Closure, a voice whispers in the back of my head. I snort thinking about the way Laurie said I should get closure. Well, that isn’t going to happen. I’m not sleeping with him, not again, not ever.
It doesn’t matter that his kiss made me want to climb him like a tree.
It doesn’t matter that I can still remember the way his fingers felt against my skin a decade ago.
It’s not happening.
The knock on my front door causes my entire body to jerk. I stare at it, wondering what to do next. My feet are frozen to the floor, my eyes glued to the closed door. Silence surrounds me, but on the other side, I know that Beaumont is there.
The question is, do I want this?
Do I need this?
The answer to both is, yes. Unsticking my feet from the floor, I force myself to walk over to the door. Glancing down, I wonder if my sleeveless shirt with a high neckline and my dark washed jeans with gold sandals are enough for a night out with Beaumont Griffin.
Then I shake my head of the thoughts before tugging the door open. If I’m not enough just the way that I am, then he can just go away.
When the door opens, his head is tipped and slowly he lifts his gaze, his eyes roaming over my entire body as he does. Once his eyes meet mine, I suck in a breath and hold it, waiting—watching.
“Still prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, Hutton. This is better,” he says with a dip in his chin.
“This?” I ask.
His lips tip up in a smirk. “That dress…” His words trail off. “That dress wasn’t you.”
“Maybe it was and you just don’t know me anymore,” I snap.
Beaumont shakes his head, taking a step inside of my house. I stumble backward, wondering why I’m allowing him to step foot in my living room. Wondering why I tip my head back to look up into his dark eyes instead of placing my hand on his chest and pushing him back out the door.
His full lips are tipped up into a smirk and my breath hitches when his hands wrap around my waist. His grip is strong, but not too tight, it’s comforting as much as I wish that it wasn’t.
“I know you, Hutton. Fuck, I’ve never forgotten.”
His words are sinful, meant to send a wave of emotion throughout my entire body—and they do. My lips part in awe at the same time he groans. Then, I watch, unable to stop him, unable to resist as his head lowers and his lips find mine.
His mouth touches my own, his tongue slipping between my lips and when he tastes me, it’s with less urgency than last night, but no less delightful. Whimpering, I lift my hands and curl my fingers in his t-shirt at his chest. He grunts, his fingers tightening their grip around my waist before he rips his mouth from mine.
Beaumont’s breathing comes out in the same labored pants as my own as I stare up at him wide-eyed. Releasing his shirt, I try to take a step back, but his grip is still strong around my waist.
“Beaumont,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “Darlin’ girl, whatever you’re thinking, you need to just stop. This is happening, and you’re going to enjoy the ride,” he murmurs.
Narrowing my gaze, I hate how cocky he is, though that’s what attracted me to him in the first place. His cockiness is a double-edged sword, and it seems that the only person who ever gets cut by it is me.
“Nothing is happening,” I state. “We’re going to dinner, that’s it.”
His cocky smile turns lazy as it widens and his straight white teeth appear. “Okay,” he chuckles as if I’m being cute and funny, which I’m not. At least, I’m not trying to be.
“Let’s just go,” I sigh.
He laughs, stepping to the side to allow me to walk past him. Taking a couple of steps, I reach down and grab my purse off of the white and gray fabric chair and march out of the house. I hear Beaumont’s boots clicking behind me on my tile flooring.
Once he’s outside and standing on my porch next to me, I shove my key into the lock and turn it, locking my front door. Turning around, I try to walk past him, but he doesn’t allow me. Instead, he blocks my body from moving and dips his chin so that his face is just inches from mine.
“Hutton Baker, I fucked up. I know you aren’t the kind of woman who would hold that against a man,” he murmurs.
Dammit.
I sigh. “I’m not,” I mumble. “Let’s go to dinner.”
Beaumont lowers his face, his nose sliding alongside my own. Unable to stop myself, my eyes flutter closed, and my mouth lets out a long hum of contentment. Dammit, again.
I hate how good that feels, how good he feels so close to me. I should hate his touch, his mouth, his tongue, and his words. I don’t. I love it all, a little too much. Then he releases me, taking a step back. I watch, blinking, as he steps to the side.
“Dinner,” he announces.
I nod, following beside him as we descend the small porch steps of my home. My place isn’t anything fancy, a small two-bedroom, one-bathroom that I rent. I’m not home much, choosing to spend most of my time and money at work.
One day I’m going to have enough to buy a house of my own, but right now, everything gets invested in my shop. I’m content with that. Having my own home would be nice, but my salon is what drives me every day to be better, so my shop is where I’m focused.
Beaumont opens the pickup door and I look up to the lifted truck with a sigh. I really don’t like climbing up into these monstrosities, but this is Texas and lifted trucks are more common than not. This is another reason I hardly ever wear short dresses.
Lifting my leg onto the Nerf bar pipe, I grab ahold of the door handle in an effort to haul myself up and into the seat. Beaumont laughs low behind me as his palms cups my butt and he pushes, giving me the leverage that I need to get into the seat.
I huff, looking down at him with a small frown. He is completely unaffected, his lips twitching as he closes the passenger door behind me. I watch as he jogs around the front of the truck, then swings himself into the driver’s seat much more effortlessly and gracefully than I had.
He starts the truck. Rock music fills the cab and I smile as he turns it down.
“Still like your music loud?” I ask.
He clears his throat, pulling the beast out onto my street. I try to keep my gaze straight ahead, but can’t help it that my eyes shift to his profile almost immediately. He’s even more handsome than he was ten years ago. His arms are bigger than I remember, too.
It doesn’t help that I’ve seen him shirtless on dozens of magazine covers while waiting in line at HEB for groceries. Also, I just saw him shirtless the other night, and those pictures weren’t even photoshopped like I had tried to convince myself that they were over the years.
“Always, Hutton. Music is just part of who I am,” he says, his lips smiling as he continues to look forward.
I want to comment, to say something, but I don’t know what to say. I feel nervous next to him. So incredibly nervous. I don’t know what he expects for tonight, but not only that, I don’t know how to act around him.
He’s no longer Beau that would hold my hand and lace his fingers with mine while we laid in bed together. He’s not Beau who would whisper his dreams of becoming famous.
Now he is famous.
He’s Beaumont Griffin.
He’s bigger than just Beau from ten years ago. He has lived this life that I couldn’t even imagine while I’ve been here cutting and styling hair.