Griffin is in clear view now to the phone, giving Beck quite the show as he moves around my kitchen, pouring some water on the chicken, and then taking it outside. “Let me handle this for you.”
When he steps out of the kitchen, I turn to Beck and say, “Sorry, he must have heard the smoke alarm going off. He doesn’t live very far from me.” My explanation is cut off when the phone says poor connection, will resume shortly. Damn you, iPhone.
“There, that should do it.” Griffin comes in the house with only an oven mitt in hand. “I left the chicken outside to cool off and remove the smell. Keep the windows open for at least an hour to help with the smoke and please, for the sake of the neighborhood, get your oven cleaned before you cook anything else. Something dripped to the bottom, and that’s why there was so much smoke, like double the amount.”
“Oh.” I nod. “That’s why she called for a bigger pan in the recipe.”
Griffin shakes his head and squeezes my shoulder. “Stick to the writing, Rylee.” He smiles his handsome smile, then takes off toward the sliding glass door. “Holler if you need anything.”
“Sure, thanks.” Feeling awkward, I turn back to my phone where Beck is waiting patiently, hands clasped in front of him, his forearms flexing from his grip.
Not knowing what to really do, I drop the apron on my counter, pick up the phone, and take it to the couch where I prop it up on my tucked-in knees. There’s nothing I can do about the smoke but let it air out on its own, so I devote my time to Beck instead.
“Sorry about that.” I wince, hoping . . . hell, I don’t know what I hope. It’s not like Beck and I are dating, but then again, we talk so much that I kind of feel like I owe him an explanation. “He is a volunteer firefighter—”
“I miss you.” Beck’s voice is gruff. He grips the back of his neck, pulling on it and rubbing it. “Damn it, Rylee, I miss you a whole fucking lot.”
Well, that’s not what I expected him to say, but I can’t deny the little jump in my heart it’s giving me.
“Do you miss me, Rylee? Or is this a one-sided feeling? Tell me now, because if you’re not experiencing the same kind of feeling, I have to know. I don’t want to keep calling you, and thinking about you every goddamn day, if you’re not missing the hell out of me too.”
As much as I want to deny my growing feelings for Beck, as much as for my heart’s sake I should tell him no, there is no way I can tell him I don’t miss him. It’s a blatant lie. I feel sheer panic from the thought of him not calling me anymore. This is stupid. I spent a few days with him on an island and over a month with him on the phone, and yet, I feel this bond between us, this electric force pulling us together.
Biting on the inside of my cheek, I nod, unable to squeak the words out.
“No, Rylee. I need to hear it. I need you to tell me.” There is a different tone to his voice, a . . . desperation about him that I’ve never heard before and what’s really weird, is that I can feel the same desperation inside me.
Making eye contact with him, I say, “I miss you, too, Beck.”
Briefly he shuts his eyes and exhales. “Thank fuck.”
“Were you really that worried? Isn’t it obvious I miss you?”
“Hell, I don’t know, Rylee.” He grumbles something as he rubs his hand over his face. “Fuck.” Looking at me now, leaning forward, his stare cutting through me, he says, “Meet me somewhere.”
“What?” My brow pulls together.
“Let’s crash another wedding. Meet me somewhere, anywhere, and we can crash another wedding, maybe spend more time together, see where these feelings are taking us.”
“Why crash another wedding?”
“Because, that’s what we do.” He says it so matter-of-factly, it’s hard to give it a second thought.
“I don’t know anyone getting married.”
“That’s the point. We could truly crash a wedding this time.”
“But . . . how would we know where to go?”
A devilish smile passes over his lips. “That’s easy, the wedding capital of the world. Vegas, baby.”
“You want to go to Las Vegas to crash a wedding?” I raise my eyebrows in question. This might be the dumbest idea ever, but I’m actually entertaining the possibility.
“Yeah, why the hell not? We meet up, scour the wedding chapels, maybe take a few pictures with the bride and groom, do a little gambling, and then spend the rest of the time in our hotel room. Sounds like a fucking fantastic time to me.”
“You’re serious?” I don’t know why I asked the question, because I can see it in his eyes. He’s locked in on this idea.
“Completely serious. This Friday, let’s do it.”
“But . . .”
He chuckles. “While you wrack your mind for an excuse, I’m booking a flight.” He stands from the couch, propping the phone up on something and quickly returns with a computer. His fingers furiously type across the keyboard.
“Beck, are you really booking a flight?”
Without saying a word, he turns the computer around for me to see the airline flight he’s on. Oh my God, he’s really doing it. “Better hurry up and get your computer, Saucy. Flights from Maine might be booking up.” He looks up from his computer and says, “You know you want to see me.”
Damn it, I do. Ever since we turned up the heat and I was ready to masturbate while he watched, I feel as though I’ve been on pins and needles. So horny. So frustrated. So needy . . . for him.
Gnawing on my lip for all but two seconds, I get up from my couch, grab my computer, and start searching through flights, the impulse decision sending a rush of excitement through me.
“That’s my girl.” There is a huge grin across Beck’s face. That grin. I’ve come to love that grin. Am I really doing this? Are we really going to see if there is more between us than just the mini-vacay jaunt? Yes. We are. And to be honest, I love that he wants this. That he wants to see where our feelings lead us.
God, this is going to be so worth it.
Nervous about flying?” the guy next to me asks as he sips from the stir straws of his drink.
“What? No.” I shake my head.
“Oh, well it looks like it from the way your legs are bouncing up and down, as if they’re trying to create turbulence.”
I still my legs and release my grip on the armrests. I couldn’t care less about flying. I never get nervous about slicing through the skies in a metal tube. No, the bounce of my legs and the death grip on my armrest