Page 18 of Flare

“You know nothing about me.” He scowled with every scrap of teenage angst in his arsenal.

“And I’m not asking. Not unless you want to tell me.”

He chewed that over and I saw the moment he decided and recognised it for the test it would be.

“My mum’s banged up in jail.” He locked eyes and tilted his jaw.

I caught Kip’s slight stiffening, but he said nothing.

“I’m sorry about that.” I kept my voice even. “Is that why you’re living with your uncle?”

He nodded. “The last six months. She got five years.”

I didn’t ask what for. It didn’t seem important, not really. “So, you’re angry at the world, huh?” I couldn’t help the twitch of my lips, and he shook his head and slumped in his chair, but there was a hint of smile hanging there if you looked hard enough.

“Fuck you.”

“No, thank you,” I deadpanned.

His face paled. “I didn’t mean... shit... sorry.” Then he groaned. “Why am I always fucking up around you guys?”

“Because you haven’t quit being a douchebag, that’s why.” Kip walked across and patted Jack’s shoulder. “Come on, I need a hand to do the coffee run. You can have a smoothie or something equally teenagery and gag worthy.”

I shot Kip a surprised look.

“What?” he huffed. “I can fetch coffee. You’ll just have to, you know, point me in the right direction. It’s that way somewhere, right?” He waggled a set of manicured nails toward the train station.

I laughed. “Yeah,thatway. Take what you need from petty cash. And thanks, my caffeine levels are hovering around defcon 1. Women and children will thank you.”

He snorted and I turned to Jack. “Go on. He’ll rip you a new one all the way and back, and you’ll deserve it. But he’s fiercely protective if you earn his trust, and believe me, it’s worth the effort. When you come back, you can sweep up out here and check that the gas bottle on the outdoor heater is full. I don’t want Drew freezing to death.”

A frown dipped between Jack’s brows. “Do you have to tell Uncle Beck about this? I feel like such a fucking loser at the moment.”

“Then stop being one. And no, I don’t need to tell him. This time. But maybeyoushould.”

He rolled his eyes. “I just knew you were gonna say that.”

* * *

“Rhys?”

I spun to find Beckett Northcott filling the entire doorway of my shop and almost swallowed one of the pins I was holding between my teeth. I spat them out into my palm, which gave me a few seconds to take him in. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry.” He reached out a hand to steady me as I teetered on the step stool.

There was no heavy coat this time, just a pair of loose black trousers, a blue shirt, and a slightly better-fitted blazer—if better was defined by a body not swimming in a pool of poorly cut material. Still, the improved ensemble certainly gave a much better sense of the man’s hidden... talents.

And there were... a lot.

“Rhys?” Beck frowned at me like I’d lost my mind and I realised I’d been staring... again.Shit.

“You’re, um...” My gaze flicked to the clock on the wall to reassure myself that he was indeed early. Yep. Five fifteen. “Early.” I got down from the step stool before I slipped on the pool of drool that was no doubt running from my mouth.

Beck was a fine specimen of mother nature’s ability to craft a sublime testament to strength without a weight room in sight. It was just something about the more rolling cut to his shoulders, the even distribution of weight and proportionate shape lines, and the slight softness around his waist and neck. Put together, they screamed God-given natural muscle all the way.

Dear Lord.

Professional interest only, of course.

---