Back to Me (Book Three ✓)

twenty-one

Beau stops the circles on my feet, chipping away at the polish on his nails instead. The action makes my heart thump quicker; it wasn't supposed to be a hard question.

"Was it because I was the first one you saw, or..." I trail off, mind reeling with the possibilities the more he hesitates.

"Honestly?" Beau sighs, tipping his head back as I nod quickly. "Don't get mad." He purses his lips at me until finally exhaling a deep breath. "You looked a lot like Zoey at first. It hit me out of nowhere, you know? Not seeing her for years and then I'm in the middle of some little town I've never been in, and the girl giving me my coffee looks just like my ex. I had this stupid assignment from Fiona and..." He shrugs. "It made sense to me at the time."

The information stirs in my mind. Surely, I hadn't thought he didn't notice our similarities - it couldn't have just been me to notice how alike we look. But knowing this all started because I looked like his ex nags at me. Does it even matter? No matter how it started, that seems besides the point now.

"Did you..." I stammer, even thinking the question a devastating blow to my ego, "Do you, I mean... Do you still have feelings for her?"

"Emma." Beau says firmly, firmly enough to grab my attention fully from the shredded napkin between my fingertips. "I haven't felt that way about Zoey in a long time. And even when I did, it wasn't the same. I knew by the time our waiter brought the bread out during date one, that you couldn't have been more different." Beau mumbles, forearms resting atop my shins now.

"Why's that?" I wonder, naturally scooting closer to him on the lumpy sofa. 

"Zoey was a lot like me," Beau mutters, rolling his eyes. "Or she thought she was - misunderstood, alone, angry. We bonded over how much our families didn't like us, you know, just hated the world together." His head rolls towards me, lips curved upwards just slightly. "Right away - you were light in the darkness. You didn't let me mouth off or get my way just because of who I was. You talked to me like I was just a person. No one really did that before. I was just Beau - not Beau Lewis from MisFits, not Beau the kid always in my dad's way. Just Beau."

Hiding my blush, I rest my forehead on his shoulder, closing my eyes tightly to savor the moment as warmth spreads through my body.

"Plus," I feel the vibrations through his body as he continues his explanation. "Your eyes are the color I like my coffee," He lifts my chin towards his face with his index finger. "Your hair is warm like the sun. Your lips," His eyes trail down to my mouth and my breath hitches in my throat. "Are so soft and sweet. And I don't know if you know this," Beau backs up suddenly, the cool air between us stinging sharply. "But you've got these freckles that I fucking love."

Butterflies swarm in my belly; the hair on my arms stands upright as electricity courses under my skin. Shaking away the high-school crush feeling that's making it hard to even breathe, I refocus on some of the things I've always wondered about him, trying to prioritize my most pressing curiosities.

"Have you ever slept with a fan?" I poke him in the ribs.

"What's with you and my sex life?" Beau chuckles, his eyes light and playful. But his brow furrows as he continues, "I think you assume that I have."

He waits for confirmation.

"There are stories," I shrug lamely, immediately feeling bad for not having a bit more faith in him.

"That's all they are." Beau mutters. "I've never taken anyone home from a show. If I met someone out, that was different."

"Okay." I believe him, his answer confirming what I knew deep down about his character. He was never like Jace, the lead singer of MisFits that I detested so much - sleeping with any girl that even glanced his way, not caring who he hurt in the process. Chewing the corner of my lip nervously, I change the subject. "What's the happiest memory you have from before you left Boston?"