Page 30 of Backed By You
He chuckles. “I think I’m all right.”
We sit in silence for a moment, sipping from our mugs. It’s not as awkward now. More contemplative on the day’s events. I almost wish the couch was smaller so he’d sit closer.Almost.
“So,” he says finally, “is there a boyfriend I should know about? Anyone who might show up I should be looking out for?”
The question catches me off guard. “No, um, no one and no boyfriend either.” I tilt my head, studying him and the relaxation in his shoulders when I say, ‘no boyfriend.’ I shift in my spot, angling my body in a way my booted foot can rest on the cushion between us. My back to the arm of the couch to face him. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugs, refusing to meet my gaze. “Thought maybe there was someone who should know you’re okay.”
“My dad, maybe,” I say, feeling a pang of worry at not having my phone to call him or Shea and tell them what happened. I curl my good leg beneath me. “What about you? Will your girlfriend be worried about you spending the night in another woman’s cabin?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “No girlfriend.”
Can’t say I didn’t pick up on that. “Interesting.”
“Is it?” he asks far too quickly, but his dark eyes are on me now.
I prefer them that way.On me.
I smile, the day’s tension easing. “By the way,” I start, tapping the ceramic mug with a fingernail. “And this is just to be clear, you know, set the record straight.”
His brow furrows.
“It was the trail that caused us to fall,notmy shoes.”
One manly, judgy brow of his quirks upward. “If you say so,” he mutters, lifting his mug to his lips smeared with a knowing grin. The jerk.
Though, Iwillbe ordering hiking boots once my ankle heals.
I roll my eyes and change the subject. “So, tell me something I don’t already know about you,” I say, settling deeper into the couch.
“Not much to tell,” he grumbles. “What you see is what you get.”
“You’re easier to read than you think, soldier boy.”
His jaw ticks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shrug. “Nothing.”
“If you’ve got something to say, say it.” His tone is rough, defensive. And I fear I’m striking a nerve I didn’t intend to.
“You can play tough guy all you like, but…I see you. I see what you want people to see, and I understand what you don’t want them to see.”
He’s silent as he stares at me. His jaw ticks in time with what I assume are his racing thoughts. He looks away, and the moment slowly dies between us.
No one likes to be called out, but I think he may hate it the most.
“Come on,” I coax, tapping his thigh with my booted foot in an attempt to lighten the mood. “There has to be something the world doesn’t know about Beau Montgomery.”
He scoffs, but seems to think for a moment. “I enjoy traveling,” he says finally, and if I could do a tiny victory dance at him opening up with three words, I’d happily make a fool of myself.“Seeing new places, trying new foods. Not really a people person, though, so the two kind of clash a bit.”
“Really?” I feign surprise. “Beau Montgomery isn’t a people person? I’m shocked.” I try to picture him standing outside the Eiffel Tower or viewing the Grand Canyon, those large arms crossed in front of him as he does. Silent. Stoic. Simply admiring the view. It fits, somehow.
He chuckles—finallyletting loose. “Your turn.”
“I write screenplays. Horror movies, to be specific.”
His brows rise. “You’re kidding.”
