Page 97 of Hopeless
“Like, you want to go swimming?”
I swallow and shake my head.
“Stay here? In your bed?”
I nod, biting at the inside of my cheek and kicking myself for coming off all Old Beau before. I acted confident and commanding whenthisis what I feel like inside. Panicked, and sore, and lonely.
I must be giving Bailey whiplash. It’s not fair to need her like this. It wasn’t the deal we made. But I care less about that deal all the time and more about keeping her close.
“If this is you offering some sort of pity sex, I don’t want it.”
I scoff and hang my head.This girl.
“I’m serious, Beau.” She walks toward me. “If I’m going to lose my virginity, it’s going to be hot. Not sad.”
I bark out a dry laugh and swap to staring up at the ceiling as she approaches. “Dear God, send help. I’m so far out of my depth with my fiancée.”
She points at the ceiling as though adding to my fake prayer. “Same for me, big fella. Send help. I’m engaged to the most confusing man in the world.”
Then she moves past me and crawls onto the bed.
“You’re going to stay?” I turn to ask.
She tugs back the covers and wriggles in with a grumbled, “I can’t believe our military thought you were cut out for special ops. Get in. I’m tired.” Her hand pats the mattress matter-of-factly, and she flops back on the pillows like she owns the place.
I thought she might be awkward, but I should have known better. Bailey might get uncomfortable around other people.
But not me.
“Why do I get the mouthy version of you and everyone else gets the agreeable version?” I ask as I stand up, flick the bedside light on, and head to my ensuite bathroom. Once I grab the body lotion, hoping it will help the sensation in my feet, I head back to the bed.
Bailey shrugs, wild dark mane tumbling around her shoulders, a web of creases on her cheek from where she was clearly passed out against a crinkled pillow. “I’ve thought about that. I think it’s because I know you won’t hurt me.”
I suck in a hissing breath like I’ve just been sucker punched.
“What are you doing?” she asks, carrying on with her stream of consciousness as I take a seat beside her on the bed.
“Rubbing some lotion on my feet.”
“As one does in the middle of the night,” she replies dryly.
I snort and carry on, propping one foot over my quad to spread cool cream over the mottled skin.
Bailey watches without speaking.
I glance at her and her eyes flick to mine but drop back to my foot. I swap to the opposite foot and start rubbing. I wish I could say it was making them better, but my hands just feel like chafing on raw skin. I growl in frustration, refusing to look up at her.
The silence between us is almost awkward.
And then Bailey says, “It rubs the lotion on its skin,” in the softest, most sugary voice.
I crack up.
My feet burn like I’m stuck in that fucking cave, but I didn’t laugh then. “Bailey!” I wheeze her name and tears prick at my eyes. “Please tell me you did not just quoteThe Silence of the Lambsright now.”
Her melodic laughter caresses my ears and the bed shakes beneath us as we both laugh over the creepiest fucking quote she could have pulled out.
But that’s Bailey. Saying random shit at random moments.
