Page 6 of The Lies You Love
His smile fades, but the light in his dark eyes sparks brighter. “I look forward to that.”
His buddies make a show of saying goodbye. They’re loud, raucous, and drunk. They clap his back and congratulate him. For what, I’m not sure. Like I’m a catch? There’s no way.
“I need to tell my friends goodbye. Where is your place? And uh, your last name?”
Beckett seems amused. “You’re worried?”
I see two of him right now, so I’m definitely a little uncomfortable. “A woman can never be too careful in this day and age. There are a lot of sick people out there. Now you’re a very attractive man, like, really fucking hot,” I say, horrified at my word vomit. Beckett folds his arms, looking at me, amused. “But so was Ted Bundy.”
“Ted Bundy was average at best. He was just charming,” he counters. “Convincing is what Bundy was good at. My last name is Fallon, and my apartment is three blocks up. What’s your cell number? I’ll text you the full address and my mother’s maiden name.”
“Are you being an ass?” I counter.
He furrows his brow. “No. I’m serious.”
“Oh,” I say.
He’s a decent human who also appears to resemble a stacked supermodel. Great. Even more out of my league than I initially thought. I give him my phone number, and he does as he said. I forward the message to my friend group. I watch as they take out their phones at the notification and as they scan the room looking for me. Beckett is standing next to me when I wave. Margot looks worried, Lindsey and Betty are pissed but impressed, and Megan is so drunk her phone is probably at the bottom of the fish tank in the corner. I tuck my arm into his and let him guide me out into the night.
He doesn’t say anything more to his friends. He just leaves with me, a massive smile on his face. The night air is warm, and I have a sticky layer of sweat from the damn tights and packed bodies in the building. I’d give anything to look my best right now. Beckett is the kind of guy I might pretend with. There’s no chance of that with my self-esteem in the dumpster, though.
“I was going to go up to you if you didn’t come up to me first,” Beckett says, peering down at me.
“Me in particular or one of my other grandmother friends?”
“You,” he replies. “You had the nicest ass of the group.”
I blow out an embarrassed breath. “It was supposed to be funny. The big ass, but then it just got uncomfortable. And hot. And it was a bad idea. I guess not that bad of an idea if it caught your eye, though.”
He chuckles. “It caught my eye alright.” Beckett clears his throat. “Won’t you miss hanging out with your friend for her celebrations? The night is young.”
“Won’t you?” I counter.
He shakes his head. “They won’t miss me, and you are definitely someone I’d rather be hanging with. You could say I’ve been waiting a long time to hang out with you.”
The statement takes my breath away. “You don’t know me,” I say.
“I will.”
My heart skips a beat. “You don’t have to know me,” I say.
We stop in front of his apartment building. “And if I want to?”
How does he make digging in his pocket sexy? “That would be okay,” I say, trying and failing to sound in control, sober, someone not looking for a one-night stand.
Beckett finds his key card and swipes us into this building, then takes my hand as we trek up three flights of stairs to his apartment. It’s one of those older apartments that people are snatching up to remodel and flip because the area became up and coming. I’ve had lunch at the restaurant across the street a few times. I’m huffing and puffing, and I’m even more sweaty than I was before when he pushes open the door and holds out an arm so I can go in first.
“Will all of your friends be coming back here tonight?”
He’s not fazed by the stairs at all. Stamina. I like it. It also is a little scary because his positives column grows by the second.
“They aren’t. They have a suite in a hotel near the last bar in the crawl. Place is ours!” He raises his arms out to the sides. “If that’s okay with you? Would you prefer someone else be here?”
“Why wouldn’t it be okay with me?” I fire back.
“You did come home with me without much fuss. There wasn’t much of a conversation.” He grabs a bottle of alcohol from a bar cart and pours a glass. “You sure you’re okay with this?” He motions between us with his drink.
“What’s this?” I counter, enjoying the fact he seems to be double-checking his permission slip now that we’ve already boarded the bus.
