the pull low in my stomach at what he’d just said. I knew it wasn’t right, I knew how insane it was, but I felt it anyway. It spread through my whole body like some kind of sickness.
“Of course I do. I can’t stay with anyone.”
“That’s not a bad thing. You’re waiting for the right person.”
“But what if there’s no right person for me? Because they were all good. Ben was good. He took care of me, he listened to me, he was interesting, and it still wasn’t enough.”
His face softened with a compassion so gentle it made me tense up. The more understanding and kind he acted, the worse it got. He looked at me with the kind of care you give something about to break. Like he wanted to fix me, or pull me into his arms.
But I knew that would be worse.
“It’ll come with time. You’ll meet someone else.”
Frustration answered for me.
“Someone else? What for? So you can criticize him too and call him an idiot?”
This time he was the one who tensed. He ran a hand over his forehead like it helped him think.
“If he’s an idiot, I’m not gonna hold back from saying so.”
I couldn’t help the bite in my voice.
“According to you, they’re all idiots.”
He didn’t back down. He stayed exactly on message. No half-hearted excuses.
“Yeah. You deserve better than what you keep settling for.”
Better. I didn’t have any concept of better left, because for me, better was him. He was better. He was the best. And I couldn’t have him. So I couldn’t have better.
“But I don’t have a choice except to settle.”
He stepped closer, dangerously close, and the air in my lungs started running out.
“Course you do. If you waited a little you could find better—”
“But I can’t have better!”
I could catch a flicker of curiosity behind his mild frustration at being cut off.
“Because I’m never going to love any of those guys. They’ll never be…” I tried not to spill over. My mouth was a damn match threatening to set the whole house on fire. “They’ll never be what I want.”
The more I tried to justify myself so he’d stop looking at me like that, the more he did it. The more he silently begged me to say more, when I’d already said too much.
I pressed my lips together. With every pulse of blood in my veins I threatened myself with actually having the nerve to say it out loud, for real. I was ready to strike the match and watch everything else burn down with it. Reckless thoughts like he’ll find out eventually or you only get one life kept running through my head, and that was a bad sign.
I couldn’t do something like that.
He’d repeated it softer. The rain hammered harder than his voice.
“I want the one who came and got me in the middle of a storm after my car accident.”
I watched him flinch, and my tongue was already burning. I should’ve bitten it seven times over before saying something that stupid.
I’d just made a huge mistake.
“I’m sure plenty of guys would do that for you.”
I pressed my lips together, fighting the urge to correct him, since he clearly hadn’t understood — or didn’t want to. It itched at me. It would be so much simpler to just say I wanted him.
“You didn’t get it — I don’t want someone who could help me, I want the one who did.”
In the most pathetic, desperate tone that could possibly exist.
I was terrified of getting caught, and yet I’d just pushed further, dug myself in deeper. Me, who’d felt like everything was too loud, too much, needed some noise, some sound of something.
But he just stared at me, unreadable.
Nothing. He stood there in front of me, a little too close for comfort, and didn’t move.
Or maybe he was trying to convince himself.
Either way, it was too late.
My eyes were on him. I didn’t need to speak. I watched the exact moment he understood, or accepted, the precise meaning of every word and the fact that I clearly wasn’t joking.
I waited for a reaction. A furrowed brow. Something in his eyes. A movement. A response. Something that would send me running back to Em’s room and staying there until tomorrow. And I preferred not to think about tomorrow. There wasn’t much to think about anyway. I’d shut my mouth, never speak to him again, and pretend like nothing happened every time I saw him.
I wanted some sign, and that was the only one I got. He was trying to make the sentence sound absolute, but even he doubted what he was saying.
He stood there rigid, still, frozen, with just that hint of doubt cracking, ever so slightly, through his certainty.
The sarcasm in my voice, along with my forced smile, sounded fake and strangled.
It would’ve saved me a whole lot of trouble.
Like this endless moment. He watched me like I was crazy. Like I was the problem. I guessed his unreadable expression meant exactly that. It made sense. Because I was the problem. That’s what I’d been trying to make him understand.
He was stoic, unmoving, like a marble statue, and I couldn’t even blame him for it. It was so different from the Beau who’d tried to understand me a minute ago, so sure he could help, and I felt bad for handing him a truth that ugly. Of course he didn’t say anything, of course he just stood there — what was he supposed to say? What do you say to your best friend’s daughter, screwed up as she is, claiming she can’t hold down a relationship because she wants you?
I hated myself for putting that on him.
This time, the silence was louder, heavier than any rain hitting his kitchen windows. Maybe the storm outside had actually let up; still, I figured it was just the situation itself getting harder to ignore.
“I’m sorry, I’m tired, I shouldn’t have said something like that.”
Taking off, doing exactly what I should’ve done from the start.
I needed to. If I couldn’t see him, it made this feel less real, his silence less unbearable, this whole conversation less painful. I should’ve left earlier — it would’ve spared me from ruining things this badly. Because what was I going to do if he told my dad? And what if he didn’t, and just pretended nothing happened? I told myself that would be simplest, but would it really be? Of course not. Pretending it didn’t exist when he knew damn well it did would hurt like hell.
Suddenly his fingers closed around my wrist. He turned me around without much effort, and just as I was about to say something I hadn’t really thought through, his lips crashed into mine.
I didn’t react right away. I needed a second to process it. It was already hard enough to wrap my head around the fact that I’d admitted to Beau Arlen that I had feelings for him, but that was nothing compared to the fact that he was kissing me in the middle of his kitchen.
And there was nothing careful about it. It was hungry, desperate, like he’d been holding back for years. He kissed me like someone finally eating after days without food. It didn’t feel real. I couldn’t get enough. I could smell his scent, but it wasn’t me anymore — it was coming off him, he was here, he was kissing me. I could taste his mouth, and God, I’d never tasted anything that good. I could’ve done this forever.
The heat of his mouth was nothing like anyone else’s I’d ever known. It felt the way I’d always known it should feel. I knew it. This was exactly it.
Exactly what had always been missing with everyone else.
It hit so hard I lost all sense of space or time — I only knew my back had hit the counter, which was surprising, considering a few minutes ago I’d been walking out of this kitchen.
Now I was nowhere close to leaving. He held me pinned against the counter, one hand tangled in my hair, the other on my waist. His hands were big, wide. I wanted to feel them holding me like that for the rest of my life.
I was even more sure of it when he lifted me up onto the counter.
He was tall, his build could’ve swallowed me whole without even trying.
Just like I let him kiss the breath out of me. I had no air left, and if he hadn’t stopped, I would’ve let him take every last bit of oxygen out of my lungs.
I didn’t need air. I needed him.
“This is really… very… very… wrong.”
He was out of breath too, and the sound of his ragged breathing was quickly becoming my favorite thing, with his voice a close second.
Even while he was pointing out how wrong this was.
I couldn’t tell if he was saying it to me, or just repeating it to himself on a loop.
I wanted to beg him to ignore how much this shouldn’t be happening. I wanted to tell him I didn’t care, and my lips were already chasing his again. It felt like tasting a drug for the first time, and I already needed another hit.
Even knowing I shouldn’t.
“Your dad is gonna kill me.”
My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him back for another kiss as I whispered:
He let himself get pulled back in, but instead of kissing me, he looked me straight in the eyes. I could see it — he was almost scared. Guilty.
I could feel it, because it was exactly how I felt.
He looked at me like he was about to break something sacred. Like he was crossing a line and dragging me down with him. Like he was the one corrupting me, when really I’d crossed that line a long time ago.
I leaned in until my lips brushed his.
“He doesn’t have to know everything.”
Saying it out loud, I realized I was echoing my own words from earlier, at the mall. The worst part was, if it meant hiding this forever, I would.
Especially if it meant he’d keep looking at me like this until the end.
His eyes weren’t holding onto the gentleness he’d tried to build up earlier. The gold in them burned against my skin like sunlight, and I felt like I was melting. What I did know for sure was that I was probably as red as if I’d gotten sunburned. I could feel the flush creeping up my cheeks from the obvious want in his stare.
His smile came back, but his eyes didn’t match the softness of it — they were demanding.
“As much as I’d love to be your dirty little secret, I don’t think I could stand it for long, baby.”
The nickname pulled an involuntary sound out of me that made his grip tighten hard around my waist.
“Okay… then we’ll… we’ll wait for the right time.”
I nodded like that solved the whole problem.
“You think there’s gonna be a right time?”
“I’ll make sure there is.”
He kept holding my gaze, studying my face like he was dreaming.
He nodded, like he was confirming it to himself, reassuring himself that this was real and that he was in — for something like this. Looking at him, it seemed like the easiest thing in the world.
Then he tilted his head. When the heat and the wet of his mouth found the curve of my neck, I had to bite down to keep from making an embarrassing sound.
“And does… waiting for the right time… mean… waiting for me to kiss you like this again, kiddo?”
The kiddo landed differently this time. Not like some affectionate name you’d give a kid.
It sent heat straight to my stomach. Even stronger than usual, like I was burning from the inside and enjoying every second of it.
I felt him smile against my skin.
His hands slid under my shirt, and I could feel the heat of his palms branding my skin. The higher they climbed, the more I felt like I belonged to him.
And God, I wanted to belong to him completely.
I think I always had, in some way.
His smile widened, his palms climbed higher, my pulse spiked, I didn’t know where to focus anymore.
His thumb brushed over my nipple and I arched hard off the counter.
“You’re so damn sensitive.”
A moan slipped out of me before I could stop it, which only encouraged him to keep touching me like that. His name fell from my lips like some kind of desperate prayer. Even though there was nothing holy about what we were doing.
Even though I was dying for him to worship me like I was some kind of goddess.
“Fuck… do you know how damn painful it was, imagining all those guys getting to touch you like this?”
He pulled back slightly before dropping to his knees in front of the counter, making me swallow hard. His hands moved down to my thighs, and he settled himself between them in a way that was obscene — the way he looked at me was obscene.
I could tell he wasn’t waiting for an answer, but there was something almost accusatory in the way he asked.
“I used to imagine all the things they could do, and I hated myself just for thinking it.”
He kissed the inside of my thigh. I let out a loud breath, my hands bracing desperately against the wood of the counter. My knuckles were going white from bracing for the feeling of his mouth exactly where I was aching for it.
“I spent so many nights so damn hard just thinking about tasting you, like you were the only edible thing on this whole damn planet.”
His lips brushed my skin again, leaving a wet trail even higher up. My fingers dug into the surface, it was starting to hurt.
“You think your dad would be proud seeing you like this?”
There was mockery in his tone that shamefully turned me on. It was almost condescending, and God, that tone suited Beau a little too well.
It really shouldn’t have.
“I don’t care about my dad. I want to make you proud.”
His jaw tightened and his smile faltered for a second. His hands pulled off my shorts, taking my underwear with them, and where he’d been slower and patient before, he seemed a lot less interested in staying that way.
“You want to make me proud?”
I nodded, barely able to. My stomach clenched in a deliciously intense cramp.
“Then come on my tongue, sweetheart.”
At those words he closed whatever distance was left between us. My head fell back and I found myself wishing for a wall to lean against. I didn’t feel like I could hold myself up anymore.
He wasn’t gentle or careful anymore, he was starving, and I could feel it. The pace was almost impossible to keep up with. His tongue landed in relentless, burning strokes that made my whole body shake with every hit. My hands found their way into his hair, searching desperately for something to hold onto. I needed something, anything, to grab onto.
I was soaked, and what he was doing was making an almost filthy sound.
He was good. God, he was unreal. I couldn’t breathe anymore. Couldn’t get a coherent word out. Couldn’t think straight. I was just there, breathless, at his mercy, unable to do anything else.
“I could have you for every meal of the day, baby.”
My legs started shaking. I couldn’t hold anything back anymore. I had no control left.
It was only a matter of time before I came, breaking into a pathetic little moan. My whole body was trembling, and he kept going, like the fact that I’d just come wasn’t the end for him.
Then he finally pulled back to stand. His lips were shining indecently, his eyes were dark with want, and the more I stared, the more I wanted. I wanted him looking at me like I was something he wanted. I wanted him to want me the way I’d always dreamed he would, in my wildest imagination.
“Beau… take me here… now…”
I felt empty, it was a damn need, I wanted him so badly it almost hurt.
“I’m not taking you here.”
His hands were still gripping my thighs — it didn’t hurt, but there was so much conviction in it he might as well have left a mark.
I let my hand drift slowly down toward his belt. My fingers moved deliberately slow, and I got a kick out of watching him tense every time I got closer. When I flicked open his belt buckle, his hand caught my wrist.
“You deserve better than-”
“I want it.” My fingers grazed the obvious bulge in his jeans. His cock had to be aching, and just from the light touch I felt him twitch. “I know you want it too.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t look like he fully accepted it, but he didn’t seem able to refuse it either.
He leaned forward a little, and I felt his head drop onto my shoulder, like he was taking a second to breathe. His breath hit my skin in a way that felt delicious.
I moved close to his ear and, with some impulse I couldn’t explain, murmured, “You taught me how to drive a car, Beau. You can teach me how to get taken on the counter, too.”
I felt his breath catch. He pulled back to kiss me again, and I took it as him giving in. I could almost still taste myself on his lips, and it gave me some ridiculous satisfaction. He was even hungrier now. His tongue deepening the kiss with every breath.
I kept the motion of my fingers going and pulled his jeans and boxers down, finally freeing him — hard and aching against his clothes.
My fingers touched him gently, wrapping slowly around him. He was already leaking a little, he was so hard. I couldn’t hold back a plea.
Even though I started to doubt it would actually fit, that didn’t change how badly I wanted to feel all of him.
His fingers caught my chin, tilting it up, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were full of want, but he was fighting to hold something back.
“I’m serious, kid. If we do this, it’s gonna be too late.”
“It’s already too late for me.”
He searched my face for any trace of hesitation.
Finding none, he kissed me and lined himself up right at my entrance, which pulled a moan out of me that he caught with his mouth.
“Then be a good girl, and hold on.”
He went slow. He let me adjust, because I’d been right — he was big. Fucking long and thick. My hands gripped his back like I was holding on for my life. I had to press my forehead against his shoulder while he took his time. It was so slow it was almost unbearable, I could feel every inch. I started to cry out even though he wasn’t even that deep yet. He guided my hips himself, and when he hit all the way in, I felt my eyes roll back, and it had nothing to do with his sarcastic comments.
He picked up the pace. His thrusts got faster, more frantic, but still careful. It was like he was trying to pull every possible sound out of me. And when he found one he liked, he’d do it again, exactly the same way, like he was trying to memorize it.
I couldn’t even hear the rain outside anymore, or the storm. All I could hear was the shameless pounding of my own heart in my chest, and the damn friction of our bodies, matched by his ragged breathing. I could barely keep my eyes open. I felt myself rolling my hips to push into his rhythm, I needed more, but it wasn’t even want anymore, it was some kind of primal need.
I wasn’t controlling it. I was just doing it.
“Fuck… you take me so damn well… it’s not fair…”
His hand found my clit, and it sent a feverish heat through me. I could feel it building in my stomach. Threatening to explode.
“Course you can, baby… damn… you’re doing so good… so good…”
He hit a spot that made me dig my fingers into his back a little too hard. He felt it and picked up an even more brutal rhythm. I was caught in an unbearable frenzy.
I was shaking again, unable to really feel any part of my own body.
All I could feel was the pressure building low in my stomach, growing and growing until it broke, sending a wave of pleasure through my whole body. His name left my lips in a broken, strangled sound while he kept chasing his own release. A few seconds later, I felt him let go completely, until we were just two exhausted, spent bodies trying to catch our breath.
We stayed like that for a moment. I was still tucked into the curve of his shoulder, his chin resting on top of my head while he braced himself against the counter, trying to steady his breathing.
I had to close my eyes just to hold on to every second of it.
It was impossible to believe.
I never would’ve believed it if someone had told me this morning. And yet, here it was. He was here. I’d thrown everything at him, and instead of it ruining everything, he’d taken me on the counter like it was something he’d always wanted. Maybe it was. I was starting to think it was.
I could’ve stayed there forever.
He pressed a kiss to my forehead before lifting me up like I weighed nothing.
I mumbled it without much conviction.
It pulled a smile out of me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“Where exactly are you taking me?”
I felt him push open a door and decided to finally open my eyes out of curiosity. It was too dark to make out much, but I would’ve bet it was his room.
“To my bed. I’m not even close to done with you.”
He set me down on the mattress carefully, like he hadn’t just given me the least gentle thrusts on the planet a few minutes earlier.
He hurried to join me, and in no time my back was pressed to his chest, his arm holding me firmly against him.
“But I’ll give you a break.”
He paused before pressing a kiss to the back of my neck.
“Either way, I plan on this lasting forever.”
I stayed quiet, but my face couldn’t shake the smile that had taken over my lips. My hand found his and laced our fingers together as my answer.
I knew with absolute certainty that everything I’d been looking for in every other boyfriend I’d ever had was right here, in his arms.
And now that I finally had it, I wasn’t planning on letting it go.
Dad’s best friend or not.
