Forbidden - Karla Sorensen Page 0,53

undeniably flirty, his green eyes were warm and friendly, and honestly, this was the problem. Why ‘going on dates’ was about as far down my priority list as a full body wax. Because that undeniably flirty tone and warm eyes had my hackles up immediately. I felt like a dog who just spotted another dog far off, and instead of waiting to see how they’d act toward me, my instinct was raised hair along my back and the beginnings of a growl in the back of my throat.

This guy didn’t even know me. I’d done nothing to warrant flirty eyes and a flirty tone.

This, ladies and gentleman, was why I was still in full possession of a hymen.

Why only untouchable, emotionally unavailable men seemed to appeal to me, because things like this didn’t happen.

Anya scampered off to find her dad, leaving the two of us alone by the front desk.

He stuck a big hand out. “Beckham Hennessy.”

I cleared my throat to make sure that an actual growl didn’t emerge. “Isabel Ward.”

“The manager,” he clarified.

I nodded.

“Hmmm.”

My eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

At first, he did nothing but smile, but then he snapped his fingers like I wasn’t sitting there glaring. “Logan Ward is your brother, right?”

“He is.”

“He’s a defensive genius,” Beckham said.

“He is,” I repeated, this time injecting a little warmth into my voice. “Though, I never saw him that way growing up. He was just the guy who forced me to do my homework and told me I couldn’t torture my little sisters.”

That had him grinning. “I had a picture of him on my wall when he used to play.”

My face was on fire when I thought about the fact that I had pictures of Beckham’s brother on my wall around the same time, but boy, did my mouth stay shut.

Beckham strode closer to the desk and dropped his elbows on the bar height counter along the front. Like a weirdo, I pushed backward in the chair so he wasn’t so close.

“You and I could probably trade some absolutely killer stories,” he said.

One eyebrow rose. “Could we?” I murmured. Please, not about posters on walls, I thought frantically.

He leaned in a little farther and dropped his voice. “Just imagine how much we have in common.”

My head tilted. I couldn’t peg this guy, because his eyes—up close—didn’t hold anything except polite friendliness.

“Beckham,” a deep voice snapped.

My back straightened. Because Aiden appeared around the corner, jaw tight and eyes very not-flirty.

Beckham didn’t move from his position, with the leaning and the closeness. His smile spread. “Aiden. Lovely to see you. I was just telling your manager here that we have a lot in common.”

Aiden’s face was stormy. “Maybe you should let her get back to work.”

“Maybe she wants to talk to me,” Beckham said.

“Maybe you should pay attention to how she’s leaning away from you,” Aiden replied.

“Maybe,” I interjected smoothly, “she can speak for herself.”

Aiden’s eyes locked onto mine, and even though all the normal ‘Aiden-induced’ physical reactions immediately kicked off, with the stuttering heartbeat and tingly hands and butterfly-filled belly, I refused to look away.

Beckham whistled. “I really like her.”

My eyes dropped and I took a deep breath.

Beckham leaned back and smacked a hand on the counter of the desk. “See? We could write a book, you and me.”

“On what?” Aiden ground out.

“How to deal with overbearing, athletically-gifted, pain-in-the-ass big brothers.”

The laugh burst out of me so fast, so loud, there was no stopping it.

And the two men had very, very different reactions. As I slapped a hand over my mouth to stem the hysterical sounds trying to escape, Beckham smiled just a little too smugly.

And Aiden … he looked like a thundercloud.

In fact, I’d never seen him look like that, and as my laughter subsided, I tried desperately to ignore the growing feeling that he looked … he looked jealous.

“Beckham,” he said, “thank you for dropping off Anya. Don’t you have to go to work?”

“Nope, I have plenty of time.”

My eyes flipped between them.

Aiden glared.

Beckham smiled. “I was having an interesting conversation with Eloise the other day when she was home from school.”

When Aiden made a growling noise, deep from within his chest, my eyes widened. “Beckham,” he ground out.

Beckham leaned toward me again. “Eloise is our youngest sister. She’s a little nosy sometimes, but we all adore her.”

“Debatable at the moment,” Aiden interjected.

“How many of there are you?” I asked.

“Five,” they said in unison.

My lips curled in a smile. “I have a big family too.”

At that, Aiden’s face finally