Page 55 of One Last Encore

"Yeah, you did. It was a good start." His eyes glittered with wicked amusement. "And wasn’t that fun? I had a great time. Changed me on a molecular level, actually."

"Mm, yes. I'm sure you did." She smirked. "I see why you're so loyal to the unstable musician lifestyle. Public groping and reckless decisions. Very rockstar of you."

"Yeah, well, I think it was worth it." His grin turned devilish. "That thing you did with your hips? Still thinking about it." Her pulse kicked up, but she held his gaze, nonchalant.

"I was feeling generous," she said with a shrug, like the memory of his hands wasn’t still humming beneath her skin.

He laughed under his breath, low and satisfied. "Remind me to thank the universe for your generosity. Repeatedly."

"God, you’re impossible." Ingrid rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched with the smile she was trying not to give him.

"I’ll be honest," she said softly. "Tonight, and really the last few weeks, I’ve been more spontaneous than I’ve ever been in my life." She paused. "The truth is, my life’s never really been about fun. It’s about being the best. Becoming a prima. Earning a spot with New York City Ballet. There’s no room for.. distractions."

Beck studied her, the usual spark in his eyes giving way to something gentler.

"I get that," he said slowly, pausing for a moment. "You ever see an old dog that just stops listening to commands? One day it just thinks, ‘Screw it,’ flops down in the middle of the sidewalk, and won’t budge like it owns the whole damn block."

Ingrid blinked. "Are you seriously telling me to model my life after a disobedient golden retriever?"

"Yes," Beck said without missing a beat. "Sometimes you have to stop chasing everything and just let life come to you. Slow down. Be reckless. Have fun."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. She had nothing. No argument. No rebuttal. The absolute stupidity of it somehow made perfect sense.

She exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. She knew she couldn’t just throw away the structure she built her life around. But as she lay there, cocooned in Beck’s warmth, she found herself saying, "Maybe."

Her response was rewarded with a small, satisfied smile. Beck pulled her closer, his arm tightening around her waist as his face nestled into her hair.

Ingrid swallowed, hyper-aware of everything. The warmth of his body. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The way his breath tickled her skin.

Her mind was a whirlwind. Was she supposed to be this tense? Did people just... do this? Regularly? She realized how stiff she’d become, her muscles locked up with uncertainty.

"Are you okay, kitten?" His voice was soft, the words mumbled into her hair.

She had never been a cuddler. Usually, she made a quick but elegant exit before anyone could get ideas about lingering attachments. Closeness like this was uncharted territory.

"Yes, I’m okay," she muttered finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I don’t believe you," Beck said instantly. His concern was evident as he pulled back slightly to look at her face. The loss of his warmth made her stomach twist in protest.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked, his blue eyes scanning hers.

"No, it’s not that," she blurted, then groaned and buried her face in the pillow.

Beck waited, patiently and wildly amused.

After a long pause, she mumbled into the fabric, voice muffled, "I haven’t cuddled before."

"What? You’ve never had peach cobbler? It’s incredible, you’ve got to try it," he said, deadpan.

She turned her head slowly, cheeks burning. "No. I said..." She paused, then whispered, "I haven’t cuddled before."

Beck blinked. "Ever?"

"Not really," she admitted. This was humiliating. "I usually leave before it gets to that part."

A slow, mischievous grin spread across Beck’s face. "So, what I’m hearing is... I’m the luckiest person on planet Earth?"

"Basically," she muttered, still half-smothered by the pillow.

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