Page 6 of One Last Encore

"Such anger from such a pretty thing," Beck murmured. "All you had to do was ask, princess."

Her entire body stiffened. The nickname slithered through the air, wrapping around her like a ghost of the past.

Once upon a time, princess had made her blush. Made her smile. Made herhis. Now, it just made her want to throw himoff the balcony. And the bastard knew it, too. The flicker of amusement in his eyes made that very clear.

Ingrid exhaled through her nose, muttering, "All you had to do was move to literally any other building in the city. Maybe one with a moat."

Their run-ins had been mercifully rare over the years. Once backstage at Eden’s concert, where Beck lingered like a bad habit, and more recently at Eden’s wedding. Though they’d slipped into old banter way too easily, both encounters left Ingrid so emotionally fried she needed an ice pack for her soul and a three-day nap just to feel human again.

She’d avoided him ever since. A feat, considering he’d spent the last three years practically glued to Eden’s side on tour. And despite all her careful groundwork to keep their paths from crossing, here he was. In her hallway. Holding her cat.

The worst part was that time and distance hadn’t dulled his effect. He still lit something wild and reckless in her. She wanted to scream. Or slam the door. Or bolt in the opposite direction. Do every impulsive thing she usually never even let herself consider.

"Come closer. I don’t want to drop her," Beck said, voice calm and unbothered as he stayed firmly planted in the doorway, making zero effort to bridge the gap himself.

Ingrid clenched her teeth. Superman had kryptonite. She had Beck.

"Don’t be shy," he murmured, teasing.

She stomped over, each step full of purpose and petty rage. Squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and tried to meet his ridiculous height head-on, even though he still towered over her 5'8" frame like a smug, tattooed skyscraper with abs.

With her arms outstretched and an eyebrow arched in defiance, she waited. Freddie cracked one sleepy eye open… then burrowed deeper into Beck’s arms like a traitor in fur.

"Freddie," Ingrid snapped, scandalized.

Beck tilted his head, way too pleased with himself.

"Say please," he whispered, his breath washing over her skin, warm and minty and intoxicating. A shiver unfurled slowly up her spine. The sensation caught under her skin, a spark flaring too close to dry kindling, spreading molten heat through her.

"Please…" she said sweetly, her voice dripping with honey, every inch the innocent he knew damn well she was not. His breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.Ha. Gotcha.

She plucked Freddie from his arms, her fingers brushing his in a touch that felt hotter than it had any right to be. She especially ignored the treacherous little zing of contact that shot up her spine and made her want to scream into the nearest throw pillow.

"…go rot in hell," she finished, her voice coated in sugar.

Beck grinned. Slowly. Like he’d been waiting all day for her to verbally slap him.

"There she is," he murmured, voice rough and stupidly full of meaning. Like he felt something too. Which was just… no. Unacceptable.

"Keep your filthy hands off my cat," she snapped, aiming for icy but landing somewhere closer to breathless. Probably because her eyes had flicked to his hands. Tattooed. Silver rings catching the dim hallway light. Strong. Calloused. Hands that had once–No.

But her mind was already playing the Greatest Hits: his fingers on her hips, trailing slow, ruinous patterns down her spine like he had all the time in the world and knew exactly what to do with it. She could still feel the weight of them, pinning her down, the way they’d tangled in her hair, tugging just enough to make her gasp.

A fresh wave of heat curled low in her stomach, the memories flashing with infuriating clarity.

Beck’s smirk deepened. Because of course, he knew. He always knew.

She briefly considered slamming her head into the nearest wall, just to wipe out whatever glitch had caused her brain to suddenly rememberthat. She spun on her heel, ignoring the heat creeping up her skin and the lizard part of her brain chanting,Touch him again, just to make sure it’s still that good.

"We’ll see about that, princess," Beck called after her, his voice dripping with amusement.

Freddie, still snug in her arms, turned and gave Beck a slow purr.

Ingrid slammed the door shut with more force than necessary. Beck’s laughter echoed in the hallway.

How the hell did Freddie remember Beck after five years?

She fed that damn cat every single day, and the best return she got was a half-hearted paw swipe as if Ingrid were inconveniencing her. But for Beck? She practically launched herself into his arms, as if he were her long-lost soulmate.

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