was not someone who was afflicted with bad dreams.
It was one dream.
And his gut was telling him there was something there he had to pull out.
“Babe, you got somethin’ fuckin’ with your head, you need to let it out.”
“Beck, you’re a good guy. You’re a smart guy. You’re a sweet guy,” she returned.
He was not good.
He was all kinds of stupid.
And he was far from sweet.
He didn’t get a chance to challenge her.
She kept talking, gentling her tone.
“Saying all that, I don’t want to sound mean, but you really need to learn some self-awareness, honey.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Ask yourself, why do you care I have bad dreams?”
And again, he froze solid.
Fucking fuck, but he was giving himself away.
“If all you want is a guaranteed uh . . . lay . . .”
She couldn’t even say “lay” without hesitating.
How did she work on a porn set?
“ . . . you wouldn’t care about my dream.”
“A guy would have to be a real tool not to give a shit the woman he’s banging has a dream so bad it jerks her awake.”
“Yes, well. Progress. At least you realize you’re not a real tool.” With that, she turned to the stove, picked up a red scraper, put the skillet back to the burner (she was making eggs) and started scraping, saying, “Now sit down. I’ll bring you your coffee.”
“I can get my own coffee,” he grunted.
She turned her head and shot a smile at him.
Shit, she was playing him.
With all that hair, those shorts, those pink toes, velvet couches, food and sweetness, she was fucking playing him.
Beck moved to the cabinet to get a mug, muttering, “Don’t read anything into this.”
“Oh, I won’t,” she said to the eggs. “Like I won’t read anything into you coming back to me again and again for months.”
Right.
He was done.
He pulled the mug down and turned to her, a lot closer in her small kitchen, which was a much more dangerous position for him, but he couldn’t let that in.
Because he knew he’d been fucking shit up since the minute he realized she was not with him for some fucked-up reason. But instead, she was a good woman who thought she’d found herself a good man.
“Why’d you start with me?”
“Because you’re handsome.”
“Janna, I’m carved up.”
She turned to him again, handle of the skillet in her hand, eyes to the scar that still had a lot of angry red slashing across his face.
But when she’d met him, it had only been months since he’d earned it and back then, it was a fuckuva lot uglier.
“Everyone’s carved up, Beck. Somehow,” she said softly. “You can just see one of yours.”
Oh shit.
His gut tightened up.
“And how are you carved up?” he asked.
“You keep forgetting to pretend you don’t care.”
He put the mug down on the counter, clipping. “Janna, this isn’t a game.”
“No, you’re right.”
“I’m protecting you from me, you know it, and you need to let me.”
She tipped her head to the side and some of that fantastic hair fell down her arm.
Shit.
“Are you gonna hurt me?”
“Yes.”
She blinked.
“I got that in me, babe, and you know that too,” he reminded her.
“You won’t hurt me,” she whispered.
“I bet Rosalie thought that too,” he returned.
She flinched.
He’d never brought Rosalie up.
He’d never brought it up.
He kept at her.
He had to.
“You wanna serve me breakfast now?”
“Beck—”
“Tell me about your dream,” he demanded.
“Come for dinner tonight, spend the night, and I’ll tell you tomorrow during breakfast,” she shot back.
“Janna, you need to look out for yourself,” he growled.
She lifted her chin. “You’re not going to hurt me, Beck.”
“One way or another, that’s gonna happen.”
“It isn’t.”
“Why are you with me?”
“Spend the weekend with me and I’ll tell you Monday.”
“Goddammit, Janna.”
She leaned toward him and there was a mix of desperation and determination on her face.
“I’m not giving up on you, Beck,” she snapped.
He again stood still.
His mother gave up on him at around two, probably before, he just didn’t have much cognition before that.
Rosalie worked hard at it, but he made her give up on him in the worst way he could do that.
But he’d given up on himself way before that.
“You’re gonna give it, I’m gonna take it and use it and eventually let it go,” he bit out, low and ugly.
“I’ll take that chance,” she replied.
“You’re bein’ stupid,” he told her.
“It’s not the first time,” she returned. “Now get your coffee. Breakfast is done and I don’t want it getting cold.”