Fool Me Twice by Lizzie Morton
Twenty-One
Britney
A gentle tapping on the exposed skin of my back stirs me awake. At first, I’m confused about where I am. It all comes flooding back when my eyes flit around the room, taking in my surroundings. I’m tucked under Becket’s arm, using his bare chest as a pillow. “Hi,” I say, sleepily, when I find him gazing down at me.
“Hey,” he says back, his voice, too, thick with sleep.
I can hear the steady thrum of his heart beating in his chest as I make a pattern with my fingertips over his skin.
“Sorry I had to wake you, but it will be time to land soon.”
I can’t hide my disappointment. I want to stay in this bubble forever, away from real life. “How long was I out?” I ask.
“Maybe half an hour?”
“That’s it? I’m so tired.”
“Sex does that to you,” he smiles.
He begins drawing patterns on my back and my skin tingles, goosebumps raise. I want him again.
His chest vibrates when he chuckles. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time for round two.”
I let out a frustrated groan, then remember a not so minor detail. “You ruined my underwear.”
“Now we can share a secret.” He places a gentle kiss on my lips, sits up slowly and climbs out of bed. I watch, mouth open, as he gathers up our clothing from the floor, muscles flexing each time he bends. He looks around and catches me ogling him.
Throwing my clothing at me, he says, “Head out of the gutter, Brit.”
The clothes hit me in the face. “Ass.”
“What? You love my ass?”
I roll my eyes at his comment.
He sighs. “We really need to get moving.”
With excellent timing, one of the flight attendants calls out from the other side of the door, “Mr. Becket.”
“Damn,” I grumble, climbing from the bed and throwing on my clothes haphazardly.
“Don’t worry, we’ll have all the time in the world when we get to the hotel.”
“Hotel?” It never even occurred to me that he might have somewhere else to stay.
“Yeah, the NFL booked me a hotel.”
“You could always stay at my place …”
His eyes light up. “Done. I hate hotels. Ready?”
I walk to a small mirror on the wall and take in my appearance. My hair is a mess, and my clothes are crumpled. At least my skin is glowing. Accepting there is nothing I can do, I smile and say, “I’m ready.”
***
When Becket enters my apartment, he walks around, observing. Not that there’s much to observe. His bedroom has the same size floor plan as my entire living space. The joys of living in New York.
My eyes settle on the console table at the side of the living room, and I walk over before he can get there, placing the picture of me and my mom together face down. It’s one of the only happy days I can remember us having, shortly after one of her stints in rehab. When she came out, she promised me the world. The image was taken in one of the local diners, and the waitress who took it captured us both grinning. My cheeks ached for hours afterwards. We had the biggest cheeseburgers and strawberry milkshakes I had ever seen, thanks to the extra money we had from Mom not sinking it into her supply. Three days later, she had a relapse and left me without a dime, and no food in the cupboards for two days. She sent her boyfriend to look after me, the one who only appeared at night. I keep the photo as a reminder to keep my guard up. People can’t be trusted, not even my mother.
“So, this is your place,” says Becket. He spins around, frowning when he sees I’ve changed position.
I shift my weight to hide the photo and smile at him sweetly. “This is it.”
He circles the room, observing the odd trinkets I’ve collected over the years. Besides a bit of décor, there’s nothing much of significance, no overly personal touches, just like his home.
“Do you mind if I make an observation?” he asks.
“Hit me with it.”
“This place … it’s not very you.”
I blink. “What do you mean it’s not very me?”
He shrugs. “It’s empty, lifeless, and Brit, you’re anything but. It doesn’t fit you.”
“I suppose not.”
He takes a couple of steps towards me, his eyes never leaving my face. “Care to share why?”
“After what happened with my mom, I never knew if I’d be able to settle anywhere permanently. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t get attached to places, things or people. I didn’t expect to stay in New York for as long as I have.”
His eyes bore into mine, full of understanding. But how could The Great Michael Becket, surrounded by his team and friends, understand what I’ve been through?
“It sounds like a pretty lonely way to live.”
“It is,” I admit. “But I’ve gotten used to it.”
He nods. “I get it.”
“Do you really though? Have you ever lost someone close? Been let down by someone you thought you could trust? And I’m not just talking about Abby.”
“Yes, and yes,” he answers cryptically.
“That’s it. You’re not going to expand?”
He sighs and his face looks pained. I know he wants to tell me more, but he won’t. “I can’t. Don’t push this. You know how it ends.”
Ignoring him, I ask, “Why do you hate New York so much?”
“Stop asking questions you know I can’t give you the answers to.”
Standing tall, I cross my arms over my chest and through gritted teeth say, “So, it’s ok for me to tell you everything. It’s ok for me to let you in, put my heart on the line, but you won’t do the same?”
He groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “That wasn’t the point of this conversation.”
“But this is where it’s ended up. When are you going to trust me?”
“I do. But this—what you’re asking—I can never tell anyone.”
“Fucking wonderful,” I snipe. It’s only been a few hours since we set foot off the plane and already our bubble has popped.
“Yes, you are,” he says playfully, walking closer to me.
I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to make me forget the almost fight we were just having. It pisses me off even more when he leans down and places a kiss on my lips that makes my resolve start to crumble. I try to hold it together, to stand my ground, but when I look up into his green eyes, I forget what we were talking about.
“I could do with some food,” I say. The conversation isn’t finished, we’re simply pressing pause, for now. “There’s nothing in the fridge so we will have to go somewhere.”
“Great, I’m starving. Mind if I freshen up before we head out? I smell like sex.”
I try to ignore the mischievous glint in his eyes because I’m still pissed with him. Pointing to a door on the other side of the room, I say, “Bathroom’s over there.”
He picks up his bag and heads to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. I’m left, consumed by my thoughts, wondering what this all means for us. Reality is beginning to set in, and the honeymoon phase is quickly coming to an end.
I frown when the door reopens and Becket walks back out, shirtless with his pants unbuttoned. He stalks towards me with purpose, picks me up, and walks back to the bathroom, where he’s left the shower running and steam billows out into my chilly apartment.
“Your leg!” I gasp when my mouth manages to catch up with my brain.
Ignoring my protests, he steps into the shower—me still fully clothed, him semi-clothed. I’m silenced when he kisses my neck then sucks on my earlobe. Giving in, I allow my head to roll back in pleasure.
“I don’t give a fuck about my leg,” he grunts, then places a searing kiss on my lips.
My legs wobble when he places me down, but I don’t fall, because he anchors me against the wall with his hips. He raises my top over my head and makes quick work of my bra, discarding them out of the shower, onto the bathroom floor. When he undoes my jeans and pulls them down my legs, there’s nothing left for him to do—my thong was left destroyed on the plane. I look down through hooded eyes and watch as he kisses along the inside of my thighs. When he looks up at me, water droplets stick to his eyelashes, framing his eyes and making them even more mesmerizing.
“The only thing I give a fuck about is you.”
His kisses move higher. I throw my head back, letting out a moan that fills the whole apartment when his tongue circles my clit. I can barely catch my breath when he slides two fingers inside me. He draws them out, continuing the motion at a relentless pace that has me coming apart on his mouth.
Only when my breathing settles and I come back down to Earth, do I acknowledge that what we’re doing is avoiding the inevitable. If we want to be together and really make this work, he needs to let me in. If he can’t, whatever this is we’re doing, will end as quickly as it started.
***
A couple of hours later we finally leave my apartment for food. We end up at a hidden gem away from the usual tourist traps. It’s my favorite.
“That’s disgusting,” I comment, as Becket all but licks his fourth plate clean.
He leans back rubbing his stomach and belches loudly. “You don’t get a body like this by not eating.”
“You’re gross, and not very modest,” I reply, throwing a straw at him.
He holds up his hands and laughs. “I never said I was a gentleman.”
My phone flashes on the table with a message from Jess. I open it and mutter to myself. She wants me to swing by the office for some important work stuff apparently.
“What’s the problem?” asks Becket, midway through shoveling another forkful of food in his mouth.
“I need to go to the magazine. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Can I tag along? It would be good to see part of your life, after you’ve lived in mine for so long.” He grins and any lingering animosity from our conversation earlier blows away.
We finish up and make our way to the office. It’s getting late and I know I’m not alone in wishing we could go straight back to my apartment and get comfy in bed. When we step inside, Becket looks around, taking everything in, just like he did at my apartment. For someone who apparently hates New York, he seems almost at home being here.
“Bitch, get over here!” comes an ear-splitting shriek. Ever the professional, Jess bounds out of her office and covers the distance between us at an Olympic pace.
Becket watches, amused, as Jess jumps at me and engulfs me in her arms.
“Can’t breathe,” I say, struggling for air.
She doesn’t hear me, so I give her a firm whack on the back, and she pulls away.
“That hurt!” she exclaims.
“I couldn’t breathe.”
“All you had to do was say so,” she huffs.
“I tried!”
She loses interest in what I have to say and focuses her attention on Becket. I watch like a hawk, knowing exactly what she’s thinking.
“Are you going to introduce me?” she preens.
I roll my eyes. “Jess, this is Michael Becket.” I then turn to him and gesture back at Jess. “This is my boss and slightly crazy best friend, Jess.”
“It’s great to finally meet you,” she says, holding her hand out for him to take. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Oh, really?” He smirks and I jab Jess with my elbow.
Realizing her mistake, she tries to backtrack, “For the article I mean.”
Becket’s expression makes it obvious he’s having none of what she’s saying.
“Sorry,” she mutters.
Looking to Becket I say, “You’re not the only person in my life who lacks a filter.”
They both look at me like they don’t have a clue what I’m talking about.
Becket laughs and says, “I’ll step out and let you two catch up.” I’m about to say that it’s fine and he can stay, but he holds up a hand, stopping me in my tracks. “You’ve not seen each other for weeks, it’s fine. I’ve been here before. I can find my way around and could do with some air.”
“But your leg … You shouldn’t be using it too much.”
He leans in and whispers into my ear, “You weren’t saying that earlier. I’m a big boy. My leg is fine, Brit.” He walks away.
I turn to Jess. “Looks like it’s just me and you.”
She doesn’t waste a second and drags me into her office, then walks to a small fridge where I know she keeps her emergency stash. Pulling out a bottle of wine, she holds it up in the air and with a little shake, says, “Celebratory drink?”
“What are we celebrating?”
“Losing your virginity, of course.”
“Wha—”
“Oh please,” she tuts. “I’m not stupid. That nice glow you have reeks post-sex. I’m jealous.”
Awkwardly, I run a hand over my hair and my cheeks burn, making it painstakingly obvious she’s hit the nail on the head.
“Don’t worry. I don’t think it’s quite as obvious to everyone else, if that’s what you’re worried about …”
I take the glass of wine she’s holding out to me across her desk and gulp it down.
“He’s so hot!” she squeals. “And the way he looks at you …” She begins fanning herself. “Tell me, is the sex good? Is it everything you thought it would be?”
“Slow down!” I giggle.
“No way. You’ve left me here, on my own, with these bores, for almost two months. You owe me this. I want details, B.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I lie.
“What a load of crap. You just gave a guy your virginity after holding on to it forever. You can’t tell me that doesn’t mean something.”
“I like him.”
Her shoulders shake with laughter. “Of course, you like him. I’d be concerned if you didn’t.”
Admitting defeat, I hold up my glass for a toast. “To the loss of my virginity—it went with a pop.” I place emphasis on the word pop, but rather than joining in like I expect her to, Jess pales and remains quiet. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “He’s behind me isn’t he?”
She nods and mouths sorry.
Looking back over my shoulder, as expected, Becket is standing in the doorway with his arms folded and a stupid grin on his face. “You might have lost your virginity, but there’s one thing about you that hasn’t changed.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“You’re still crap at keeping secrets.”
