“Yours?” he asks.
I blink. “The massage was really great. Thank you again.”
“My pleasure.” His eyes flick over my legs. That attraction I felt last night flares to life. But then—
More silence.
I hate this.
I fucking hate this.
When we pull up in front of Beau’s new place, I remember I haven’t seen it yet.
“It’s beautiful,” is all I can manage. It’s new, but the intentionally weathered siding makes it look like it’s been here for generations. It’s gigantic, a rambling, barn-like home with shutters and greenery galore.
His Bentley is parked in the gravel motor court out front.
“You like it?” There’s pride in his voice. “A Bobby McAlpine original.”
Of course Beau would have hired one of the world’s preeminent architects to design his house. He can be flashy, but he also has good taste. He was always into art, design, literature.
The house is a manifestation of his intense interest in the world and his appreciation for beauty.
“It’s perfect,” I say. “It’s you. A little country. A little obnoxious.”
“A lot awesome, you mean.”
I grin, and he grins too, and for a split second, we’re back to where we need to be.
He holds the house’s side door open with his arm. I have to get close to him to pass through. I almost wince at how painful my desire for him is at that moment.
At how painfully awkward this feels.
“I have a fire goin’ on the back porch, and the food’s being set up out there too. That sound okay to you?”
“Sounds great.”
I try hard not to read too much into the way Beau puts his hand on the small of my back as he guides me down the steps to the patio.
The view is out of this world. The sun sets over the mountains, blue peaks and purple ridges stretching out before us as far as the eye can see. The sky is a rainbow of muted colors, orange fading to green to deep blue. Clouds are gauzy tonight, like cotton batting pulled loose.
A plane, high up, razors a white tear in the blue.
A fire crackles merrily in a massive fireplace to my right. A dining table and chairs are to my left, along with a huge outdoor sectional.
A handful of men and women bustle around the table. It’s set with way more food than Beau and I could eat in a lifetime. A basket of biscuits, bowls of collards and grits, an enormous roast surrounded by carrots, potatoes, Brussels sprouts. There’s also a plate of cookies and a pie.
I notice the wine glasses are filled with sparkling water. Beau being thoughtful again.
The setup is lavish and over the top in all the best ways. So Beau.
But it feels like he’s…not bribing me, but making up for something, maybe.
Apologizing?
Grabbing the sparkling water, Beau hands a glass to me. He taps his glass to mine, cutting me a glance from the corner of his eyes. “Cheers, Bel.”
His voice is deeper than normal. Rougher.
His eyes are still serious, and I still want him.
I sip my water, wishing it were wine. Maybe then it’d give me the liquid courage to say what I need to say.
To: John Riley Beauregard ([email protected])
From: Annabel Rhodes ([email protected])
January 02, 2006 08:00 AM EST
Subject: Miss ya more
Oh, Beau, my heart aches for you. I’m so sorry to hear about your dad. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you and for your family. I’m thinking about y’all and sending lots of hugs your way. If there’s anything I can do, you’ll let me know, okay? Asheville isn’t that far. I can hop in my car and be there by dinner. Or you could come here? You know my mom would LOVE to see you. I think she may like you more than me. Then again, who doesn’t?
I know it’s hard to see your mom so upset. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about moms, it’s that they have this, like, superhuman strength. Just remember you don’t need to be everything to everyone. Let yourself grieve. Like you always tell me, it’s okay to fall apart. I’ll be here to help you pick up the pieces, same as you were there for me. Promise. Just like you promised to do my laundry and clean my dorm room after losing to me not once, not twice, but three times at beer pong.
I’ll let it slide this time. The laundry, not the cleaning. I’ll have a broom and some Lysol ready when we get back on campus. For a guy who’s really, really good at pretty much every sport ever, you suck at beer pong. Sorry, but I know you’ll agree. We’ll work on it.
I’ve watched a fair bit of porn this break, thank you very much. Steve’s been at his family’s beach house so I’ve been flying solo. Literally and figuratively.
Your favorite lady perv,