What is perfection?
Not my choices. But perhaps my reasons?
~Meadow, journal entry
Meadow
Apparently, I could figure out what normal was if I really tried. Or this was my normal, and I was okay with it. “Really? I can’t believe you like scallops.” I shuddered as Beckham rolled his eyes, tossing the shrimp into the scampi.
“Scallops are amazing. They’re like butter.”
“Then eat butter.”
He raised a brow at me, shaking his head.
Now I loved it when he smirked. Yes, it was that ego that I always joked about with him. But it made me feel like I wasn’t broken. And I really wasn’t. I was okay. Sure, I was scared of my past, but I wasn’t afraid of the people around me. Beckham didn’t make me feel afraid.
“I’m not going to eat butter, weirdo.”
“You’re weird.”
“Maybe. But I’m also cooking you dinner. I think that counts for something.”
I shook my head and smiled at him.
We were four months into dating. Four months. I still couldn’t believe we were doing this. We talked to each other every day, even if we didn’t see each other. And when I went to the bar, he always grinned and winked at me as he helped fill orders, and then he’d make sure he kissed me firmly on the mouth later. In public. So everyone knew I was his.
Then again, in my mind, it was so everyone knew he was mine.
Not that I actually called him mine, because that would be a bit…much. We’d been very good about not assigning labels. We’d mentioned dating only since it was easy to say when we were going out together, but we did not say things like “boyfriend” or “girlfriend” or “lover” or anything like that.
That would make things scary. At least, in my mind.
I was probably overreacting, but I tended to do that.
But now, four months after our first date at the piano bar, I couldn’t help but smile at him and feel like this was the normal that I’d craved. He still hadn’t played for me yet, but one day soon, I knew he would. If I asked, he would. And I didn’t know what to do with that kind of trust.
I hadn’t heard from my mom or anyone else from my past since Mom stopped by months ago. And Beckham acted as if this was our life now.
I loved it.
Now he was here, in my home, making me dinner. I knew he would spend the night. And I would wake up in the morning curled in his arms before he slid into me, and we woke each other coming and calling each other’s names.
It was odd to think that it had happened so quickly, and yet not fast enough.
I didn’t think of Coby anymore. Yes, Beckham had tattoos and marks on his body like Coby did, but those scars were from an accident when he was younger—or so he said.
We didn’t talk about that, though. We didn’t discuss our pasts.
Perhaps that was my fault. Maybe it was his.
And it might get us into trouble one day. But that was fine. I only wanted to think about our present and our possible future. Even if it could lead us down two far different paths.
“You’re looking all serious over there, cupcake.” He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek.
“Cupcake?”
“I don’t like calling you baby all the time. Makes it sound like I don’t remember your name.”
“You rarely call me Meadow.”
“What am I supposed to call you? Flower?”
I shuddered.
“Now what’s that look for?” Then he looked at me, a strange expression passing over his face as he shook his head. It was as if he knew that I didn’t like being called that because it was too close to Petal, my mother’s name. But he wouldn’t know that. He couldn’t. I hadn’t mentioned my mom’s name. And he didn’t know her. He didn’t know about my past.
I had to be seeing things.
“Anyway, I don’t think cupcake’s the word you want to use. Now I’m hungry.”
“I’m making you shrimp scampi, woman.”
“Oh, good. Now, I’m going to be called woman. Great.”
“Hey, better than cupcake.”
“Now I really want cupcakes.”
“How about this? After dinner, I’ll head to the store and pick you up some cupcakes. How does that sound?”
I looked up at him then, and something made my heart clutch. It couldn’t be that. Four months, and I had already pushed that aside. I could not fall in love with Beckham Masters.
I had fallen in love before, and it had screwed me over. Sure, this was completely different, and, no, I wasn’t the same person as before. But I didn’t want that. I couldn’t have that.
I didn’t know what would happen to him if I had to leave. If my past came after me again. Or if he found out who I was. Who I had been before. What would he think of me?
Would he still want me?
I couldn’t fall in love with him. But I could have him for now. That would have to be enough.
“I think after dinner, we should be just fine. Plus, I brought cheesecake.” I grinned after I said it, batting my eyelashes, and he licked his lips.
Then I imagined him licking other places, and I went damp.
Dear God, the man turned me on so very quickly. It was a problem.
“Yeah? It’s like you know I love cheesecake, woman.”
“Stop calling me woman.”
“Okay, cupcake.”
“I’m going to kick your ass.”
“Oh, you can try. But don’t worry, I can take you.”
“So you say. But all I have to do is strip naked, and then you’ll be at my mercy.”
He flipped the scampi a bit on the stove before removing it from the heat and leaning against the counter. And then he folded his arms over his chest and raked his gaze down my body. I could practically feel him touching me. My nipples hardened, and my panties got wet.
Dear God, Beckham was so damned good at that. He was an addiction.
Definitely my weakness.
“Well, why don’t we try it out? You strip down and get naked, and I’ll try to take you.”
“After dinner.”
“So no cheesecake, then?”
“I’m sure we can work the cheesecake in somehow,” I said, laughing. He reached around, gripped me by my ass, and lifted me up.
He set me on the counter, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.
“The dinner’s going to get cold if we don’t start eating.”
“I’m thinking about something else I’d rather eat,” he said and bit down on my lower lip.
When he licked away the sting, I leaned my head back so he could move his lips down and suck on my throat.
I loved when he caressed my neck.
I hadn’t always liked it because I remembered the last time someone had touched my neck—with their hands. And not in a good way. Coby had tried to choke me before my mother came in, yelling about something or other.
I still didn’t know if she’d wanted him to stop, or if something elsewhere had needed his or my attention.
He’d only choked me that once.
Before that, I hadn’t had a problem with anyone touching my neck.
But now when Beckham did it? It wasn’t the same. I didn’t feel that fear. It felt…perfect.
I really shouldn’t think that word.
Things couldn’t be perfect.
When they felt that way, that’s when things got scary.
“Let’s eat dinner first,” I whispered, pushing him away slightly. If he took me now, I was afraid I would be lost forever.
And we needed some distance.
I couldn’t fall for him. Couldn’t let him know about my past.
Even though I desperately wanted to know about his. There had to be boundaries.
No matter what, we needed those lines that we didn’t cross.
“Okay. You’re so mean to me.”
I shoved at his chest as he helped me down from the counter.
“I’m sorry, you big baby.”
“Let’s eat quickly. I need to get inside you, woman.”
“I’m going to take my time then, cupcake.”
He raised a brow, and I chuckled, pulling down the plates so he could finish our meal.
We ate in the kitchen, both of us sitting at the counter as we laughed and talked about our days.
It was nice. Normal. But I couldn’t let it become routine. Just in case things got too comfortable. If they did, I feared we’d both end up hurting. But if we kept things as they were, nothing permanent, and ordinary enough that it didn’t feel weird, I figured that was an excellent middle ground.
Not that I knew if we were actually on the right side of the line we’d drawn.
“So we going for the cheesecake now? Or are we going to watch that movie we talked about? Or are you thinking about being my dessert?”
I shook my head, taking his plate and bringing it to the sink.
“How about we do dinner and cheesecake?”
He frowned, leaning forward to kiss me on my forehead.
“Anything you want, babe. You feeling okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Just a little tired, I think.”
He looked at me then, reaching around to knead my butt. I loved when he did that. He was always so gentle, but constantly touching me.
I hadn’t known he’d be like this. Oh, I’d had a feeling that Beckham would be possessive, but I hadn’t known he would be so sweet. There was a huge difference between the way he was with me and how Coby had been.
I really needed to stop comparing them. There was no comparison. “Do you want me to head home?” he asked, frowning as he studied my face. I shook my head.
“No, let’s watch the movie. I’m not caught up on all the Avengers yet.”
“Then I feel like I’ve failed you.”
“You know, I think that’s exactly what Dillon said when I mentioned it at the bar.”
“Well, Dillon’s the one who made sure I watched them in the correct order, not chronological, but how they were released theatrically as intended by the original filmmakers.”
“Please don’t get on another Avengers rant,” I said, shaking my head even as I laughed.
“Hey, it’s been like three, maybe four days since I went on a rant about the Avengers.”
“More like three or four minutes.”
He smiled. “Okay, honey, whatever you say.”
I raised a brow. “Really?”
“Hey, I called you honey. It’s better than cupcake.”
“No, it’s really not. Just call me Meadow.”
“I like calling you everything.”
He looked at me then, and I swallowed hard. Then I took a few steps back, feeling afraid.
So damned scared.
He had to stop looking at me like that. Needed to stop treating me like I was so precious. Because it felt too good. It felt like forever, and that was something I couldn’t give him. Or myself.
He was so good, so sweet. But he didn’t have my past. Didn’t have the connections I did. What happened when Coby got out of jail, or someone from his club figured out exactly where I was? What would happen to Beckham then? Being with me wasn’t good for him. I had to make it easy for him to walk away. I had to make it simple. For him? For me? I didn’t know. But I at least had to try.
“Come on, let’s watch that movie, and then we’ll have dessert. Even if it’s only our own.” I winked as I said it, and he groaned, then gave my ass a squeeze before slapping it.
“I’ll help you with dishes, pretty lady.”
“Pretty lady makes you sound like a cowboy.”
“Hey, you’re the one who rode me last.”
I winced at his horrible joke, and then kissed him again before doing the dishes.
This was normal. Everything was fine.
But it couldn’t mean anything more than it already did. If it did start to mean more, I’d hurt him in the end. And myself. And I’d already broken once. I was afraid that if I had to walk away, or when Beckham did, I would end up shattered. In a far different way, yet still the same as before. I didn’t want to be that Meadow anymore. I didn’t think I could be.
But one look at Beckham, and I was afraid he’d see that old me.
Even if it truly broke me in the end.