Bad Divorce Page 7

  She tilted her head. “What were the other dates you tried?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  She would. She really would. But obviously, he wanted her to ask, and she couldn’t make it that easy on him. So, instead of pressing him further, she turned for her door.

  “Did you figure out this one, yet?”

  He bent, pressed four buttons on the keypad attached to the lock.

  It unlatched with a soft click.

  Oh.

  Luke brushed his thumb across her lips. He leaned in, and her chin lifted, wanting his mouth, wanting him to take her into his arms again and kiss her senseless. Hot breath on her forehead, punctuated by a brush of his lips there then the same on her cheek, her jaw, just below her ear before he whispered, “I remember everything about you, sweetheart.”

  He nudged her over the threshold, quietly closed the door.

  “Lock up,” he said through the wooden panel.

  She did then watched through the peephole as he strode to the elevator. Her phone buzzed just as the metal doors closed.

  I can’t wait to see you again.

  Bec felt the same exact way.

  But she was too much of a wuss to reply in kind. Instead, she pulled up her text chain with Sera and asked her friend to meet for apology salads at Molly’s the following day.

  The reply came in less than a minute.

  You’re my smartest friend.

  A pause.

  But just so you know, you owe me apology salads AND apology pastries.

  Bec smiled.

  Deal.

  Her cell buzzed again.

  And maybe apology soup.

  She snorted.

  Done.

  “I’m the worst, and you’re the best,” Bec announced as she sat down in the chair opposite Sera.

  Her friend had already been at Molly’s for a good amount of time if the paperback, half-eaten salad, and empty glass of water were any indication, and Bec felt another pulse of guilt that she was late to apology salads.

  “Well,” Sera said, putting a bookmark into her paperback and closing it. “We already know that.” She speared another bite of her salad.

  “I’m sorry I’m late. I got—”

  “Caught up in a case.” Sera smiled. “I knew you’d be late. Arriving on time for lunch dates is your arch nemesis. It never fails that you’re stopped on the way out of the office.”

  Since that was exactly what happened, Bec didn’t know what to say.

  “Pick a soup for us to share. I need an excuse to eat more bread.”

  Bec glanced at the menu. “Potato and leek?”

  “And that’s why we’re friends.” Sera reached across the table and squished Bec’s cheeks, tone changing so it sounded like she was talking to a dog. “Because even though you don’t like leeks, you’d still order it for me.”

  Bec smiled. “I don’t hate them . . .”

  “You once called them Satan’s pubes of a vegetable.”

  “That was chives, I’ll have you know. And I still stand by that statement.”

  Sera snorted. “Order the tomato, I’ll get the leek and we’ll live vicariously.”

  “Good plan.” Bec got up to put in the order and then came back to the table with the triangular number placard. And in that amount of time—less than five minutes—realized why Sera had been reading earlier.

  Not just because their Sextant loved reading and were ridiculously obsessed with any and all types of romance novels—even Bec wasn’t jaded enough to not enjoy a fictional happy ending—but because the book had been a shield against unwanted male attention.

  Male attention in the form of the Molly’s employee Sera had mentioned the other day.

  “Thou art—”

  This was Bec’s specialty.

  She elbowed in between the man-child and Sera then plunked herself on Sera’s lap, pressing a smacking kiss to her friend’s lips. “There you are, baby.”

  Sera’s shocked expression was worth it.

  So. Totally. Worth. It.

  In fact, Bec would have documented it for posterity if it wouldn’t have blown the cover she was attempting to build.

  She unleashed her glare on the man who was more boy than adult. “Leave.”

  His eyes went wide and his jaw worked for a few seconds before he spun around and left.

  Bec pushed out of Sera’s lap.

  “What. The hell. Was that?” Sera exclaimed as Bec sank down into her own chair.

  “You’re welcome.” Bec waved a judicious hand. “He won’t bother you again.”

  “Or he’ll get it in his head that he’ll want a two-for-one special and then never leave either of us alone again.”

  Bec turned her head, sent another death glare at the boy who shrank back and hurried through a swinging door into the kitchen. “No, he won’t.”

  Sera smacked her. “Leave poor Timmy alone.”

  “His name isn’t Timmy,” Bec said. “That’s just too . . .”

  “Tragic? Charles Dickens? Shakespearean drama?”

  “That. Precisely.”

  A beat before they both cackled.

  Sera pointed a finger at her. “I was never an asshole until I met you.”

  “You’re still not an asshole,” Bec reminded her. “You’re pretty much the nicest person I know. Hence, the necessary rescuing.”

  Sera opened her mouth, closed it, and sighed before leaning close to Bec and whispering, “Well, I’m sorry to say you’re rescuing failed.”

  Bec frowned when Timmy appeared at her elbow. But he didn’t make a pass or even risk eye contact. Instead, he dropped her salad and the two soups onto the table then all but ran away.

  She smirked over at Sera. “See? Rescuing was successful.”

  “You’re the worst.” A shrug, a twitch of Sera’s lips. “Or maybe the best. Thanks for making Molly’s my safe space again.” She fluttered her eyelids, dropped the back of one hand to her forehead. “Oh, Bec Darden, lawyer extraordinaire and possessor of the patented Death Stare, thank you for being my knight in shining armor. Shall I jump aboard your mighty steed and let you carry me away?”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.” But Bec’s lips twitched. “Okay, fine. I’m loving this snarky side of you.”

  Sera’s eyes brightened. “Enough to mount me?” She waggled her brows.

  “Ew.”

  Sera huffed. “Why is it that every single time I make a dirty joke, that’s the reaction I get from you and the girls? I’m dirty, too! I think about penises and love steamy sex scenes. I can even say”—her voice dropped—“cock.”

  Bec bursting into laughter. “I’m . . . sorry . . . but you can say cock? Oh my God, Sera you are the best.”

  Sera crossed her arms.

  “Careful”—Bec gestured at her boobage area—“or Timmy will forget about my rescuing.”

  “Bec!”

  “Eat, before I get called back to work.”

  “I need my flipping apology pastry after this abuse,” Sera muttered.

  Bec reached across the table, squeezed Sera’s free hand, and gave her friend what she needed. “Thanks for being my friend.”

  See? She wasn’t always an asshole.

  Sera’s eyes welled up and she dropped her spoon, clasping her hands over her heart. “I knew Luke was perfect for you.”

  Bec scoffed.

  Sera stage-whispered, “You have feelings now.”

  “Shut up and eat your apology soup.”

  “It’s true,” Sera sing-songed.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” Bec grumbled, shoveling her own soup into her mouth. Why had she been nice again? Assholes never had to deal with teasing.

  Sera’s grin was wide. “It’ll be our little secret.”

  A secret that found its way to the Sextant’s group text chain a mere half hour later.

  Bec pretended to hate the attention.

  But really, she was secretly happy that her family cared enough to tease her. />
  Twelve

  Sera: Bec kissed me!

  Abby: Uh, what?

  Bec: She exaggerates. It was a smack, and I was in pure rescuing mode. Ask her about Timmy.

  CeCe: Uh-oh. Timmy from Molly’s? What did he do?

  Sera: He quoted Romeo and Juliet.

  Rachel: That sounds romantic, actually.

  Bec: She turned him down, and then he began quoting lines from a Shakespearian tragedy. Definitely NOT romantic.

  Heather: What does Timmy look like?

  Bec: Doesn’t matter, he’s a drama major.

  Abby: *horrified GIF*

  Rachel: I second that.

  Sera: He wasn’t that bad.

  Bec: He was worse.

  Heather: He sounds worse.

  Bec: Hell, yeah he was worse. Plus, he’s all of twenty-one.

  Sera: Too young for sure and frankly, too weird. But also . . . Luke and Becky sitting in the tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

  Bec: I was wrong earlier. YOU’RE the worst.

  Sera: *kissing emoji*

  Abby: By my count, you’ve had two dates you haven’t dished on.

  CeCe: Exactly! I need details.

  Rachel: It’s my turn to host Wine Night.

  Sera: Yes! Wine Night!

  Rachel: :) Saturday. I’ll kick Sebastian out. Bec bring all the details and the rest of you ALL the books. I need a new read. I’ll provide booze and wine.

  Bec: You know booze and wine are the same thing.

  Rachel: Not to me they aren’t.

  Abby: I agree. They’re two separate food groups.

  CeCe: Exactly. Vodka is a veggie and wine a fruit.

  Sera: *fist bump gif*

  Bec: I’m friends with insane people.

  Heather: I can’t fault any of CeCe’s logic. Stepping into a meeting, so am turning on Do Not Disturb, but I’ll be there on Saturday.

  CeCe: Me too. Colin and I are back from Scotland on Friday!

  Abby: I’m boring and have no social life, aside from you ladies. Of course, I’ll see you then.

  Rachel: What she said. ^^

  Sera: Ditto ^

  Bec: Fine. Saturday.

  Sera: Unless she has a date with Luuuuuke.

  Abby: *rolling on the floor laughing GIF*

  Rachel: Haha. Nice.

  CeCe: *slow clap GIF*

  Heather: Get back to work, ladies. *fist bump emoji* That’s for you, Sera.

  Bec: I hate you all.

  Thirteen

  Luke

  He’d known this was bound to happen.

  “I’m sorry,” Becky said, and though her tone was laced with an apology, it also held a hard edge.

  She was expecting him to be mad.

  Like he used to be.

  “Switch to FaceTime,” he told her.

  “What?”

  Luke pulled the phone from his ear, pressed the button so he could see his Becky’s face.

  After a few seconds, it appeared on the screen.

  Her blonde hair swept up into a messy ponytail, a pale blue silky tank top giving him a tantalizing view of her braless state. Fuck, she was beautiful.

  “Sweetheart,” he said. “Look at me.”

  Lips pressing together, she put what looked to be a toiletry bag down. “What?”

  Ice in her voice now. Definitely expecting a fight. Or a guilt trip. He’d been good at those, too.

  “It’s okay.”

  She huffed. “I know it’s okay. My job is important, and sometimes—”

  “Sometimes it takes priority.” Luke wished they were having this conversation in person rather than over the phone so he could tug her close and make her understand that this time everything between them was different. “Sweetheart, stop.”

  Gray eyes met his.

  “We’ll reschedule.”

  Hope danced across her face. “Yeah?”

  “Of course, we will,” he told her. “I need to fly back to Texas to take care of a few things actually.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize.” White teeth nibbled at her bottom lip. “Is everything okay?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve been wanting to break into renewables in California. We’ve been looking for prospective sites in the Central Valley to try out some new technology our engineers have developed. I need to go back to the board with my proposals.”

  Becky picked up the toiletry bag again, and Luke spent a few moments staring at the ceiling while she stashed it in her suitcase. “You should talk to Heather.”

  “Who’s Heather?”

  She blew a strand of hair off her forehead, walking with the phone into the closet and pulling out a red power suit. “Heather O’Keith—”

  “From RoboTech?” he asked, shocked. “We’ve been trying to set up a meeting with her for ages.”

  “Well, I think I can help you with that,” Becky said. “For a price.”

  Luke grinned. “What price?”

  “I get to plan our next date.”

  That grin faded.

  “Becky—”

  “Bec,” she corrected. “And no negotiations either. You’ve had entirely too much control over this dating situation already.”

  “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

  Zip, went the garment bag. Up, went one of her eyebrows.

  “We’ve had fun, haven’t we?” he asked.

  “I did like scoring more than you in ax throwing.”

  “Allegedly,” he corrected.

  The other brow went up. “Clearly, I won by ten points.”

  “You stepped over the line!” she said, lifting her suitcase to the floor and draping the garment bag on top of it before flopping onto her bed.

  “Did not.”

  “The last throw didn’t count.”

  “Did so.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Sugar pie?”

  “What?” she snapped, and Luke felt a blip of happiness when she didn’t correct his use of the nickname.

  “I like arguing with you.”

  She froze, lips curving up. “You’re annoying.”

  “Of course, I am.”

  A shake of her head. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Keep me?”

  Becky sighed even though her eyes danced. “Let me plan the next date, and I’ll consider it.”

  “Relentless.” A beat. “I wish you’d let me drive you to the airport.”

  “I have a driver,” she said. “And my flight leaves at five. It’s awful.”

  “He won’t give you the goodbye kiss I will.”

  She tapped a finger to her chin. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “You fight dirty.”

  A shrug.

  “Fine. You get to plan Date Three, but only if you let me come over in the morning and drive you to the airport,” he added as her expression turned victorious. “I need to prove to you that I can kiss better than your driver.”

  Becky shook her head. “And you say I’m relentless.” But her mouth was curved into a smile. “Fine. But be forewarned, I need to leave at three-thirty.”

  “I’ll be there.” She stifled a yawn and Luke smiled. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

  She snuggled into the blankets of her bed. “’Kay.”

  “Becky?”

  “Hmm?”

  Another blip of happiness as she let his Becky slip by.

  “I like negotiating with you.”

  “I like negotiating with you too, Pearson,” she said, eyes sliding closed.

  Even though he’d just talked himself into getting less than four hours of sleep, when Luke hung up, he had the biggest smile on his face.

  Luke lips burned as he watched his Becky stride away, her hips swaying, rolling the small black suitcase behind her as she strode toward the private jet that was waiting on the tarmac. A flight attendant carried her garment bag, had tried to take the suitcase as well, but Becky had waved him off. Luke had watched the other man bend close and then laugh loudly at something his Becky h
ad said.

  Fucking bastard.

  Luke wanted to be the man Becky talked to. The only man.

  And that thought was staying exactly where it should, locked deep within his possessive caveman brain.

  She walked up the steps, pausing just at the door. His heart leaped when she turned toward his car and waved. Luke waved back, though realistically he knew it was too dark outside for her to see through the windows.

  Then she was gone, and he needed to drive back to his empty hotel room.

  He missed her more in that moment than in their decade apart. Before he’d been used to not being with his Becky, had used anger to cauterize those wounds inside him. This—hope for a second chance, wishing their relationship worked out, wanting a future with her—was different.

  Those old wounds ached.

  His phone buzzed.

  Get a move on, Pearson. I’ll see you in a week.

  Luke’s mouth curved.

  That date better be impressive.

  The plane’s door slammed closed, the stairs rolled away.

  You doubt me?

  His fingers flew across his screen.

  Bec Fucking Darden? Hell, no. I’d bet on you anytime, sweetheart. Safe flight.

  She sent back a GIF of a giggling movie star, and he was smiling as he watched her plane take off, knowing his heart might as well be in the seat next to her.

  This time around, Luke would wait for her, however long it took.

  Monday of the next week rolled around bright and early, and Luke was beyond relieved to be meeting with Heather O’Keith.

  If only because it meant he was getting out of his hotel room.

  The maid had given him such a pitying look yesterday afternoon, after he’d refused a cleaning for the third day in a row. So what if he’d answered the door in a ratty T-shirt and boxer briefs, his hair a mess? He’d put all the dirty room service dishes outside in the hall. He’d taken the proffered clean towels.

  Maybe he hadn’t used them . . .

  Okay, so he was a disgusting mess.

  But not this morning because he’d caught up with all the outstanding Pearson Energy business, had put the finishing touches on his plan for what he was considering doing in California with his renewable trials, and he’d put on a suit.