And shewas right back on campus during a blinding spring snowstorm, wending her way toher apartment, her arms overflowing with the contents of a backpack that hadjust split and spilled everything onto an icy sidewalk. A battered gray pickuppulled up beside her. The passenger door flew open, and there was Beckett,leaning across a blanket-covered bench seat. “Get in. I’ll take you home.”
Sheturned him down. He rolled his eyes.
“It’sdaylight, it’s not that far, and I don’t bite,” he insisted.
As ifthe gods who cheered for him were busy manipulating dials in their celestialviewing chamber, two books slipped from her grasp and under his truck. Hejumped out, unburdened her of her armful, and threw it into the truck beforeretrieving her betraying books. She reluctantly followed her contents into thewarm cab.
He slidin behind the wheel and gruffly said, “Seat belt.”
As shebuckled up and he pulled away from the curb, he glanced at her. “You don’t likeme one bit, do you? You’d rather get stuck in the snow than in a car with me.And all I’m trying to do is be nice. Have you got so many friends you don’thave room for more?”
Tinythrusts of guilt stabbed at her. Paige had never gone for the popular guys, theones all the other girls wanted. She’d gone for the mature guys, ones off thebeaten path whose faces were etched with lines of character. When her friendsfoamed at the mouth for Chris Evans or Jake Gyllenhaal, she picked Hugo Weavingbecause his take-charge Elrond oozed a steadiness and comfort that reverberatedin her.
BeckettMiller was solidly in the Chris Evans category.
“Ialways have room for a friend, but not one with ulterior motives,” she sniffed.
He letout a humorless laugh. “Wow. You’re pretty damn sure of yourself, aren’t you?What if I just enjoy watching you take hummingbird sips of beer? What if I haveno fu—flipping designs on you whatever? I mean you’re cute and all, but what ifI’m not into girls?”
Shearched an eyebrow at him.
Heshrugged. “Could be an act. Maybe I use them as a cover to check out guys. Youever consider that?”
“I canhonestly say the thought never crossed my mind.”
Shepointed out where she lived, and he parked his truck in front of her building.
Hecraned his neck and peered out the windshield. “I used to visit this building.I was seeing a girl on the third floor.”
Paigegave him a sidelong glance. “Oh my God, that’s right above ours. Was that youmaking all that racket? Gwenn and I used to wonder what made the girl screamlike that.”
Herubbed a finger over his chin before meeting her gaze with deadly seriousness.“Part of my cover.”
Laughterhad bubbled up and burst inside her. Beckett had joined in, clutching hisstomach. She could still hear his laugh. Warm and rich.
“Youare so ridiculous!” she’d gasped.
“Am I? Iguess I am,” he chuckled, wiping his cheeks with the heels of his hands. “Okay,so be my friend and keep me in line.”
Sherubbed moisture from an eye. “Way above my pay grade. I’m no lion tamer.”
Hecocked his head. “Who says I need a lion tamer? Although I would enjoy athorough fur-ruffling once in a while.”
Shebelted out a horselaugh. “Intuition tells me you have plenty of volunteers onstandby ready to ruffle your fur.”
Oneeyebrow lifted to his rumpled hairline. “Then be my study partner, Andie.”
Sheshook her head, and his blue gaze sank into her, making her heart rate soar.
“I’mnot giving up. I’ll think of something you can’t refuse,” he promised with awink.
Thepromise had mattered little. Within days after graduating, he’d signed with theLA Kings and left for the big league, entering the high-flying world of fameand money. She’d never seen him again. Like the rest of small-town, she’d nodoubt blurred into an insignificant memory in his mental archives.
.~ * * * ~.
Beckett glanced at his phone: 10:13. No missed calls, notexts. No different from when he’d checked it at 10:10 or 9:54. He stared outhis car window, now parked across the street from his dark restaurant. No onecould see him, but he saw them, the multitudes who walked up, paused, stared atthe sign, shook their heads, and walked off. What was he doing here besidesgetting more depressed? Hoping Jackie would return to the scene of the crimeand … what? Apologize?
He’dchecked the restaurant’s bank account on his phone app and confirmed his worstfear: a large withdrawal yesterday afternoon had taken the balance to zero. Thepolice had barely kept from laughing when he’d filed a complaint. Their smirkshadn’t escaped his attention. “Sure, Mr. Miller, we’ll try to track down your manager.In the meantime, can I have your autograph for my kid?” How they loved to stickit to guys like him.
What heneeded was a distraction after this day. Sitting alone in his car wasn’t goingto do it for him. He looked at his phone again and scrolled through thecontacts. Few women made it into Beckett’s phone, and those that were therewere professional acquaintances or ones he hadn’t gotten around to deleting.
Hedialed one. “Hey, Monica? It’s Beckett. It has been a while, huh? What? Hey,wait. Monica?” She hung up. Delete.
Hedialed another one and got a recorded female voice saying she was out of thecountry and she’d be easier to reach through email. Beckett looked at his phonebefore disconnecting.
“Thirdtime’s the charm.” He dialed again. A man answered. “Uh, is Heather there?”Beckett asked, then held his breath.
“Who isthis?” came a gruff reply.
“Sorry,man. I must have the wrong number.”
A fewminutes later, his phone rang. Heather. “Hey, Heather. I wasn’t sure I calledthe right number. Who was—oh. When did you get married? I hope I didn’t causeany—yeah, you too. And congratulations.” Delete.
Beckettstepped from his car and shrugged on his suit jacket. The tie had come off longago. After feeding the meter, he headed down the street to prowl the localhaunts for the diversion he was after—one powerful enough to haul his mind outof the crapper.
Hefound it as he was checking out the action in a club on Blake Street.
