He nods. “Makes sense.”
“I thought so. I’ll figure out what I want to do with my life eventually.”
“No rush. Good that you can take the time and space to figure things out for yourself without anyone pressuring you.”
“Just the student loans hanging over my head,” I say.
His answering smile is brief and small. “Grow up around here?”
“Close enough; San Bernardino,” I say. “What about you?”
“No, I’m half a country away from home and intend to keep it that way. Though maybe half a country away is still too close. I hear Iceland’s nice this time of year.”
I raise my brows in question.
“Family.” He shrugs. “What can you do?”
The waitress delivers our food, filling up the table with Beck’s order of half of the breakfast menu. Without hesitation, he proceeds to devour it all. If I ate that much, my ass wouldn’t fit in the seat.
“Want some?” He offers me a forkful of pancake, dripping with syrup. “It’s good.”
“I’m fine with my burger. Thanks.” And I’m curious as heck about his family, but pressing him further wouldn’t be polite. Dammit.
“So what are my future wife’s favorite hobbies and/or interests?”
“Hmm.” I stick a fry in my mouth and chew, thinking it over. “Reading, films, music…the usual. You?”
“Lots of things.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know…hiking, rock climbing. Stuff like that.”
“So basically I like to sit still and you’re all about being busy and athletic. We have nothing in common.”
“No. Wait. I can change,” he jokes. “Give me another chance.”
“You shouldn’t have to change.” I swirl another fry in some ketchup. “I’m sure you’re perfectly fine just as you are.”
All humor is gone from his face now, his expression blank. The look in his eyes, though, is dark and unhappy. It would seem I’ve hit a nerve. So of course, I do the worst thing possible and babble.
“I mean, what is even the point of being with someone if all you want to do is change them?” I ask. “If you and your significant other were both exactly the same, where’s the interest or challenge in that? Do you just live in each other’s pockets until the day you die? You’d have to run out of things to talk about pretty fast, right?”
Nothing from Beck, but a line is now embedded between his dark brows. A moment ago, he seemed all good humor and confidence. Now, however, he almost seems kind of lost. Something I’m more than familiar with these days.
“Beck, are you okay?”
He blinks, coming back to life. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
“Nothing; it’s fine.” My face warms and oh my God. Blushing is so fucking annoying. Be gone, foul anxiety. “I was just….”
“Imparting wisdom to me.”
“Sure. Yeah. The combined wisdom and experience of my twenty-two years plus a degree I have yet to find a use for. Please take it with all due seriousness.”
“I’ll do that.” The tension he’s feeling seems to ease. His shoulders relax; his hands gesture around him. “I like this place.”
“Me too.”
“Probably not quite right for a wedding, though.”
“Probably not,” I agree. The weird mood has lifted. I want to ask him what it was about, but I don’t know him well enough to pry. So instead, I settle for staring at him. Good Lord he’s pretty. I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll soon be saying it again. While I feel sort of bad for objectifying him, what can you do when he’s right there breathing and existing and getting all up in my face? More importantly, I like him. Not a thing that happens often. And he can quote Austen. Still, rushing in doesn’t feel right. “I bet you’ve got a girl in every town you’ve been to.”
“If you’re asking if I’ve spent all of my time wandering alone, then the answer is no,” he says. “I’ve met lots of different people, worked lots of different jobs. Spent a lot of time staring out Greyhound bus windows, too.”
“Hmm.”
“What about you? Do you make new friends and acquaintances at the bar often?”
“No, not normally.”
He stares at me and every damn time he does it my nerves start to tingle. But it’s only chemistry, sexual attraction. Nothing to get my panties in a knot over. In all likelihood, it’s the reptile part of my brain indicating his sperm is of interest and how he might make a good protector for me and our young. There’s no actual bond between us. Not really.
“I’ve reached a decision,” I say.
“Regarding?”
“You.” I put down the fry and wipe my hands on a napkin. “I’m not taking you home with me tonight.”
“You’re not, huh?”
“No,” I say, though my voice wavers with my lack of conviction.
The way he watches me, the look in his eye, it’s as if nothing has ever been half as interesting as what just came out of my mouth and he can’t wait to hear what I have to say next. A girl could get drunk on this kind of attention. But hot males and I do not have a good history. It’s your usual pathetic backstory. Heartbreak, shattered dreams, and angsty songs played on repeat for weeks on end annoying the living shit out of everyone in the vicinity.
Much safer if my pants remain fastened. At least for the time being.
“Okay,” he says.
“Assuming, of course, that all of this flirting is leading somewhere and you were interested in going home with me?”
“It is and I am.”
A group of butterflies is called a flutter. And that’s exactly what’s going on in my stomach right now. “Perhaps another night, then…”
All of the smiles he flashed me before were nothing compared to the smaller, more thoughtful one he gives me now. Holy shit. My heart hammers inside my chest and my brain is both dazed and confused. I am utterly beguiled. That’s the word for it. This man is the perfect mix of funny, gorgeous, and intriguing. “No rush. After all, we have the rest of our lives together. And, when you’re ready, I’m happy to wait through however many bouts of meaningless sex before we go all the way to coffee. Whatever it takes for you to feel comfortable.”
I shake my head. “You know, I honestly can’t decide if you’re crazy, comedic, or something else entirely.”
Beck just grins.
Down at the beach, all is pretty much quiet and still. Most of the attractions on the pier shut down hours ago. I don’t usually come here in the early hours of the morning, but Beck was interested so here we are. Guess neither of us want the night to end. Which is wonderful. The sand is cool under our feet, the moon low. In a few hours, it’ll be dawn.
“I’d like to hold your hand, if that’s not too forward.”
“I think that would be okay.” I place my palm in his and he immediately laces our fingers together. His skin is warm, his hand large. It suits his size. Yet we seem to fit together just fine. Without being told, he shortens his strides so I’m not left behind or dragged along.