Chapter Twelve
Nash
“You’re not taking a picture of me in the shower.”
Standing in the fake bathroom at the Waterbury IKEA that evening, Nash knew one thing: he was going to kill his cousins. Of course, he highly doubted Griff and Dixon thought up a photo scavenger hunt date on their own. This had Fiona’s and Kinsey’s fingerprints all over it. Even worse, it was a scavenger hunt of documented embarrassment with photos to prove every find.
“You’re completely dressed,” Chelle said. “Come on, do you want to win the scavenger hunt or not?”
And that was the question, wasn’t it? He was competitive right down to the marrow of his bones, and no one knew that better than his cousins and, apparently, their fiancées.
Those fuckers.
Looking around at the fake bathroom in the middle of the absolutely ginormous IKEA showroom, Nash realized that he was going to do this. His cousins would have known that he’d eventually do that. None of the Beckett cousins would let a little momentary embarrassment get in the way of winning. The rules of the Last Man Standing bet were simple:
Of course, none of this was supposed to apply to him, because he’d known from the beginning that Grandma’s scheme had been to get her grandchildren to quit the single life and settle down with the love of their life. And he’d kept his mouth shut about it because he knew that was the only way he’d win. That’s why selling the idea of the Last Man Standing bet to his cousins had been so easy—he knew exactly what buttons to push to get Dixon and Griff to do exactly what they were dead set against. The flip side of that, of course, was that they’d known him all his life and, therefore, knew all of his weak spots, too.
The largest of which was being a total asshole in public.
“Is there really winning or is it just abject humiliation?” he grumbled as he pushed back the white vinyl shower curtain surrounding the fake shower, because yeah, he was doing this despite the fact that there were a billion people in the store.
“Tell you what,” Chelle said, her lips curled into an encouraging grin. “We get all the pics to finish this scavenger hunt, and I’ll buy you a beer after.”
Beer in a dark booth in a dive bar with Chelle, where they had to sit thigh-to-thigh close and there was a good chance he’d get to put his arm on the back of the booth and around her? Yeah, that was definitely a reward.
“Two beers.” He stepped inside the shower stall and almost fit (he could look over the shower curtain bar without trying). “I’m a big guy, and this is a small shower.”
“Deal.” Chelle took a few steps back and held up her phone to get the shot. “Now give me a good face.”
There was no going back now. It would be less embarrassing if it weren’t for the fact that what pushed him over the edge and scrunching down under the non-functioning showerhead in the teeny-tiny stall in the fake bathroom display as people streamed by was that she’d smiled at him.
“My cousins are going to use this as blackmail for the rest of my life.” He’d be lucky if these shots didn’t make it onto the Beckett Cosmetics website or some such shit.
Chelle rolled her eyes and squatted down to take a shot from a low angle. “Cheer up. You might get hit by a bus.”
He laughed loud enough to catch the attention of the harried couple who’d spent the last ten minutes arguing by the bookcase displays. “That’s not a happy thought.”
“True”—she thumbed through the pictures on her phone—“but you laughed anyway.”
“It’s this place,” he grumbled. “IKEA has made me lose my good sense.”
“That’s what it does,” she said as she stepped closer and began closing the shower curtain a bit. “Did you know couples end up breaking up all the time after a trip here?”
“Good thing we’re motivated to stay together,” he said.
He glanced over at the couple that had gone back to arguing about the benefits of Billy versus Kallax bookcases. The woman’s nose had turned red and the guy had crossed his arms and taken the posture of a pissed-off donkey. The urge to exit the shower so he could go mediate the strangers’ disagreement and offer advice about which bookcases to get had him taking a step out of the shower before he even realized it. Really, they needed him. He could help make sure they didn’t let an IKEA argument turn into a failed relationship, which would turn into a life of being lonely because they’d lost that one person who completed them.
He took another step toward the couple, but Chelle shot him a look that stopped him. Well, that and the fact that she’d put her hand on his chest, which sent a lightning bolt of lust straight to his dick.
She pulled back her hand, flexing her fingers as if she’d felt it, too. “Give folks a chance to solve their own problems.”
“But—”
She tilted her chin down and shook her head. “You don’t have to fix everything for everyone, Nash.”
Chelle could be right.
Maybe.
Sure, there was a strong chance that she was more correct than incorrect.
Possibly.
Normally, he’d already be up in the couple’s business, offering his guidance and keeping them from having to experience the painful consequences of failure, but instead he took in a deep breath and let that anxious knot at the idea of someone needing help unwind in his stomach with the exhale. By the time he was done, the couple was holding hands again and taking the pickup location cards for both types of bookcases.
Chelle could have given him a told-you-so look, but instead she took a step back and held up her phone as he got back in the shower. “Close the curtain and peek out like I just interrupted you.”
Yeah, those were not the kind of ideas he needed in his head when he was in public. His dick was half hard, and he was thanking the universe for the shower curtain hanging between them.
And because the universe loved to fuck with him, she picked that moment to sweep the curtain back. Luckily for the little bit of pride he still had at that moment, instead of looking down at his unprompted but becoming a little too common boner around her, she grabbed the removable showerhead and handed it to him.
“Now sing into the showerhead,” she said as she angled her phone for the perfect shot.
And he did it. Like, he went full front man in the middle of a big arena show—he was all exaggerated facial expressions and way too into it body language, complete with the whole head thrown back showered mic above his face thing. Why? Because it made Chelle giggle, and hearing that gave him the same rush as closing a massive Beckett Cosmetics distribution deal or winning a stupid bet with his cousins.
Though, really, there was more to it. Those things always left him craving whatever came next. This? He just wanted to bask in the light sound of her enjoyment of him making an ass of himself.
“Why am I doing this again?” he asked, because it wasn’t like he could say the truth out loud.
She tucked her phone into her back pocket. “Because there are Swedish meatballs for you at the end of it, and then beer when we get back to Harbor City.”
“Meatballs?” he asked, stepping out of the shower and following her out of the little fake bathroom.
“You’ve never had the IKEA meatballs?” She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm as they followed the arrows painted on the floor toward the next section of the showroom. “Oh, you are in for a treat.”
His stomach growled, but he barely noticed anything beyond the brush of her hip against his. “How many more things are on the list?”
“Fifteen,” she said with a sigh.
“You’re doing the next one.”
She looked down at the printed scavenger hunt list in her hand. “I can totally pretend to be asleep in a bed.”
He almost tripped over his own feet as he imagined Chelle spread out on a bed, the sheets tangled up around her waist, and her amazing tits bare to the night air. Lust, sure and strong, sucker punched his dick and sucked all the air out of his lungs. Chelle shot him a questioning look as he tried his best to get his shit back together. Too bad that mental image of her was not leaving his head.
Yeah, good luck forgetting it—ever—Beckett.