Page 44 of Flare

“About how gorgeous you are.”

The skin above his beard flamed red and he shoved his beer aside, looking... angry? “Oh, come on.”

I stared at him. Okay, so maybe I gaped because... well, shit.

His gaze skittered around the room. “I knew this was a bad idea.” He shoved his chair back and I almost fell off mine in my effort to grab onto his shirt.

“No. Please. I’m sorry.” When he hesitated, I let go, quickly explaining, “I wasn’t teasing, Beck. How are you so completely unaware of your... attributes?” I looked him over with a smile.

He chewed at his lip. “You need fucking glasses.”

That did it. I punched him on the arm.

“What the hell was that for?” He rubbed at it.

“For speaking complete garbage. Now, sit down. And also, Ihaveglasses.”

He didn’t move, and I figured I had a fifty-fifty chance that he might still just walk away. “Okay, fine.” He dragged the chair back into place and retook his seat. “But I want to see them on. Your glasses, I mean.”

I almost laughed. “What, now?”

He hesitated. “If you have them.” It came out so soft it sent windmills spinning in my belly.

I cocked my head and we stared at each other for a few seconds. Then I smiled, reached into the pocket of my coat, and pulled out the dark-rimmed spares I kept there. “Really, Beck? Library porn?”

“Don’t hate me.” He glanced around the tiny bar with its full bookshelves. “I just think you’d suit them.”

I slid them on, pushed them up the bridge of my nose, and eyed him with amusement, dragging my lower lip between my teeth just for good measure. Because I was generous like that. And because we were clearly fucking flirting big time.

He gave a low whistle. “And I thought you couldn’t get any hotter. Fuck. Me.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

His smile turned wicked. “Just so we’re clear,those—” He tapped my glasses. “—should be more of a concern if you want to keep your distance than kissing me. Wearing those, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“Duly noted.” I pocketed my glasses and hooked his chin between my fingers, his thick beard soft to the touch. “But don’t think I missed where you changed the subject.” I lowered my voice and watched his eyes. “Were you bullied?” I brushed the collection of white hairs covering his scar and his eyelids fluttered closed. Then, as if he suddenly realised what I was doing, he jerked them open again and pulled back from my hand.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve checked if it was okay.”

His jaw worked and there was the almost audible click-clack of all that armour plating sliding back into place. “I doubt you had the same trouble as a kid.” He ran an eye over me.

I arched a brow. “Is that right? Pretty little gay boy who took sewing class instead of woodwork, and liked to dress up?”

He winced.

“You know nothing about me, Beck.”

He deflated in his chair. “You’re right. My turn to say sorry. But yes, I did get bullied. The cleft lip thing when I was in primary school, then in high school the gay was just bonus points.”

“Were there a lot of surgeries?”

Beck nodded. “There was a bit of soft palate involvement, but not as bad as some have it. I had the main lip surgery at five months and the soft palate at a year. Then there was a bit of tinkering at twelve when a plastic surgeon tidied the scar at the lip margin; dental work as teeth came through; speech therapists to help with the nasal sounds; tons of ear infections; and the list goes on. My mother didn’t stick around long after Serena arrived, and it was just Dad and us for most of my life.”

A fuckton to deal with for a little gay boy with a laundry list of complications and a mother who’d pulled the plug on him and his family before she even knew him. “Jesus Christ. You were one brave kid.”

Beck smiled but it fell a mile short of his eyes, and my heart squeezed for him.

“Is the scar the reason for the beard?”

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