Chapter 17
Dark Side
Camille
We arrived at the diner and Beau opened the door for me.
The place was crowded and noisy, and the hostess politely informed us that they didn't have any available tables … but they did have two open spots at the end of the bar.
“You good with that?” Beau asked.
“Sure.”
I noticed the young hostess peering at Beau curiously as she gathered a couple of menus for us. I wondered what might be going through her mind as she eyed the tall, handsome, muscular young man with the fresh stitches. The look on her face told me she couldn't figure him out—but if given the chance, she'd love to solve the mystery.
Nevertheless, she led us to the bar.
“So, are you in pain?” I asked him, gesturing at his sutured skin.
“No. Don't worry about me. I'm a warrior.” He waved his hand dismissively as we took our seats at the end of the bar. “Did you enjoy the game at least?”
“Totally. You were a stud out there in the third period, Beau. Of course, as you could probably tell from my texts, I was completely freaked out by seeing you get smashed into the glass. Ugh, just thinking about it turns my stomach.”
“Funny, 'cause I would've thought that'd make you happy,” Beau said wryly. “I seem to recall seeing the bird just before the lights went out.”
“Yeah … sorry about the middle finger.” I could feel my cheeks burning bright-red. “But why were you looking at my rack during a hockey game, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be focused on the action?”
Beau gave a cocky half-smile. “I thought I was supposed to look at your rack?”
“I don't know what you mean,” I lied. I tossed my hair over my shoulder and averted my eyes. Beau took advantage of the opportunity once more. His hungry gaze on my cleavage gave me a wild rush …
“You're a bad actress.”
I played up my bad acting. “Hm, I just don't know what you mean.”
Beau played along. “The all-black outfit. The see-through blouse. The fishnet leggings.” He reached for my thigh and hooked his finger through the large hole in my jeans. Suggestively, he fingered the leggings that peeked through the frayed denim. The tease of his thick finger against my bare thigh stole my breath and inspired a flash of steamy memories from last night … but I tried not to let it show too much on my face.
Beau's lip curled with a knowing smirk. “You dressed like this one night after I told you that I thought you were hot as a goth. I like it.”
“Fine. Caught red-handed,” I admitted.
We paused to put in our orders. The bartender turned away, and then it was just Beau and I again. His starving eyes were all over me.
“So what do you wanna do after our date?” he asked, his voice gritty and lusty.
“Beau!”
“I told you if I scored two we were doing something after.”
“Yeah, and I know exactly what you want to do after, too.”
The smile on his face didn't deny the accusation.
“But, Beau, I have to confess to something awful.”
His eyes lit up—he apparently liked the prospect of me confessing to terrible things. “Oh yeah? I'm listening.”
“You're probably going to hate me.” I gritted my teeth. “So I told Piper I wore this outfit because I wanted to distract you while you played. I wanted to see you get hurt on the ice. And the fact that it actually happened that way? I feel so rotten to the core. I'm so sorry.”
After a pause, Beau gave a hearty laugh.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Well, for one, I like how twisted you think. That's something I'd do—if I were a vengeful girl with fantastic tits, anyway.”
I rolled my eyes at his brashness … but I still gave a small laugh.
“Two, it's not your fault. Yeah, I saw you in the crowd for a split-second. But I've been fucking with Leroux all night, and I had my back turned to the play. He had it out for me, and I gave him a golden opportunity to get even.” Beau gave a shrug. “I know the hit looked bad, but jeez. I didn't almost die, and I definitely didn't almost die because of you, so you don't have to feel guilty about it.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Really? You're sure?”
“Really. In fact, don't worry, I'll get hit worse than that a few more times this year alone.”
I reeled back. The reality of caring for a professional athlete, and having to worry about him getting seriously injured on a routine basis, struck me like a sharp smack to the cheek.
Beau raised an eyebrow. “But uh, why did you want me to get killed?”
I paused. Should we really get into this? Here and now?
“Well, um, because of what we did last night,” I muttered.
The bartender delivered Beau's beer just in time for him to take down a long, nervous gulp. “Oh?”
“I don't normally do that kind of thing with guys, Beau.”
His wild-eyed charm returned. “Sex? You don't have sex with guys?”
“Har-har. I mean, I don't do the one night stand thing.”
“Perfect—how about a two night stand?”
“Beau! I'm trying to be serious.”
A look of boyish regret furrowed his brow. “Shit, I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. Okay, we're being serious now. Go ahead.”
“The point is, I don't normally jump into bed with people unless I care about them, and so it sort of fucked me up doing that with you, you know?”
Beau's stature shrank when he heard that.
What are you doing, Camille? You're turning him off! The devil inside me yelled—the devil that still desperately wanted to get laid by the star of the hockey game, anyway.
Yet I continued. “And I overslept this morning and completely fucked up the bakery's official opening. Like, an I-don't-know-if-we'll-ever-recover kind of fuck-up.”
Beau's jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
“And we made a sex mess all over Piper's bed sheets, which sent me spiraling into a panic about what a shitty friend I am. Thankfully, she was super cool about it, but still.”
He sank his teeth into his bottom lip. “Yeah … I guess, in hindsight, screwing in her bed wasn't the best move.”
“I just had so much regret afterward, Beau. I dunno, I felt like we shouldn't have done it. And the way you left afterwards didn't sit right with me.”
Beau nodded gravely. “Honestly …? Funny you should say that. I felt the same way.”
I hadn't expected him to agree with me. I expected him to be cocky Beau, and continue to insist that we should turn that one night stand into a two night stand. And in a way, that was exactly what I wanted from him.
“So, we agree it was a mistake?” I asked.
I was arming the trap and I knew it.
“Yeah … I mean, I guess so,” he answered.
Heavy disappointment sank to my stomach, like a boulder dropped in water. But I kept my dignity intact.
“Good,” I said with a laugh to hide my hurt pride. I knocked back my margarita and drank until the glass went empty. “We were just two drunk idiots, then, doing something we never should've done.”
An uncomfortable silence came between us.
Was that it? Now we had nothing to say to each other? Silently, I kicked myself for even bringing up last night … it wasn't that long ago when I was telling myself I'd be fine with being Beau's fuck-toy for the night. Yet, here I was, ruining the night by telling him how much I regretted sleeping with him.
Beau stared into his pint of beer. He looked troubled, and I felt bad for him, because he was what he always was: a successful jock who liked to get laid and hated commitment. He was even willing to play the role of gentleman for the night, if that meant getting laid some more. Which was admirable, in a way—it was the most any woman would ever manage to wrangle out of him, anyhow.
But then, Beau Bradford surprised me.
“I have a confession of my own to make,” he sputtered suddenly.
My ears perked up. “What?”
“A confession. A bad one. Like, actually bad. Way worse than yours.”
I gulped. “Well, er, okay.”
“I really had a good time catching up with you last night at the club,” he trailed off.
“That's it? That's not much of a confession.”
“No. That's not it. I'm just working up the nerve.” He paused. “Camille, the truth is, I didn't expect to enjoy hanging out with you as much as I did.”
“Okay, um, thanks. I guess.” I fidgeted with my hands.
“Well, you know, we've always been at each other's throats and stuff. We were never actually friends. We never hung out or anything like that.”
“Sure. I felt the same way. That's why I was wondering why you invited Piper and I out in the first place.”
“I—well.” He stammered. He couldn't quite get it out—but I already knew what he was about to tell me.
“You wanted to fuck Piper, didn't you? To rub it in my face?”
“Piper? No!” The look of shock on his face told me he was telling the truth. Then his expression grew serious again. “I wanted to sleep with you. To get back at you.”
“Get back at me?”
“Yeah, you know. A grudge-fuck.”
“Grudge-fuck, ew,” I muttered under my breath. “But no, I mean, get back at me for what?”
“Really? Still playing innocent?”
“Playing innocent about what, Beau?” I gave a brusque laugh.
“For the second time, you're a bad actress.” He paused. “The Beau Bradford Blandwagon. Ring a bell?”
I might have tried to deny it if I hadn't felt the cold, heavy rush of blood falling from my face.
“Oh,” I said in a small voice. “I didn't think you even knew about that site.”
“Yeah, I knew about it. Hey, I have to admit, it was pretty funny. ” He forced a smile. He tried to look happy and unaffected but I knew, deep down, that I'd hurt him. “Everyone in school sure thought the site was hilarious, anyway. Even the boys on the team were lifting jokes from your site to rib me.”
I gulped. Shit.
“How did you know it was me …?”
“You kidding? Who else would it have been? You were always quiet in class, but I could tell you had this cynical side.” He paused. “Plus, I turned the charm on, and your best friend totally gave you up.”
“Sara,” I cursed under my breath. I put my hand on his forearm. “God, Beau. I'm so sorry. I was just lashing out, because—I don't even know! I guess I was jealous of all the attention you got …”
Beau shook his head. “Look. You don't have to explain. If anything, you helped harden me.”
“Harden you? To what?”
“Up until that point, I wanted everyone to love me. In fact, I thought everyone had to love me, that it wasn't possible not to love me.” He wagged his finger at me. “But your site. Man. That burned at me.”
I hung my head.
“And then I realized—hey, I don't have to be loved. Not everyone's going to love me, so what's the point? Embrace the hate. Turns out that strategy worked pretty well for me on the ice, too.”
My temples throbbed as the horrifying realization set in: I'd made Beau Bradford into what he was. Me. I was the one responsible for the obnoxious, sociopathic asshole that I claimed I hated so much.
Still, I tried to resist that bit of knowledge, and all of its implications. “But I made that site because of the way you teased me, Beau. If you wanted to be loved, you sure had a funny way of showing it.”
He cracked a grin. “Yeah, but I teased all the girls I thought were cute. Hell, I guess I still do. Usually, they like me back. That's how it's always worked. Not with you, though.”
“Y-you—” I stammered as my throat began to swell shut. “You didn't think I was cute.”
“Actually? Yeah. I did.” He added quietly, “And still do.”
“But I wasn't cool like you. I flew under the radar. No one noticed me.”
“Yep. Which I happened to find insanely hot, believe it or not. And once I found out you had a dark side? That made you even more mysterious and attractive to me.”
“So that's what you were always getting at with the dark side stuff,” I grumbled. “That damn site.”
“Duh. You really couldn't figure that out?”
“I guess I was in denial. If you knew that I made that site, then you'd know I wasn't just a shy girl. You'd know I was actually …” I trailed off.
“Kind of a b?” Beau proffered.
“Beau!” I slapped at his muscular arm. “But, um, yeah. Exactly.”
I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath to ready myself for what I was about to admit.
“I had a crush on you too,” I blurted out.
He laughed with surprise. “You did?”
“Granted, it wasn't really a conscious crush, because it was heavily obscured by several layers of denial and anger at you. I was so jealous of all the popular girls who got your attention. I'd always thought you were cute, way back to middle school, even before you got all hockey-famous. Which is why it made me so mad that suddenly, everyone wanted to be with you …”
“No shit. You did?” Beau said. “Wish I'd known that.”
“You were so shy back then!”
“And so were you.”
I held up a palm. “And that was the problem. We didn't know how to talk to each other.”
We both let out a sigh.
The bartender delivered our food, and we talked between bites.
“So last night. You set out to grudge-fuck me,” I said with a small giggle. Now, after all that had been said, I found it kind of amusing.
And maybe even a little sexy, in a deranged sort of way.
“Sure did.” He put his arm around my waist, reached lower, and sneakily grabbed a handful of my ass. “And now I can't stop thinking about it.”
“You're so bad,” I said—but I let his hand stay there, hoping the cute hostess would look our way and notice it, too.
“Don't lie, Camille. You know it was hot.”
“Maybe just a little,” I admitted quietly. Then I gently jabbed my elbow into his chest. “But you just said you regretted it a minute ago.”
He sighed. “Yeah. Once we got to talking in the club, I realized I didn't wanna go through with it. Like I said, I actually had fun catching up with you, and—I don't know. It felt wrong, somehow. I wasn't sure why. But then Piper passed out, and suddenly we were kissing in the cab, and god it was hot, Cam.”
My throat tensed. “Yeah,” I mumbled shyly.
“And then we were back at Piper's place, and alone in her bedroom, and, well … old habits took over, I guess. I had to have you. But I felt different afterward, not like I normally do.”
“Explain.”
“You know how you said you don't normally do that kind of thing with guys?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I don't normally do that kind of thing with someone I care about.”
“Wait, you're saying you care about me, Beau?”
“I know. I was shocked, too. In the cab ride home? Sure, I was proud of myself for nailing you, and finally getting back at you.”
My hand whacked his chest again.
“But, at the same time, I felt all empty and shit. Look, don't tell anyone this, because I haven't told anyone on the team or anything—but I've been having these anxiety attacks. And sure enough, after hooking up with you? I got one as soon as I got back to the hotel. And fuck me if that wasn't the worst one I've had yet. My heart felt so empty and I couldn't breathe and ugh. It scared the hell out of me, honestly.”
I gave a short laugh. “That's your conscience weighing on you, Beau. I guess you have a heart after all?”
“Apparently.”
“But I'm curious: do you really mean it when you say you've never cared for someone?”
“I mean, I've had girlfriends. But I always had a take 'em or leave 'em kind of mindset.”
I didn't ask the follow-up question I wanted to know; I already knew the answer, anyway. He was a professional athlete. It was surprising, and sweet, and even promising that he was having this moment of clarity and beginning to understand his emotions. Maybe he was growing up after all. But there was no way he was anywhere near ready to even think about committing to a girl someday.
It was sad, but I knew in my heart that Beau still had a long way to go to be a man. And change is a grueling, glacial process. And he was still Beau Bradford, successful millionaire athlete. Whichever city he went, he could pull out his sleazy MeatMarket app and summon all the bright-eyed local girls to a bar, where they'd fight and claw at each other just for the chance to sleep with a professional athlete and never see him again.
In other words? He was already living a life that most guys would kill to have. Why settle down now? What was in it for him? He didn't have to change. It was perfectly understandable that he shouldn't, that he should continue to have his cake and eat it too.
Which was a concept that I was surprisingly okay with, as I turned it around and around in my head. Obviously, we weren't compatible; we lived 2,000 miles apart and our lifestyles couldn't be any more different. Trying to honestly date Beau would be a disaster. A complete train-wreck.
So I let myself just enjoy this moment with Beau, without feelings getting in the way. We were just two old enemies who'd finally put down an old dispute and, as it turned out, had a lot more in common than we realized.
But that was it. There was no future for us.
And I'm okay with that.
After dinner, I'd let him take me wherever he wanted to go. If that meant going back to his place for one more night of meaningless fun … well, sure, I'd do it.
Without feelings getting in the way, of course.