RILEY
"I thought you weren't that big of a baseball fan." Beckett glances at me with a sly smile. "But when they hit that double, I think everyone in the stadium heard you cheer. I think that security guard was a little worried about you."
I chortle, thinking of how I got so excited that I nearly fell over the railing. "Normally I'm not but that was so fun. The boozy milkshake? A DJ-ing cat as a mascot? The stingrays in the tank? So good. I'd definitely go again." I can't seem to wipe the smile off my face. "Well, and the 10-1 blowout where the Sox crushed the Rays. That was the best."
Beckett and I are walking into our condo building after parking in the garage. In the hours before the game, I'd second-guessed my decision to go. It seemed like a date, I didn't really know Beckett that well, I was still sad about Gabriel...blah, blah, blah. I had a million excuses about why I shouldn't go.
But I did, and it was awesome. Beckett had treated me like a buddy, not someone he was trying to screw. The game was incredible, and I was now entertaining thoughts of buying season tickets to the Rays. Maybe that would be my new hobby: baseball. I imagined myself going to games, perusing stats, maybe someday meeting a handsome ballplayer...
"I think you're their good luck charm. They've killed it every time you watch, Riley."
"Yeah, right. They shouldn't rely on me for their luck, that's for sure." I stab at the elevator button. "I had a great time, though. Seriously. Thanks for asking me."
The doors slide open and we stroll in. We're the only ones inside, and Beckett presses the button for the twentieth floor.
He shakes his head as the elevator shoots upward. "Why do you say that? You seem to live a pretty charmed life to me."
I snort my disagreement. "Yeah, real charmed. I was dumped by my boyfr..." My voice fades. At the beginning of the night, I'd vowed to myself that I wouldn't bring up Gabriel. Not because I wasn't thinking about him or because I didn't want to talk about him.
I figured it would seem rude to mention him when I was with another guy. Even if that other guy was shaping up to be a friend and not a potential romantic partner.
I look down at my sneakers. "Sorry, nevermind."
The door slides open and we walk down the hall toward my condo.
"Why are you apologizing? You can talk about whatever with me."
We're at my door now, and we pause. I grope around in my bag for my keys. "Thanks, but I'm trying to forget all that."
My fingers hit the keychain and I pull them out. In the process, a wayward receipt flutters out of my purse and to the ground, along with a tube of lip gloss. Flustered, I bend to pick everything up.
So does Beckett. My head collides with his shoulder and we both stand, laughing.
"Sorry," I say.
"No, I'm sorry." We're staring into each other's eyes now. The gloss and receipt are still on the floor. I should probably grab them and get inside, but I feel pinned by Beckett's intense blue gaze.
"You never have to apologize with me." His voice is soft and gentle. Totally opposite of his stare. I can't quite figure out what's going on here. Does he want to kiss me? His tone tells me no.
His eyes say something else entirely. Something I'm not sure I want to deal with in this moment.
"Okay," I whisper. We pause for a beat, still looking at each other. My heart speeds up, as it always does in situations like this with men. "Well, thanks for asking me to the game tonight. You sure you don't want money for the ticket?"
He shakes his head, and a little smile spreads on his face. "I had a great time."
I jingle my keys. There was a time in my life when I would've asked him inside. Would've probably fucked his brains out.
But now, I simply don't feel like it. Oh, sure, I can accept that Beckett is a great guy, good-looking and funny. He reads books, which is a big green flag.
I'm not ready, though. Or am I?
"I did too."
His eyes flicker to my mouth. "Riley?"
"Yeah?" I lean back a few inches.
"Can I kiss you?"
Oh, shit. There it is. The moment of truth. My mouth opens and I can't quite close it because I'm thinking of a proper response.
"Ahh, well, Beckett, it's not that—"
"I get it." He shakes his head. "Now it's my turn to apologize. I shouldn't put you on the spot like that. I'm sorry."
He looks so sheepish that I reach out and squeeze his arm. "No! Please don't feel badly. It's not that I don't want to. I'm going through a tough time right now after my breakup, and I don't want to..."
Beckett raises his gaze and meets mine. Something about his expression is so nakedly honest that it tugs at something inside me.
Why am I pining after Gabriel, when he's obviously not thinking of me? Hell, he probably screwed that woman at that party last night. He certainly looked like he did, from that photo. The thought of him touching anyone else makes my stomach do a nauseating flip, as if I'm on one of those rollercoasters that loops upside down.
What the hell am I doing? Part of me wants to run inside, lock the door, and never come out. The other part of me, the wild and irresponsible side, wants the exact opposite.
I do not choose wisely.
Stepping forward, I stand on my tiptoes and brush my lips over Beckett's.
His lips are as gentle as his tone. I can feel his surprise at my sudden change of heart. But there's something about this moment that feels okay and safe. Something that urges me to let go of my inhibitions and live in the present.
We kiss for a few seconds. It's not unpleasant. It's actually quite nice. It only feels weird because he's not Gabriel, and the memory of his kisses are forever burned into my soul. I'm struck with a sudden surge of guilt and sadness, and we break apart.
Beckett's hand cradles my cheek, his touch comforting and pleasant. Dammit, I wish I'd met him instead of Gabriel. A zing of guilt shoots through me at the thought.
"You know," Beckett says. "I didn't expect this tonight, but I'm really glad it happened."
"Me too," I admit, but inside I'm not sure I did the right thing. My stomach feels even jumpier now, and I need to get inside and be alone so I can sit with my big feelings.
He smiles, and his fingers gently brush a strand of hair from my face. "I'm here for you, Riley. Whatever you need. Call me anytime. Or come over to my place. I'm here to talk and listen. I'm serious."
He brushes a kiss on my forehead. "Time for you to sleep," he says gently.
I nod, still a little stunned that I kissed him first. It feels right and wrong all at once, and my head's spinning. What would Gabriel think? Why do I care?
"Night," I whisper, letting myself inside. I lock the door, then rush to my bed and collapse into tears.
# # #
GABRIEL
I'm half-asleep on the sofa downstairs, thinking of Riley. I do this in the moments between consciousness and nightmares, allow myself a few moments where I still think we're together.
Tonight I'm imagining that we're in bed together. That we've just made love, and I'm holding her in my arms. I press my nose into her hair and inhale her jasmine scent. My hand skims her hip, then dips to her waist. Her skin is soft like velvet and she nestles her ass against me.
It's no surprise that this is the moment I return to, over and over, in the calm moments of the night. It's when I felt most safe.
"Goodnight, Gabriel," she'd say softly. "I love you."
I'd kiss the back of her neck and repeat those three words.
Now, I'm on a sofa alone. Even Reese is somewhere else, probably snuggling with an old T-shirt of Riley's that he stole from my room. Damn dog. We're both brokenhearted. Or stupid. I don't know which.
I open one eye to check the time. It's close to eleven at night, and I'm still waiting for my father. I can only imagine the trouble he's getting in, and Andre isn't returning my calls. I considered sending out one of my men to find them but decided to forget about the entire thing.
Andre and my father are adults, so if they get into a situation, they can deal with it. Fuck them. Fuck everyone. I've had enough this week.
I know I should move to my room, but part of me thinks my father will walk in at any moment. I'm not sure what I'm waiting for, exactly. A reunion? A hug? Some pearls of wisdom, perhaps? Or maybe an absolution of guilt that my father took the fall for a crime I committed.
Letting out a sigh, I squeeze my eyes shut. If only I could sleep...
Five minutes go by. Then ten. I move the recliner back even more, hoping that a more prone position will allow me to drift off. Right when I think I might be falling asleep, I hear the rattle of the front door, and voice.
"Fuck, it's him," I mutter aloud, knowing he won't hear me all the way in the living room. I shift to a sitting position, running my hands through my hair. I'm acutely aware that I probably smell of liquor.
"Where is he? Where's my son?"
The voice, which used to strike fear into my heart as a child, booms through the house.
I rise to my feet, bracing myself for the insanity. Without saying a word, I walk toward the foyer.
When I get there, my gaze lands on Andre first. He looks at me with pleading eyes.
"Evening, sir. We finally made it."
"What took you so..."
My voice fades when I spot my father. He's got his arm around the waist of a buxom redhead.
"Ah, there he is! My son. Gabriel. Goddammit, it's great to see you. Come here and give your old man a hug." He untangles himself from the woman, who is laughing and holding a bottle of champagne.
"Hey." I walk to him and give him a hug. If I smell like liquor, my father reeks like a gin distillery. "I expected you to be here a little earlier."
Dad thumps me on the back then breaks apart. "That's my boy. Always conscientious. Always responsible. Lisa, this is who I was telling you about. He's always on time, never relaxes. Boy, you need to let go a little."
He fakes a punch to my stomach, and I stand, stone-faced.
"Hi there, responsible son." The woman, who I take is Lisa, giggles and gives me a finger wave. I ignore her.
"Father," I say in my calmest voice, "Can I have a word with you?"
Dad scratches his chest. He's wearing a light blue button down shirt that's unbuttoned a little too much. He's rounded out the outfit with suit pants, expensive black shoes, and of course, his diamond pinky ring. I also notice that he's taken great pains to slick back his hair, which is thinning.
He looks like he could be Silvio Berlusconi's twin.
"Son, I'm a bit tired, and I have a few things I'd like to do." He moves toward Lisa and grabs her hand. "I'm sure you understand that after a few years in the can, a man has needs."
"I know you do, baby," Lisa purrs, slipping her hand under his shirt.
I wince openly. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast. I'm going to bed. Andre, could you please show my father and his... guest to their room?"
Andre sputters and responds affirmatively. I'm certain he's had a helluva night, and I'm not going to fault him for anything.
"You sure you don't want a nightcap?" my father calls as I walk out of the room.
"Not tonight," I say, then leave without another word.
As I walk up the stairs to my bedroom, I can barely contain my anger. How dare my father bring a woman here, to my sanctuary, without asking me first? That's so typical of him. Part of me wants to march downstairs and tell him to leave.
But another part of me doesn't want to get into it with my father. He has been behind bars for years. He deserves a little female attention... or he's using my guilt to do whatever the fuck he wants in my house.
I'm too exhausted and mentally spent to deal with it tonight, though. Once I'm in my bedroom, I text my sister to let her know Dad's here, and safe. Then I turn out the light and think about holding Riley in my arms until I fall into a fitful sleep, wondering if I'll ever feel safe again.