Butterfly Dreams (15 page)

“I want you to give
us
a chance.”

“I'm not sure, Beck. You don't know me—”

“Then let me get to know you. I want to know everything.”

I pulled back, needing room to breathe. Distance suddenly seemed necessary.

“You don't know what you're asking for. I could change into a wolf at the full moon and eat you whole,” I said lightly. Trying to make a joke. It wasn't a very good one.

Beckett didn't laugh.

“I know exactly what I'm asking for.”

He moved closer again, closing the gap. “Even if you turned into a wolf.”

How could I say no to him? Ever?

“Sure,” I finally said.

“Sure?” Beckett's lips curved upward, his eyes twinkling.

“That's what I said,” I answered with a shrug. I was trying to act nonchalant. I was a really bad liar. My eyes twinkled back.

“That wasn't the most enthusiastic response I have ever heard. Do you need some time to think about it?” Beckett was laughing now. He knew what I was thinking. What I was feeling.

Because he just
got
me.

“Hmm, maybe you're right and I
should
think about it some more,” I kidded. My stomach was in knots. My hands were still sweating. I prayed that my deodorant was still working.

But I was smiling.

Really smiling.

“Time's up, Corin. The ‘sure' stands. And now that I think about it, it's the best word I've ever heard.” He seemed so happy. It was infectious. It made me forget about my misgivings. Forget about my fears.

Forget about everything but being here with him.

Then he was on his feet and pulling me to mine.

Before I could ask him what he was doing, Beckett was kissing me.

Really kissing me.

The kind of kisses that made you forget sense and reason.

The kind that made you forget where you were.

The kind of kiss that you never came back from.

Ever.

And it was then that I started to swim.

“What am I going to wear? Mr. Bingley, help!”

I threw another shirt onto my bed in exasperation. Mr. Bingley sat on my armchair licking his ass and giving me disdainful looks. I was clearly interrupting his naptime and he was
not
happy.

“I should have let Tamsin have you.” I glared at him and he gave me his version of kitty stink eye before resuming his butt licking.

I wasn't the kind of girl to change her clothes a million times. I typically didn't bother with my hair and it took an act of God to have me apply any makeup. And shaving? Maybe once in an ice age.

But tonight was different.

Tonight I was going on an honest-to-goodness date.

And not with just any Joe Schmo.

I was going on a date with Beckett Kingsley.

My good buddy, lasagna hater, green-tea-drinking Beckett Kingsley.

Not only were we going on a date, but it was most likely going to be a date with kissing. Hopefully lots of kissing. And that made me tingle all over.

I was a twenty-five-year-old woman trying to suppress the urge to run around the room shrieking and squealing like a teenager at her first boy band concert.

“Ahh!” I screeched, startling Mr. Bingley, who was now officially pissed off. He jumped off the bed and sauntered out into the living room where he could sleep without my random bursts of crazy.

I looked in the mirror at the navy blue dress I had tried on and winced. It looked like something a grandmother would pick out. What was I smoking when I paid money for this thing?

I pulled it over my head and stood in the middle of the room in just my bra and underwear. At least I liked my undergarments. They were a cute pair with pink polka dots. No granny panties tonight.

I sort of wanted to put on my robe and crawl back into bed. This whole getting-ready-to-go-out-with-Beckett thing was way too stressful.

I hadn't slept at all the night before. My mind was racing through so many different things. I couldn't calm down long enough to drift off.

But there hadn't been any panic attacks. It was the first time in ages I hadn't experienced one during those dark hours.

My doorbell rang.

What?

I looked at the clock and realized it was already 7:30.

So that meant it was Beckett on the other side of the door.

Shit.

I looked down at my half-naked body.

Shit!

And then I started freaking out.

“I'll be right there!” I yelled.

Should I let him in?

But I was practically naked!

I couldn't let him see me like this!

Maybe I should own it. Shake my hips and let him get a look at the goods.

Like
that
would ever happen.

Crap, what was I going to wear?

I grabbed a pair of jeans from my floor and wiggled them on, not really paying attention to which ones they were.

I reached into my closet and pulled the closest shirt off the rack. I tied my hair into a ponytail and slipped on a comfortable pair of ballet flats.

I hoped Beckett hadn't planned on five-star dining because I was dressed more for a McDonalds milkshake before hanging with the bowling league.

“Sorry,” I said, out of breath, opening the door and letting Beckett inside.

“I was starting to think I needed to break in and make sure you hadn't gotten stuck in the toilet or something.” Beckett looked damn near perfect in a dark pair of jeans and button-up blue shirt the same color as his eyes.

He had even gotten a haircut.
Way to make me feel like a total underachiever in the getting ready department, buddy.

“Looks like you cut yourself,” I said, indicating the piece of toilet paper stuck to his chin.

“Fuck. I forgot about that,” he muttered, pulling it off, looking embarrassed.

“You should have left it there. It's cute,” I teased, putting on my black wool coat.

“You ready?” he asked.

“As I'll ever be.” I gave him a wide smile and he laughed.

“I'm not taking you to your death by firing squad. You could act a bit more excited.”

I jumped up and down, clapping my hands together. “OMG, Beck! I can't wait!” I gasped.

“Is that better?” I asked, closing my apartment door behind me and locking it.

“Much.” Beckett leaned down and I swear he was checking out my ass.

“Excuse me, but what in the hell are you doing?” I demanded.

“Are you aware that the Cheshire cat is on your right butt cheek?”

I craned my body to get a look at what he was talking about. And sure enough, there was a bright purple patch with the damn Cheshire cat on my derriere.

“I must have picked up the wrong jeans,” I groaned. These were my hanging-out-doing-laundry jeans. Not meant to be seen by anyone but myself and the cat.

“I was in a rush. I couldn't figure out what to wear. It was stressful,” I tried to explain, pulling my coat down over my feline-covered bum.

“The last thing I want is to stress you out, Cor-Cor.”

I smacked his arm. “I thought I warned you about using that damn nickname,” I threatened.

“I show up with toilet paper stuck to my face and you have a cat on your butt. I think we make a pretty awesome pair,” Beckett snickered, unlocking his car.

I started to open the passenger side door when he stopped me. “No! Wait!”

“Uh. Is there a problem?” I asked, holding my hands up and backing away from the vehicle.

Beckett hurried around to my side of the car and opened the door. “Now you can get in.”

“I'm quite capable of opening my own door, Beckett. I was born after 1950, you know.”

I got in and buckled my seat belt, tickled more than I should be by his behavior. I had never had a guy hold a door open for me before. It wasn't something that I had ever thought much about.

But it was sort of nice.

Not that I would
ever
admit that out loud.

To anyone.

“My momma raised me right, Corin. And that means treating the woman I'm with like a lady.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Lame.”

“Yeah, well, that's all I have going for me because I don't know where the hell I'm taking you,” Beckett said.

“What? You don't know where we're going? What kind of first date is this?” I asked, chuckling. It was funny. Really, really funny.

We were such a strange pair. It was kind of perfect.

“You weren't the only one stressing out. Why does it always have to be up to the guy to figure out where to eat and what to do?” he complained, turning the car on.

“Says the guy who insists on opening my car door for me like I don't have my own hands.”

“Well, Miss I'm-My-Own-Woman, where should we go? And does that mean you're going to pay for me?”

“Don't go too crazy,” I joked. We grinned at each other and any concerns I had about going on a date with Beckett disappeared.

I forgot that I was weird and awkward when I was around him. Mostly because he seemed to dig that about me.

“So what do you feel like eating? There's a nice French restaurant by the river,” he suggested.

“You've seen the cat on my butt. I don't think I'm dressed for anything French. I could go change if you really want to—”

“No way. It gives me an excuse to check out your ass all night.” Beckett smirked and I bit down on my lip.

“Should I give it a little shake for good measure then?”

Beckett's eyes brightened. “Would you? Pretty please?”

I groaned. “How about we figure out where we're going to eat before I starve to death? We can talk about my butt later.”

As if on cue, my stomach growled. Loudly.

“Okay, obviously we need to prioritize here. If you don't want fancy, what are you in the mood for?”

“Lasagna?” I asked seriously.

Beckett narrowed his eyes at me. “You're the funniest woman I know,” he deadpanned.

I winked at him and he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Seriously, I'm a meat and potatoes kind of girl. Nothing special.”

“Ahh, then I know just the place.”

We didn't drive far and pulled up in front of a restaurant I hadn't been to in years.

“How did you know about this place?” I asked, getting out of the car.

“My dad used to bring me here after baseball practice,” Beckett said, giving me a strange look. “Have you been here before?”

I nodded and swallowed thickly. “With my parents.”

“Do you not like it? We can go somewhere else—”

“No, it's fine. Perfect actually. I love the food here.” I plastered a smile on my face and breathed through the pain. But it wasn't overwhelming.

Not this time.

Beckett took my hand, so naturally, like he had done it a thousand times, and we walked into the tiny diner on the edge of town. It smelled just how I remembered it. Like fried food and apple pie.

Beckett led us to a booth, handing me a menu after we sat down.

“It hasn't changed at all,” I said in wonder, looking around.

The Star City Diner was a piece of my history I hadn't thought about in a long time. But now I remembered drinking chocolate malts and eating piles of mozzarella sticks.

I had forgotten the simple joy of cracked plastic booths and sticky menus. It had become mired down by other memories.

“I find it a little crazy that we've lived in the same town most of our lives and have never met until now,” Beckett commented, and I had to wonder at the same thing.

Southborough, Virginia, wasn't a big place. How was it that we had never crossed paths until we happened to be in the same support group?

But timing was everything. And perhaps we hadn't met until fate had felt that we were ready. Until we were at a place in our lives where we desperately needed each other.

“Did you go to Central High School?” I asked, and Beckett shook his head.

“I went to Mountain Valley. My parents live right on the border between the districts so I ended up over there.”

We placed our orders, burgers and fries all around. No surprise there.

“Well, I never went out much, so maybe it's not that surprising we've never crossed paths,” I admitted.

“It's a shame,” Beckett mused.

“What is?”

Beckett's smile was sweet and oh so swoony. “That I didn't find you sooner.” His eyes twinkled. My eyes twinkled.

I tried really hard not to let out a loud, noisy sigh.

“This is nice. I'd rather do this than sit in some stuffy restaurant where you can't speak above a whisper.” Beckett took a drink of water.

“I'm lucky if I get a microwave dinner most nights, so this is great.”

“So you don't cook?” he asked.

“Oh I cook. I just choose not to. Not much of a point when you're cooking for one.” Yep, I was the loser who ate by herself while feeding the cat table scraps and trying not to get teary during Hallmark commercials. Way to look like a winner, Corin!

“Well, I could burn water. I used to try and help my mother with dinner when I was a kid, but I usually ended up setting something on fire. The kitchen is a scary place for me.”

“Maybe I need to give you a cooking lesson or two. My mom taught me everything I know.”

“Really? That's cool. What's your mom like?” he asked innocently, sipping on his iced tea.

“Dead,” I said bluntly.

Christ! Why had I said it like that?

Beckett went pale, his mouth falling open. “Corin, I didn't know. I'm so sor—”

“You do
not
need to tell me you're sorry. It happened a long time ago.” I was mortified that I had thrown that particularly tragic fact into his face. I had given the poor guy no warning. I really did suck at the whole first-date thing. Which is why in my less than stellar romantic history, there wasn't often a second one.

“So you were raised by your dad?”

“Uh, he's dead too.” Ack! What was wrong with me? There had to be a better way to tell him this stuff!

Beckett ran his hand through his hair. “I'm two for two on the clueless asshole scale tonight it seems.”

“Beck, you didn't know. I don't really talk about it.”

Then the awkward silence.

Way to go, Corin
. This had to be a new record. Killed the date in less than thirty minutes. I was waiting for him to ask for the check. I wouldn't have blamed him.

“Can I ask if you have siblings? Please don't tell me they're dead too,” he begged.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. There was nothing else to do but chuckle at the ludicrousness of the situation I had put us in. “No, but sometimes I wish she was.” My humor was so off the mark tonight it was ridiculous.

My mouth was uncomfortably dry and I took a drink of water. “I have an older sister, her name's Tamsin. She's a lawyer. She's married. She's a huge bitch.”

“Does she put that on her résumé?” Beckett asked with absolute seriousness.

“She probably should. It's her greatest talent.” I smirked.

Our food came and we were silent for a few minutes as we dug in. I shoved food in my mouth in hopes I couldn't screw this up any worse than I already had.

If Beck wanted anything to do with me after this, it would be a miracle.

I started to mourn the loss already.

“Did you go to college?” Beckett asked, after inhaling his burger in a matter of minutes.

I dipped a fry in ketchup. “No, I didn't go to college. Adam and I opened the studio right after graduation. He wasn't planning to go off to school and I didn't really have plans to either. So we opened the shop.”

“You've been friends with Adam for a while then?”

I nodded. “Since high school.”

“He's kind of an odd guy.”

“Ah, you picked that up, huh? He's…well…hard to get to know. He's all right though. So tell me about you. I want all the deep dark secrets.” I deftly maneuvered the conversation to him, not wanting to spend any more time on my dismal life.