Page 44 of The Escape Plan

Because here we are again.

And while I know that I somewhat tempted fate earlier by imagining this very scenario, said scenario in my head didnotinclude Beckett being bashfully humble about writing the prettiest melody I’ve ever heard. Not to mention the way he looked at me with flutter-inducing heat in his eyes as he admitted to my face that he’d been talking to my brother about me.

I’m not used to guys like this. Flirtatious and playful, yet unabashedly honest while being so.

Andrew often had me questioning if he truly liked the way I looked or the way I acted. It was subtle, never outright mean or rude or hurtful, but he’d make observations about the way I dressed or the way I did my makeup that had me second guessing myself. Would compliment me when I wore my hair the way he liked it… and give me pointed looks when I pulled it back in a messy bun or braid.

He’d also make comments about how much he liked that Lisa enjoyed going out to bars with friends on weekends. Meanwhile, I preferred to stay at home reading, hang out at the library, or visit Gramps with my brother. He and Lisa would hit the bars together; I’d stay home to do a Korean face mask and order takeout.

How blissfully unaware I was.

With the clarity of hindsight, there was alwayssomethingI couldn’t put my finger on in my relationship with Andrew. Something that felt less than fully genuine, like all of his cards weren’t quite laid out on the table. Everything was semi-veiled, cloaked in shadows.

But when Beckett looks at me, it’s like someone has parted the blinds and the sunlight is streaming in. The way he’s looking at me today when I’m perfectly made-up and dressed well is the exact same way he looked at me when I was covered in ketchup, or wrapped in a towel with soaking wet rat’s-nest hair.

He looks at me like he likes what he sees.

“Let me help.” Beckett smiles oh-so-sexily as he rises from his chair.

I try to ignore the little shimmer of heat in my stomach as he crosses the room, walking with purpose as he approaches me, not stopping until he’s right in front of me, his chest inches from my face. He’s so close that I feel his body heat, smell that wonderfully intoxicating woodsy, masculine, Irish Spring-tinged scent of his. He’s wearing a black t-shirt today that’s hugging his chest and shoulders and biceps in the most enticing of ways.

As he leans forward, my heart leaps into my throat and my eyelids flutter…

He reaches right past me, and his hand lands on the doorknob behind me.

All the air leaves my lungs as reality and reason return to my addled mind. I watch him pull on the door handle as my heart pounds like an anvil in my chest cavity.

Idiot.

“Stuck,” he confirms, looking down at me with his hand still on the doorknob, effectively caging me in.

I’m burning with embarrassment, hoping Beckett doesn’t notice my body’s incredibly visceral reaction to his proximity. He doesn’t move, and we stand there for a few loaded moments, his hand outstretched behind my body, our eyes locked on each other, our breathing audible. A tableau depicting being caged, locked, stuck… but in a way I don’t hate.

Not at all.

The last thing you need is to be feeling so drawn to your new neighbor, Keeley…

The mental reminder has me stepping backwards. Only there’s nowhere to step backto, so I end up with my back plastered against the door.

Beckett’s smile grows, like he’s enjoying this as much as I’m trying not to. “Weird place, this building. Either the doors—and windows, and elevator for that matter—are very old and very broken, or the universe wants us spending time together in enclosed spaces.”

“It’s definitely the first one!” I practically yell, then cough. Lower my voice to a regular decibel level. “I mean, the apartments have been around for multiple decades now, so of course stuff is going to break. I mean, the landlord had to hire Steve full-time to take care of all the maintenance issues. Have you met Steve? Tall guy, likes a sweater vest…”

I’m babbling on in a way that I’m surprised is somewhat coherent.

The hot, flirty look on Beckett’s face morphs into one of surprise. He abruptly lets go of the door handle and steps backwards too, putting much-needed distance between us to allow my brain to function properly and stop short-circuiting. “I thought you said you didn’t know how old it was.”

“I didn’t. But I ran into the Hathaways just now—they’ve been here forever. They informed me that this building was converted into an apartment block in the mid 1960s.”

“Oh?” he says. Casually, in a way that sounds like he’s trying very hard to be casual when he actually has zero chill. Which is a little bit adorable. “And what was it used for before that?”

“It was a dorm building for Spring Brook College! I’m shocked I didn’t know that, seeing as I went to Spring Brook.” I pause for dramatic effect, like I’m announcing a TV show or something. “Back then, it was a women’s college, so this building housed female students.”

Beckett looks around the room, his eyes suddenly a little wild.

I raise a brow at him. I mean, I was looking for a subject change to get away from my babbling, and it seems to have worked… maybe a little too well, given Beckett’s current expression.

“I think my grandma lived here.” His voice is so low that I almost think I’ve misheard him. Until he looks right at me, his face a little pale. “How is this possible?”

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