Page 19 of Moms of Mayhem
“And yeah,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “I can think of much better ways to let off steam.”
Unlike with Luca, this didn’t feel gross. It didn’t feelperformative. It felt like I’d been caught, clothes stripped away, heart exposed—and the worst part?
I didn’t hate it.
“Figures your little pea brain would go straight to sex,” I snapped, flustered, my cheeks blazing.
His eyes sparked. “I was talking about kickboxing. But I’m flattered.”
He straightened, that damn smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth, and looked across the street at Hudson Hardware. “You’re Ty’s little sister. Alas, kickboxing’s all I can give you.”
I gestured to his bum leg and raised a brow. “Yes, well, beating the elderly is generally frowned upon.”
A deep laugh burst out of him, the kind that made my stomach clench for reasons I refused to examine. “You haven’t changed at all, have you, Little Huddy?”
“Me and my childbearing hips beg to differ. And don’t call me that—I’m 35. The nickname can die now.”
He didn’t respond, just stepped in close again and reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of my jaw.
I froze.
My brain screameddon’t you dare lean into that, but my body had other plans.
“Those leggings Friday night,” he said, voice like warm bourbon, “showed off all your curves.”
His thumb skimmed just beneath my jaw, and a shiver ran down my spine.
“Not a complaint in sight,” he added, gaze burning into mine.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything except feel the heat rising from my chest, flushing my cheeks, melting something I hadn’t let myself feelin years.
Mercifully, or cruelly, my watch alarm blared.
I jumped back like I’d been electrocuted, my hand clutching my chest.
Beckett rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the snow. “I promised Jace I wouldn’t call you. But I never said I wouldn’ttellyou.”
I nodded, still trying to remember what the hell we were even talking about. “Right. Then… thanks, I guess.”
He reached for his truck door. “That boy of yours has a hell of a mouth on him.”
I opened mine to fire back, but Beckett got there first.
“I know exactly where he got it. Just forgot how pretty a mouth it is. Thank God for braces.”
That snapped me out of it. I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my childhood. “Shoo, hotshot. Don’t you have something better to do?”
He grinned. “I can think of a few things.”
I turned and walked away, doing my best to shake off the aftershocks still humming under my skin. Beckett Conway was trouble, and my body needed to get the message.
Fast.
8
The steadyding, ding, dingof the truck—door open, engine running—wasn't nearly enough to pull me back to reality. Wrapped in a ridiculous knee-length puffer and still managing to short-circuit my entire nervous system, Emmy disappeared into that new Pilates studio like she hadn’t just flipped my world upside down in under five minutes.
And somehow, I was still standing there, stunned like a kid seeing fireworks for the first time.
