into the driver’s side. After backing out, he reached across the console and put his hand on my leg. My thighs were thick, but his hand was big, warm. I put my palm over the back of his hand and squeezed.
He smiled over at me. “I’m happy you’re coming over.”
My stomach somersaulted with joy. “Me too. I forgot to ask where you live?”
“Downtown Emerson,” he said. “It’s about twenty minutes from here.”
I nodded. Of course Beckett and his dad would live somewhere trendy like downtown. Not in the suburbs with a greenbelt and an HOA like my family. We were a minivan to their convertible. Which his dad actually had, by the way.
Beckett was right—it did take twenty minutes to get there. He pulled into a parking garage and maneuvered his car into a marked spot near the elevators. I got out before he could open the door for me and followed him to the elevator. Inside, he pushed a button that said PH.
“Penthouse?”
Beckett squeezed my hand like he could feel me freaking out.
I squeezed back.
The elevators opened into a massive apartment walled with windows overlooking all of Seaton.
“Wow,” I breathed. If you looked far enough, you could see the hazy blue expanse of ocean in the distance. It was stunning.
Beckett released my hand and dropped his backpack on a gray couch. As I looked around, I noticed lots of grays, metals, and brick. Someone had clearly designed this apartment to have a clean, industrial feel.
“Hi, you two,” Mr. Langley said as he came down the metal stairs. Instead of the suit I typically saw him in, he was wearing jeans and a loose Brentwood Badgers sweatshirt. “Good to see you, Rory.”
I nodded with a smile. “You have a beautiful home.”
“Good,” he said. “Paid a lot of money to make it that way.” He pointed between him and Beckett. “The two of us are kind of hopeless when it comes to design.”
I shrugged. “Could have fooled me.”
“I’m ordering in Italian,” Mr. Langley said. “Should get here in about twenty minutes. Beckett, why don’t you show her around?”
I tried not to reveal how much that thought excited me.
Beckett returned to my side and took my hand. He led me around the main floor first, showing the balcony with a gas-burning fire pit, a large office that was set off from the rest of the open floor plan, and then led me upstairs.
“There are two bedrooms up here,” Beckett said. “My dad’s”—he knocked on one door—"and mine.” This time, he twisted the handle and led me into his room.
My eyes were hungry as I took it in—the floor-to-ceiling windows, iron-framed bed, posters of professional football teams, and a small framed photo on his desk of a young boy and a woman who shared some of Beckett’s features.
“This is amazing,” I said, brushing my hand over the concrete surface of his desk.
He shrugged. “It’s no Rory Hutton studio, but it’s mine.”
I shook my head. “You’re crazy.” My eyes returned to the photo. “Is this your mom?”
A dark look crossed his eyes. “Yeah.”
“Do you ever talk to her anymore?”
“She sends me a birthday card every now and then. Sometimes I see her in the crowd at NFL games when her new husband is playing.” The pain was clear in his eyes, no matter how much he tried to hide it. “She has three kids with him. A few years younger than me.”
“That must be so hard.” I turned from the child in the picture to the nearly grown man standing next to me. There was so much alike, and so much different.
He shrugged. “It was hard. But she taught me the most important lesson: you have to be careful who you fall in love with. Some people only want you for what you can do for them. Do they want you or your status?”
My eyes turned toward the floor, tightness growing in my chest.
Beckett mistook it as sorrow for him and said, “Come here.” He lay on his king-sized bed and spread his arms open for me.
I glanced toward the closed door. “Your dad won’t mind?”
“Cupcake,” Beckett said, propping himself up, “my dad’s gone five days a week. You think he cares if I have girls up here?”
“Fair,” I said and joined him on top of his comforter. I was careful not to let my dress ride up as I slid into his open arms. Once I found my spot, the tension in my chest eased. Involuntarily, I let out a sigh. “This is