Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I haven’t told anyone the entire story except for Connor. Not even Mik knows everything. Certainly no one here in my new town knows what I worry about daily.
He watches me so patiently, with those beautiful, kind eyes, and his hand is warm on my skin.
“I don’t think you realize what I’d be willing to do for you, Skyla.”
He’s serious. And I know this isn’t just about getting in my pants. He wants to know me. When was the last time I felt so … revered? And that’s when it clicks. If I choose to date this man, which is becoming painfully clear that I want to do, he needs to know this part of my history.
And I want to talk to him.
I don’t want to hold anything back.
If this is too much for him, it’s good to find out now before we invest more time and become attached. Because I could absolutely see myself becoming attached to this sexy, sweet man.
“Almost three years ago, I met a man.”
Beckett’s eyes narrow. “Is this story going to piss me off?”
“Probably. It makes me bloody irate on the daily. But there’s no way of sugarcoating it, so if you’d rather not hear it, I don’t have to tell it.”
He lifts his hand from my leg and links our fingers together.
“Don’t sugarcoat it and tell me everything.”
“Okay then. I met Lewis—and that’s the only time I’ll ever speak his name again—about three years ago. He’d been to a few of my performances, had some strings to pull, and ended up backstage to introduce himself to me. He was charming and handsome, and I agreed to go out with him. We saw each other for roughly a month’s time, Beckett. It was nothing serious, and I never slept with him. I never let him into my flat, and I never went to his. It was only ever dinner or drink dates. We took a walk through Central Park once, but that’s it.”
“Okay, casually dating the dude. Got it.”
“Exactly. Very casual. I was so busy that carving out time to foster any kind of romantic relationship was difficult. But I would have, for the right person. The Arsehole, as I’ll now forever refer to him, was not the right person.”
“All of this sounds pretty normal so far.”
“And that’s where the normalcy ends.” I lean my cheek on the back of the sofa, enjoying the way Becket’s thumb makes circles on the backs of my knuckles. It feels good to be touched, to have this handsome man listen.
Without any judgment in his eyes.
“He would do weird, controlling things when we were out, like not even let me look at a menu but just order for me. He didn’t ask if I had allergies or if I actually wanted something. He simply decided for me. I didn’t like that.”
“So he’s a dick.”
I chuckle and nod in agreement. “He’d make comments about my weight.”
Beckett’s eyes narrow menacingly.
“He’d remind me that I was a tiny dancer, and that I should have a certain diet as if I hadn’t been a professional dancer for most of my life and knew exactly what was required to maintain the physical shape needed. He was condescending and not any fun at all. So on the walk through the park, I told him that I appreciated his time, but that it wasn’t going to work out for me, and I wished him well.”
Beckett shifts on the sofa, still facing me, still holding my hand.
“Let me guess. He didn’t like that.”
“At that moment, he was calm and said he understood and also wished me well. I thought nothing of it when I left and returned to work that afternoon. I was relieved that it went as well as it could, and honestly, I forgot about it. For about two weeks. And that’s when it all went to shite.”
Pulling out of his grasp, I stand and walk to the kitchen, grab two bottles of water, and return, offering him one. When he takes it, I sit where I was before, and Beckett takes my hand again as if he simply has to touch me, and I’m grateful.
I do enjoy his touch.
“He never did anything that was technically against the law or that I could prove was against the law.”
His eyes narrow, his hand tightens on mine, and for the first time in my life, I want to move over and put myself in a man’s lap. “Explain, please.”
“He’d call but not incessantly. He’d send me flowers. Pink roses.” I shiver at that and shake my head. “Ugh, if I never see another pink rose, it’ll be too soon.”
“Noted.”
“He kept inserting himself into my life even though I’d told him to stop. And when I stopped answering him, he got agitated.”
“How long did this go on, Skyla?”
I chew on my bottom lip, doing the math. “Almost two years.”