Fueled(book two)(36)

I pull up her name on my phone and type: Push – Matchbox Twenty. Then I hit send, my mind running the lyrics over and over in my head: “I wanna take you for granted. Well I will.”

“What crawled up your ass?”

Despite its familiarity, I jolt at the sound of the voice. I whirl around to see Becks sitting in one of the chairs in front of my desk with his feet propped up on another.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I bark out, running a hand through my hair. “Fucking A, Becks!”

“From the looks of it, you need to f*ck a B brother. It’s got an extra hole and you sure as hell look like you can use the added release,” he drawls out, amusement in his eyes as they narrow and study me trying to figure out what’s going on.

A sliver of a laugh escapes my lips as my heart begins to decelerate. I sink down in my chair and prop my feet up on my desk, mirroring him. We just stare at each other, years of companionship allowing there to be comfort in the silence as I weigh what to say and he measures how much to ask.

He finally decides to break the silence. “It’s a lot easier and cheaper to get it off your chest, Wood, than to break the f*cking treadmill, you know.” I just give him a measured nod before glancing down at the garage again, one of my obsessive habits. “You gonna go all rogue on me with the silent treatment now?” When I look back at Becks, his eyes are now staring at the guys below, ignoring the sneer I’m giving him. “Or are you going to explain why you sat through that entire meeting after lunch with your head up your ass, giving little to no input and just being a dick in general. Only to end it without a decision so you could go break the treadmill?” He slowly moves his gaze back to mine with eyebrows arched in question and an appraising look in his eyes.

Leave it to Becks. The only person that can put me in my place. The only person I’ll allow to call me on it. The only person that knows me well enough to know I’m pissed and to ask in our guy speak what the f*ck’s wrong.

“It’s nothing,” I shrug.

He chokes out a long laugh and shakes his head at me. “Yeah. It’s nothing alright,” he says, unfolding himself from his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. “Since you’re so talkative, I think I’ll be on my way then.”

Fuck this. Before Becks reaches the door, I’m shoving my wallet into my back pocket, grabbing my cell, and striding toward the door. “Let’s go,” I mutter as I walk past him, knowing that he’ll be right behind me. And I’m right because I hear his quiet laugh behind me. The one that says yep, I was right.





I give the universal ‘another round’ motion to the waitress with the nametag stating Connie. If she’s just going to stand there and stare, she might as well do something to earn the free show. Shit. My buzz is humming now and I’m just starting to relax. I’m not drunk enough to push away my shitty mood, but I’m making progress.

Connie swivels her hips as she comes over to the table with our drinks in her hands. She leans over the table to set them down, making sure that I get the eyeful of tits she’s putting on display. She’s unquestionably hot in all of the right ways and in all of the right places. I’d definitely hit it—another time, another place, maybe—but I stifle back the smartass comment on my tongue about how all of a sudden from the drink request to the drink arrival her shirt just got lower and her skirt just got shorter. “Is there anything else I can get you two gentlemen?” she asks with a suggestive tone to her voice and her tongue licking over her lips.

“We’re good here,” Beckett deadpans, shaking his head and breaking her attempt at flirting. He’s used to this shit and is a f*cking saint for dealing with it all these years in his subtle, calculating way.