I’m texting with Emma while eating lunch when Ellie and Alexis take seats at the dining room table across from me. I welcome them with a distracted hello as I reply to Emma about our lease terms. There’s a week- long gap between the end of Scholenberg and the start of Lancaster’s preseason. Despite the fact that we rent the house year-round, our landlord is being difficult about me moving back in a week earlier than everyone else. His guise is repairs, but I couldn’t care less about the house’s issues, for once. I’d rather hire a lawyer than have to go home. Emma promises to
straighten it out, so I shut off my phone.
“I can’t believe it’s true,” Ellie is saying. “Is it even physically possible?”
“Why not?” Alexis replies. “I doubt he has any shortage of willing participants. There are like forty million women in Germany, right? Plus, the club travels internationally, too.” There’s a weird note in her voice that catches my attention.
“What are you guys talking about?” I ask, leaning back in my seat and taking a sip of my water.
“Olivia says Adler Beck only sleeps with women once.”
Some liquid goes down the wrong pipe, and I let out a small cough to clear my throat. Ah, that’s why Alexis is uncomfortable. I take another sip. “That’s not true.”
“It could be,” Ellie argues. “Olivia heard it from another Kluvberg player, supposedly. And every time I see a photo of him, it’s with a different woman.”
Fuck it. We’re only here for two more weeks. Plus, I’m running out of excuses for where I disappear to on Sundays, and the youth camp is this weekend.
“Well, he’s fucked me more than once.” I say it casually in an attempt to temper some of the shock value. A futile attempt, it turns out. Ellie knocks over the soda she was reaching for, and fizzy liquid immediately spreads across the table. “Ellie!” I quickly lift my sandwich to rescue it from the small flood and toss my solitary napkin on the puddle.
Ellie is just staring at me, wide-eyed, so I grab another wad of napkins from the dispenser and finish mopping up the mess myself. “No need to help, guys,” I tell them, taking a bite of my sandwich.
“Is she joking?” Ellie asks Alexis.
“Uh, I—I don’t—I’m not sure,” Alexis stutters. I roll my eyes. “Sitting right here, Ellie.”
“You’re serious,” Ellie declares. “And you didn’t tell me?” Alexis says nothing.
“You’re going to lead with that, really?” I ask. “After how you just reacted?”
“Saylor, it’s Adler Beck! How did you think I would react?”
“I didn’t give any thought to how you might react to my sex life, honestly,” I reply before taking another bite. It’s not true if the number of times I’ve lied to her the last few weeks is any indication.
“How many times have you slept with him?” Ellie demands. It’s the question I was hoping she wouldn’t ask, but given the way the topic came up, it’s hardly a surprise.
I still feign disapproval. “Seriously?”
Ellie nods vigorously; Alexis looks even more uncomfortable. “I don’t know. Twenty, maybe? I haven’t been keeping track.” On purpose, and that’s actually a conservative estimate now that I think about it. I’m surprised. I don’t even think Drew and I have had sex that many times, and we’ve been hooking up since freshman year. I’ve known Beck for six weeks.
“Twenty?” Ellie looks stunned. I shrug. “He’s good in bed.”
“Okay, now we’re getting to the juicy stuff,” Ellie says, grinning as she leans forward eagerly. Alexis blushes scarlet.
I laugh. “Sorry, we’re not getting into the details of my sex life. You’ll have to take your ‘one’ shot with him and find out for yourself.”
“Let’s go, everyone. Bus is here!” One of the assistant coaches enters the house and starts herding us outside to head back to the stadium.
The brief trip to the van is all it takes for a fresh film of sweat to coat my body fully. It’s sweltering today, well into the nineties, possibly brushing a hundred. The second half of the day is usually more intense than the first, and there’s a fair bit of grumbling throughout the brief trip.
But there’s not so much as the barest wisp of a sigh as we file into the dim room in the depths of the stadium where our film sessions take place. Coach Weber is already waiting at the front of the room, drawing out lines on the whiteboard next to the projector screen.
Normally, I dread film sessions. I understand the importance of them strategically, but I’d much rather be making the motions myself. Today is an exception. I sink down on the cool plastic chair with a relieved sigh. The slightly damp, musty scent permeating the lowest level of the stadium has never been my favorite, but the cooler temperature more than makes up for it. I redo my ponytail, scraping up the wayward strands sticking to the back of my neck with the rest of my hair and allowing the colder air to hit my heated skin uninterrupted.
The film session lasts for two hours, and then Coach Weber announces we’re heading outside. The announcement is greeted with total silence. I wasn’t kidding when I told Beck’s mother Coach Weber is a drill sergeant. We fall into line like dutiful, uncomplaining soldiers as we trek through the hallways and out into the oppressive heat. The air hits in a wave of warmth like an oven door that’s just been opened.
“Shit, it’s hot,” Ellie mutters beside me. “You think?” I murmur back.
We run through our usual warm-up routine of sit-ups, planks, burpees, and push-ups. I’m soaked with sweat by the time we finish the last set.
“Center line,” Coach Weber barks. “Usual teams.”
The silence holds, but Alexis huffs out a disbelieving breath to my right. Her face is the same shade as strawberry lemonade. We all follow instructions, taking our usual positions on the field. I turn to see one of the assistant coaches wheeling out two giant trash bins. That’s new.
“Are those for vomit?” Alexis asks, sounding aghast.
My stomach churns at the thought. I’ve thrown up during practice before. Not an experience I’d love to replicate. But when the bins are close enough for us to get a glimpse inside, I don’t see a generic black bag. Instead, it’s filled with color. An explosion of it, really.
The bins are filled with a rainbow array of balloons.
“First team fully soaked loses,” Coach Weber announces in the same authoritative tone that normally encourages running at an inhuman pace.
“Wh—what?” Ellie stutters beside me, and I’m equally at a loss. Everyone else is just as taken aback, but we’ve all had listening to our coach drilled into us to the point that it’s permanently impressed. Alexis grabs a yellow balloon; I take a blue one, and soon everyone has one in hand. I roll the sphere in the palm of my hand, feeling the liquid contents squish and contract underneath the latex skin.
My shirt is suddenly sticking to me with more than sweat, and I scowl at Olivia, my Scandinavian nemesis. Never mind the fact that the water actually feels good. I send a balloon back at her, but it hits Sydney instead, who glares at me. I shoot her a satisfied smile, and the game descends into chaos. Vivid globes are flying everywhere, exploding into strips of colored plastic and sprays of clear water. I don’t know which side gets fully drenched first, and I don’t think anyone else does earlier. We don’t stop until the bins are empty.
Ellie flops down on the grass, and I lie down beside her to stare up at the perfectly clear sky.
“This is my favorite memory on this field,” she says, giggling slightly. I open my mouth to agree, and then close it.
It’s not mine.
I’ve just gotten out of the shared shower on Friday night when there’s a loud knock on my door.
“What?” I call, tightening the towel around my torso. The door opens, and Alexis pokes her head in.
“Get ready, we’re going to dinner and then out,” she instructs.
“I was thinking of staying in tonight…” I hedge. In truth, Sophia texted me, asking about going clubbing. Beck must have given her my number.
“Yeah, right. Cancel whatever other plans you made. Everyone’s going.” Alexis gives me a knowing smirk.
I roll my eyes. “Fine.”
I text Sophia requesting a rain check and then get ready. I go for a smokey eye effect with my makeup and curl my hair, so it looks more tousled than messy. Finally, I slip on the black, strapless dress I picked out for the soccer formal last spring. It offsets my tan nicely. The dress is too nice to wear anything but heels with, so I reluctantly slip on a black pair and head downstairs. An awkward silence descends when I enter the kitchen, which is already littered with alcohol. I’m honestly a little impressed by my strait-laced teammates.
Ellie breaks the quiet that follows my appearance.
“Okay, that’s everyone! Let’s go.” We all head out of the house, where a line of several taxis already awaits. I climb into the last one with Alexis, Ellie, and a quiet girl named Alice who I’ve never spoken to before but know has a mean header. Ellie spends the entire drive jabbering nonsensically, making me think she pre-gamed harder than she should have. She’s not normally this chatty.
The restaurant we stop outside is trendy and upscale. Definitely not a place serving traditional German cuisine, which I’m intrigued by. The exterior is half-timbered but painted entirely black so that the texture differential is barely noticeable.
Based on the monochromatic exterior, I’m expecting a minimalistic interior as well. The variety of decoration inside is a bit of a shock. The floor is covered with woven rugs boasting intricate patterns. The walls are paneled with light wood. Hundreds of lights cover the ceiling, giving the space a warm, homey glow. The furniture takes the longest to absorb. It’s an eclectic mix in color, weave, and if I had to guess, century.
There’s a communal feel to the large space. Long tables run the full length of the room, surrounded by chairs spanning every possible shape and color you could imagine. It’s reminiscent of my high school cafeteria, but none of the food being eaten looks anything like the glop I ate for four years. I study some plates as Olivia talks to the hostess. There’s some sort of fish with sectioned citrus, roasted chicken with cucumber salsa, seared beef with jalapeno, and prawns atop a beet salad.
I’m distracted from my perusal when a familiar voice says, “This is a surprise.”
I turn to see Coach Weber appraising our group with the barest hint of a smile. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in anything but a polo and soccer shorts. She’s dressed in a pink checkered sundress that falls to mid-calf. A few middle-aged women hover behind her, looking at our large group curiously.
I’m the only sober one, so I take the lead. “Hi, Coach.”
“Scott. Ladies,” Coach Weber responds, swiping her gaze across our entire group. “Doing some team bonding?”
“There was a group liver workout,” I reply. Ellie snorts. Alexis hisses my name.
Christina Weber has an epic poker face, but I think I catch a lip twitch. “Don’t set any records. I talked to Erika Beck earlier. You’re in high demand this weekend, Scott.” I nod. “Have a good night, ladies. I’d recommend the chicken.” Coach Weber heads for the door with her girl squad close behind.
“What was she talking about? Erika Beck?” Ellie whispers to me.
“I’ll tell you later,” I reply as we follow the hostess over to the large section of seats waiting for us. Our group of thirty takes up most of the table. I opt to follow Coach Weber’s suggestion and get the chicken. I’m far from a foodie, but it’s good. The cucumber salsa is dressed with salt, lime, and mint, which pairs perfectly with the gin margarita I order.
An hour later, we pile back into a series of taxis to head to our next destination. I’m enjoying myself more than I expected to. It may have taken six weeks, but there’s a bit of the comradery I’m accustomed to amongst players I’ve played with extensively. Maybe it’s leftover goodwill from the water balloon fight. Maybe it’s because we’re so close to the end. Whatever the reason, it was a relief to be plied with questions about playing in the States rather than beamed by glares at dinner.
Taxi assignments remain the same, so Alexis, Ellie, Alice, and I are all crammed together, heading to our next destination.
“Why did Coach bring up Erika Beck?” Ellie asks.
I sigh. Was I hoping she was too drunk and distracted to remember? Abso-fucking-lutely. “I’m helping out at a youth camp on Sunday because she invited me to participate.”
“A youth camp?” Alexis asks. “You?”
I should probably be offended, but I’m not. As Beck kindly informed me weeks ago, I have no idea what to do with children. “I’m hoping mine
will end up being an observational role.”
“Wait—how did you even meet Erika Beck?” Ellie questions.
“Well, when I said I was meeting a guy for brunch, I was. It just happened to be Adler Beck. And his parents. The camp came up.”
Ellie opens and closes her mouth a couple of times, but no sound comes out. She looks like a fish seeking oxygen only to discover it’s not in the liquid form it can absorb.
“Wow.” Alexis sounds impressed. “You met Hans Beck, too? He’s supposed to be super intimidating.”
“Uh, yeah, I did,” I reply.
The cab pulls up outside our destination before either she or Ellie can say anything else. It’s a club called Submarine that sits right along the canal. Unlike my outing with Natalie and London, the bouncer waves us right inside the packed space.
The inspiration for the name is evident as soon as we enter. The entire far wall is made from glass, and the dancing lights of the club reflect off the calm water. It’s more brightly lit inside than I expect, with Edison bulbs hanging overhead that complement the industrial building.
Since I’m in the front of the group, I turn automatically toward the bar. When I push through the crowd of people to get to the long counter, I’m met by familiar blue eyes.
Beck and I stare at each other for a long moment. I recognize several of the guys behind him as his teammates and hear gasps from the other girls in my program as they stop behind me, obviously recognizing the men as well. Despite practicing in their stadium six days a week, as far as I know, I’m the only one who’s encountered a Kluvberg player aside from the one day their practice overlapped with ours a few weeks ago.
“Scott,” Beck states. He’s using his inscrutable voice, so I have no idea if using my last name is an attempt to pretend he doesn’t know me or to tease me.
“Adler,” I reply, just as emotionlessly. A ghost of a smile flitters across his perfect face.
“I thought you were going out with Sophia tonight.” Okay, so it wasn’t the former.
“I had to cancel. We’re… bonding.” I flutter a hand around my companions vaguely.
Beck doesn’t say anything at first. He just studies me, letting his gaze drop to what I’m wearing. The last time he saw me in a dress was the cotton one I wore hiking. That was girl-next-door casual. This is hit-the-dance- floor-with-a-hot-guy gussied. Azure eyes darken to near-navy.
“Have fun,” is all he says before turning and ambling toward a sectioned-off area raised slightly above the rest of the club. His teammates follow.
I turn to the bartender and order a drink, suddenly in desperate need of something to do. I have no idea who chose the venues for tonight, but I’m currently two for two on people I wouldn’t choose to run into on a night out on the town. Granted, the entire team was at that restaurant, but I’ve always prided myself on being the player coaches could count on. Coach Weber didn’t seem overly enthused about my participation in the camp. Is it because she correctly guessed it means I’m involved with Beck?
But I’m more concerned with the most recent encounter. I had no intention of anyone else besides Alexis and Ellie—and Alice since she was in the cab on our way here—having any idea about my involvement with Beck. With one bar-side run-in, any hope of that is gone.
“You know Adler Beck?” Olivia asks incredulously. All the girls in the group are staring at me expectantly.
“Yeah, we’ve met a couple times,” I reply casually. We play in the stadium plastered with his face. That’s believable, right?
“She doesn’t just know him—she’s sleeping with him,” Ellie contributes, downing a shot. Yup, I definitely prefer her sober.
“Really?” Olivia muses, savoring each syllable as though it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever uttered.
I shrug.
“Are you dating him?”
I laugh. “No, of course not.”
“So… you won’t mind if I go talk to him?” There’s a challenge dancing in her brown eyes, but I don’t engage. I don’t think Beck will take her up on it, but I don’t care either way. Or rather, I shouldn’t care. Same thing.
“Be my guest.”
I turn back to the bar to grab my freshly made drink as the rest of the girls disperse. A dark-haired guy sidles up next to me and begins flirting. The first few sentences are in German, but one clueless expression is all it takes for him to switch to English punctuated by a thick accent. I think he
says he’s a medical student, but I’m only able to catch every other word he says, so I’m far from confident about that. He’s very attractive, and I’m much more focused on that than whether he’s a doctor or a dropout.
He asks what I’m doing here, or perhaps something about my hair, and when I tell him I play “football,” his eyes light up.
I should see it coming, but I don’t.
The next ten minutes are spent gushing over Adler Beck, and any attraction seeps away like water in a sink with an open drain. I down the entirety of my drink as he continues to praise Beck’s performance this past season. It’s not like he’s asking for my opinion, anyway. He’s just the type of insensitive male I like to shred for sport, but tonight I’m not in the mood. Once my glass is empty, I simply tell him I need to use the restroom.
I’m gone before he acknowledges the excuse. All my Scholenberg companions have drifted away from the bar by now, and I spot Alexis and Ellie crowded in one of the round booths along the edge. I start toward them, only to be pinned unexpectedly against the rough brick wall. Angry blue eyes meet mine.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Beck asks me.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” I snap, struggling against his firm grasp. Most times, I don’t have any issue being shoved against his defined obliques. Right now? No thanks.
“You shouldn’t be talking to guys like that.” Beck drops his hands but doesn’t move away.
“Guys like what?” I spit out. “Hot guys? German guys? Guys who learn a girl plays soccer—sorry, football—and start going on and on about how incredible Adler Beck is? You’re going to need to be more specific.”
Some of the anger recedes from Beck’s face. “You were talking about me?”
“Jealous fit over?” I riposte.
His face hardens again. “I’m not jealous.”
“You just got mad at me for talking to another guy. That is the textbook definition of jealousy.”
“You barely know how to get around the city. And you don’t even speak German! You’d really go off with some guy you don’t know?”
“You didn’t seem to mind when that guy was you,” I retort. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time. And I can talk to whoever I want to, okay?”
“Okay,” Beck responds, clenching his jaw as soon as the word is out, as if to restrain more from exiting.
“Okay,” I confirm. But it doesn’t feel like we’ve actually agreed about anything.
He doesn’t say anything else; he kisses me, and I let him. Because I’m here to play soccer, but a few more orgasms won’t hurt. Because he smells amazing and feels even better. Because I know exactly how incredible it will be.
Beck doesn’t disappoint, exploring the wet heat of my mouth with both skill and urgency. There’s barely any space remaining between our bodies, but he grabs my hips and fuses our bodies together. I can feel he’s already hard. I moan against his tongue as he slips one hand underneath the hem of my short dress.
I pull back, panting. “Beck. We can’t do this here.” I don’t look away from him, but I can feel eyes on us.
He nods once. “Do you want to do it somewhere else?”
This is when I should put some space between us, both figurative and physical. Find some guy in here who doesn’t follow football, has never heard of Adler Beck, and leave with him.
Instead, I say yes without hesitating.
He pulls away, and I see that we’ve captured the attention of the entire side of the club, including all my teammates. Olivia is glaring, but the others look mostly awed. At least I don’t have to worry about letting them know I’m leaving, since Beck grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door in front of everyone.
The valet pulls up his car immediately, and we climb inside. Charged silence fills the vehicle as we drive along, tension hanging heavy in the air. It feels like the first time we’re doing this, but my body is also desperate, craving the release it’s come to expect from him.
“Do you know how many times we’ve had sex?” I ask Beck as we reach his street.
“What? No. Why, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” I reply. I feel his questioning gaze on me. “I normally keep track. Guys get clingy sometimes,” I elaborate. “I usually get bored, too,” I add.
“Are you giving me some sort of notice?” Beck asks. “Because you said in the club—”
“No, I’m not,” I interrupt. “I haven’t—don’t—feel that way. About you.” Shit, that was too honest.
Beck doesn’t reply, and I feel stupid for bringing it up. I don’t even know why I did. I’d blame it on the two drinks I’ve had, but I’ve kept secrets after downing twice that amount.
“I usually only sleep with girls once,” Beck states as we wait for the door leading to the garage to open. His gaze stays straight ahead as I look over at him.
“We’ve had sex more than once.” I fall prey to my pet peeve and state the obvious.
“I know.” Beck starts driving again, into the garage under his building. “Why?” I can’t help but ask.
He parks and finally looks over at me. “I wanted to.” I nod once before I climb out of the car.
Beck follows me to the elevator and then down the hallway to his front door. As soon as he unlocks it, we step inside. The same heat from the club flares between us again, and he hauls me against his body. It’s a relief to shut my brain off and fall into sensation instead.
We stumble deeper inside the entryway, and Beck swears as his foot collides with the table beneath his impressive art collection. The apartment is dark, but he doesn’t turn on a light. We end up on the couch in the living room. It makes it feel more like he really did just pick me up at a club; not that I’ve been coming here for the last few weeks.
I make quick work of pulling off his shirt and yanking down his jeans. He’s not wearing any boxers, and I grasp his long shaft, stroking him quickly. His cock swells even more. He groans in my ear before letting out a rapid stream of German. I absorb the quality of the words spoken in his low, deep voice, enjoying the way my body has become conditioned to release fresh bursts of arousal at the sound.
Beck shifts so he’s sitting down, kicking off his pants and shoes. He pulls me to him as soon as he does, sliding his hands up until he reaches my ass. He pulls my wet thong down immediately, and I slide it off as he sheaths himself with a condom. I straddle him and reach down to guide him inside of me. We both groan loudly as he slides in. I’m still wearing my dress, and Beck sucks and nips along my bare shoulder as I begin to move. I set out planning to torture him, still a bit annoyed by his macho act earlier, but the slow strokes are just as excruciating for me as they are for him. I
speed up a bit, and pressure builds like I’m a carbonated can that was just shaken up.
Beck unzips my dress tantalizingly, sliding his hands along the newly revealed skin. He hums with approval when he realizes I’m not wearing a bra, and I gasp when he begins playing with my breasts. He whispers in my ear again, and I’m cracked open. I’m weightless and thoughtless as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me.
I roll over on my side, splayed across the leather surface like a jellyfish.
My limbs certainly feel gelatinous.
“Do you have food?” I ask Beck when I can move again.
“Not any you’ll like,” he replies. All I can see is his white teeth gleaming as he leans forward and licks my nipple. One palm slides down my stomach, and I decide food can wait.
My stomach rumbles loudly, and Beck pauses. He lets out a half-laugh, half-sigh.
“I’ll see what I have.” He sits up and heads into the bedroom, flicking on lights as he goes.
He returns in a pair of athletic shorts and tosses me a t-shirt, which I pull on. I follow him into the kitchen, perching on one of the four stools that line the marble countertop.
“What have you got?”
Beck strolls over to the fridge and opens the door, leaning against the edge. It’s disturbingly domestic and surprisingly sexy. He grabs a few plastic containers and slides them down the counter to me. “Here you go. They’re all labeled.”
I grab one and tilt it upward. Salmon and rice—pass. “Do you have ice cream?”
He studies me.
I grin. “You do.”
Beck reaches out and snags the prepared meals, sticking them back in the fridge and replacing them with a cardboard carton from the freezer.
“I knew it!” I crow.
“It’s plain chocolate. I don’t think Germany sells mint chocolate chip,” Beck informs me as he pulls out spoons.
I have to swallow a few times before I can manage to say, “I knew I liked it here.”
Beck takes a seat beside me, and we eat spoonfuls of ice cream in companionable silence. My phone rings a couple minutes later, shattering the peace. I slide off the stool to grab it out of the clutch I abandoned on the floor alongside my dress.
It’s Hallie. I silence it and return to my seat next to Beck. He doesn’t ask, but I feel obligated to say, “My sister. I’m avoiding her calls.”
“How come?” No judgment.
“I’m supposed to pick out my bridesmaid dress.” “Why haven’t you?”
“I don’t know.” It’s bullshit, and Beck knows it. “Do it now,” he suggests.
“Right now?” He nods.
“I would need another drink for that to happen.”
I’m treated with a smirk that makes me wish we were still on the couch. Beck rises and grabs a clear glass bottle from the freezer, followed by two shot glasses. He sets them both in front of me and fills them to the brim with what smells like vodka.
“I don’t have any gin,” he confirms, grabbing one glass. “What kind of club owner are you?” I question.
“One who merely put up the seed money for a friend and is now focusing on practicing penalty kicks.”
I laugh. “Touché.”
“Prost.” Beck raises the glass.
I repeat the toast, and he laughs. “Prost,” Beck corrects.
“That’s what I said!” I insist.
He rolls his eyes and downs the shot. I follow suit, sticking my tongue out when the liquor burns a trail down my throat.
“Gah.” Yup, vodka.
“Shop away,” Beck tells me, grabbing a stack of papers piled on the corner of the counter and sitting back down on the stool beside me.
“What are those?” I ask.
“Work. I’ve got a few endorsement offers in the works.” “Don’t you have people who handle that for you?”
“Ja, but I’m not going to have them sign me on for anything without looking it over myself.”
“What are—”
“Saylor.” He skewers me with a single look. “Shop.”
I huff out a sigh, but Beck’s focused on his papers. Aside from me studying the profile view of his chiseled features, he’s not going to be much of a distraction. I unlock my phone and start scrolling through clothing sites. Eventually I start shifting on the stool, trying to find a more comfortable position. These clearly weren’t designed to spend a protracted amount of time on. I end up wiggling my legs across Beck’s lap so I can stretch out some. He doesn’t even look up from the papers he’s highlighting.
I turn back to my assignment. It sounds so easy: pick out a pretty dress and send it to Hallie so my father can buy it. Not just easy, fun. I spend most of my time in athletic clothes, but I enjoy dressing up for certain occasions. It’s what this occasion represents that has me faltering. It’s the outfit I’ll be wearing when my father gets remarried. I’ve never harbored any fantasy that my parents might reunite, but I guess I thought my dad would stay single. I thought he, Hallie, and I would remain in the roles that, while not healthy, have been comfortable. Expected.
A stepmom and an attempt at a whole family is uncomfortable and unexpected.
I planned to look through a couple options and choose the one I hated least, but it’s been close to an hour by the time I announce, “this one.”
“I like it.” Beck’s barely paying attention as he glances at the phone screen. But he’s still here, on the stool beside me, with my legs draped across his. It’s the antithesis of my worries about the wedding. Sitting next to him in a kitchen that looks like it should belong to a Michelin-starred chef, I feel completely content. Like I could stay on this stool forever and it wouldn’t be long enough. When the reality is, I’ll never perch here again.
And I know that’s why I took so long to decide on the stupid dress.
