about what it was like being Aspen’s most-talked-about bachelor. It was comfortable. Dangerously comfortable.
“No, I can’t stand Channing.”
“She sure likes you.” The words seemed to have some weight to them. Beck tried not to think about what that meant. Despite the fact they were acting like good old friends, something was off. Beck knew exactly what. It was because he’d tasted every inch of her body and he’d liked it. Liked it so much, he craved another round. And another. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have your pick of the bar. Anyway, I’ve got to go. The bartender told me he’s off in fifteen minutes.”
Now Beck felt like he’d been hit with a ton of bricks. She was going to take that lame guy home after that pathetic show at the bar when he let that patron slobber all over her? She was going to show him her red lace? His brain felt short-circuited. The world he lived in no longer made sense.
“You’re going to fuck him?” He stared at Allie as if seeing her for the first time. “You don’t even know his name.”
“That never stopped you before.”
“Yeah, but, Al. You’re not me.” He thought this was obvious. Al didn’t do casual. She’d never done anything casual in her whole life. She was all in or nothing. There wasn’t an in-between with her.
“I’m not?” The challenge in her voice was unmistakable. “Maybe I’ve been going about my life all wrong. Maybe I’ve been boring.”
What was she even talking about? “You’re not boring.” She was anything but. And taking after him was the last thing she ought to do. If only she knew how little he’d enjoyed anything or anyone since the weekend they’d spent together, how he drifted aimlessly through nights with strangers like a robot. He could go through the motions, but he felt numb inside, as if he was stuck in a performance trying to convince himself that sex could be half as good with anyone else. He already knew it would never be as good with anyone as with Allie.
“Al…” He sighed. He knew all he had to do was pull out his phone right now, and in seconds he’d probably have a Tinder hookup waiting in the parking lot. There was no way she’d believe that was the last thing he wanted with her standing in front of him. “If you take that guy home, it’ll be a mistake.” Then she’d feel the emptiness he felt, the uselessness of it all. “You’ll regret it.”
He was speaking only the truth, but she immediately took offense.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said. He recognized Allie’s stubbornness, but not this newfound determination to sleep around. She didn’t avoid her problems by having sex with strangers. That was Beck’s coping mechanism, as ill-advised as it was.
She cared too much, that was Allie’s problem, and she wasn’t built for casual sex. It was why it had been a colossal mistake for him to go there. He wasn’t a relationship guy. Allie deserved the guy who bought her flowers and wrote his own sappy poems in Valentine’s Day cards. Not the guy who didn’t plan his life more than a week in advance. “Please don’t take him home.” Beck realized he had no sway anymore. As much as he wanted to protect her and keep her safe from scruffy-bearded bartenders, he actually didn’t have a say in her life.
“Why do you care?”
“Because…” He never stopped caring—that was the whole problem. Because he was jealous, even though he had no right to be. “Because I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I think it’s a little late for that.” She blinked, and he worried for a second she might cry. If she cried, he’d be undone; he wouldn’t be able to keep his resolve. He’d pull her into his arms and beg her for forgiveness. And that wouldn’t help either of them. How could he tell her that he’d just find a way to disappoint her? Later, five or even ten years down the line, the Beck genes would come roaring to the surface. They always did.
“I’m…” He almost said “sorry” but stopped himself. Sorry wasn’t enough. “Just…please don’t do this.”
She took a step closer to him and he felt his own heart tick up, the thought of pain and heartbreak slipping away. Her perfume was in his nose, and all he wanted to do was inhale. She was so close he could dip down and kiss her now, show her what it meant to be properly kissed, not slathered on. He could kiss her in the way he knew she liked. Every bit of him wanted to. Wanted to feel her lips once more against his. Make her sigh into his mouth.
“You can’t tell me what to do anymore,” Allie said, voice low.
Beck couldn’t help it. He chuckled and shook his head slowly. “Al, I never could tell you what to do.” And he wasn’t dumb enough to start now. “I just don’t think the bartender is the answer to your problems,” he said. “Trust me, I know.” He couldn’t even remember the names of the women he’d been with but he knew that they’d only made him feel lonelier.
“Maybe the bartender is just what I need.” Her green eyes were ablaze with defiance. “Maybe I’ll just accept any crazy dare that Mira or anyone else throws my way. Not because I’m scared of what Mira or anyone else thinks, but maybe I’ll do it just because I can.”
Allie stabbed a finger in his chest, and Beck felt laughter bubble up in his throat, which he promptly squashed. There was no way he’d tell her that her anger coupled with her elf shoes made her off-the-charts adorable.
“Look, you don’t have anything to prove to me, okay?” he managed. If this was about trying to make him jealous, he needed to stop this right here and now. She needed to get past him if she was ever going to truly be happy with someone else.
“Why do you think it’s about you? None of this is about you.” Allie’s right eyebrow twitched, her tell. She was lying.
“This isn’t about me?” Beck knew he shouldn’t poke the bear. Knew he should just let her leave the little alcove feeling like she’d won this fight. But Beck couldn’t let it go. She needed to face her feelings, or they’d always have control over her. She’d never get over him, if she was always trying to prove she was over him. The ultimate irony.
Not that he’d done much better. He’d faced his feelings for Allie every day since that weekend, and it hadn’t helped him one bit. He had no idea how forty-eight hours had upended his life, but they had.
“You think it’s about that weekend? It’s not.” Again, her eyebrow twitched. “I don’t even think about that weekend.”
Now he knew for sure she was lying.
“You don’t?”
“No. I don’t.” She glared at him. He’d made her come more times than she could count, and she’d shouted his name in a hoarse ecstasy that he’d never heard before. She absolutely remembered. He would bet money on it. Hell, he’d bet all his money on it. “You think I won’t take that bartender home? Just dare me. I will.” He almost wanted to catch her up in his arms right then, show her who she should be taking home tonight.
“If you need me to dare you, then maybe you’re not all that into the idea,” he said dryly.
She flipped her hair from her eyes and looked as if she might breathe fire, burn him to ash if she could. That’s it, he thought. Get angry. Angry was much better than sad. Anger could help her get stronger. Sadness would eat her alive, but anger would help her fight.
