“Well, you already know about my old love of photography and my bone-deep hatred of lasagna and herbal tea. I’m not sure there’s anything else to tell you.” Beckett finished his fries and pushed his now-empty plate to the edge of the table.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

Beckett tapped his fingers on the table. “Before the cardiac arrest, I was your standard shallow jock. I got drunk on the weekends with my friends and played Call of Duty when I got home from work.”

“And now?” I prompted.

“And now, I’m not sure what I’m doing if I’m honest.” Uh-oh. Existential crisis alert.

“How about we look at this another way? Instead of asking yourself what you’re doing, think about what you want to be doing.” Clearly I had missed my calling as a motivational speaker.

“I’d like to be living on a beach somewhere, taking pictures for a living.”

“That sounds pretty awesome. So what’s holding you back?” I asked, taking another bite of my burger.

Beckett looked thoughtful. “I don’t know really.” He seemed surprised by his answer.

“What do you do? For a day job I mean?” I swirled a fry in the ketchup, creating circles on my plate. I enjoyed grilling him. I liked finding out tidbits of information about the person that he was. I had a feeling that he let me see more than most. And that was incredibly flattering.

“I’m a sales manager for a software development company. Can we say snoozeville?”

“Okay, yeah, so you’re not fighting crime in a red cape, but it can’t be that bad,” I reasoned.

Look at me, being all positive and stuff.

“It’s mind numbing, Corin.”

“Oh boo-hoo. How many people actually like their job?” I countered.

“You do,” he argued.

Well, he got me there.

“So if you hate it so much, do something about it. Go live on a beach. Become a photographer,” I challenged, wiping my mouth with my napkin and dropping it on my plate.

“You sound like my sister, Zoe.”

“Your sister sounds like a smart girl.”

Beckett laughed. “She’d agree with you. But you’re right. I can’t just sit around complaining about my life. I need to do something. That’s why I’m thinking of taking some photography classes over at the community college.”

“That sounds like a great start, Beck.”

His eyes went soft every time I used his nickname. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy.

When the bill came, Beckett handed it to me. “You’re paying, right?” I rolled my eyes and he winked at me, clearly finding himself pretty damn funny.

When we were finished, we walked back to the car.

“So where to next?” I asked, really hoping he wouldn’t take me home. I thought dinner had gone well despite my bad case of verbal diarrhea.

“You want to come back to my place?” Beckett suggested.

“Uh…” Back to his place?

Wasn’t that code for sex?

Did he want to have sex with me?

Why was I saying the word “sex” so much in my head?

Sex. Sex. Sex.

“I just thought we could watch a movie or something,” Beckett explained.

What I heard was mumble, mumble, sex, mumble.

“Corin. I see the wheels turning in that head of yours. Is there a problem?”

“Do you want to have sex?” I blurted out just as we reached the car. I said it a little too loud, earning me a few stares from strangers walking by.

Beckett sputtered and choked. “Excuse me?”

“Coming back to my place is a euphemism, right? For sex.”

Now I was saying the word sex out loud. It was like having Tourette’s.

Hey, how are you doing? Sex!

Nice weather we’re having. Sex!

“I wasn’t using it as a euphemism for anything. I promise! I really wanted to know if you’d like to watch a movie with me. Or we can go to a theater so there’s no insinuation.”

“You can have sex in a movie theater too,” I pointed out. Oh my god, when will I learn to shut up?

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure. But I’ll take your word for it.”

We were still standing beside Beckett’s car. He was going to take me home. I was sure of it. And things seemed to be going almost decently.

“So, my place? No euphemism,” he said, grinning at me like I wasn’t a complete nerd.

“Sure.” I grinned back.

—

“Wow, this is your place?” I asked, after Beckett turned on the light.

“Yeah. I haven’t lived here that long. I moved in over the summer.”

“No roommates?”

“Uh, no. Not anymore,” Beckett answered, looking uncomfortable.

Oh.

The ex must have lived here too.

That made things a tad awkward.

I walked over to the mantelpiece and saw a couple of framed photographs. I recognized one as a black-and-white picture of the Ash Street bridge.

I picked it up. “Is this one you took the other week?”

Beckett shook his head. “No, that one is from middle school.”

I looked up at him in surprise. “You weren’t kidding when you said it was a passion. This is amazing!”

“Thanks.” He seemed embarrassed but pleased. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who had a hard time taking a compliment.

“Seriously. You have to do something with this. You’re wasting your talent otherwise. I’m just blown away here,” I told him sincerely.

Beckett gave me a shy smile. “Really? You think so?”

“Absolutely! This is gallery quality! The lighting and the shadow are intense.” I breathed, leaning in closer to have a better look.

“That means a lot to hear you say that,” he remarked softly, coming up behind me. His front was practically pressed against my back.

“I say it because it’s true. I don’t say things unless I mean them. My dad used to say that I was his truth detector. Because I have never been a good liar. I’m horrible at it actually—”

“I’m making you nervous, aren’t I?” Beckett whispered into my ear, making me shiver.

I closed my eyes, willing my heart to slow down. It didn’t work.

“Yeah. You are.”

Beckett turned me around so that I was now facing him. I liked being able to look him in the eyes. Most of my life I had hated being tall. For once it didn’t bother me.

“Why am I making you nervous?” he asked, giving me an amused smile.

“Because I’ve got sex on the brain. I know you said it wasn’t a euphemism. But I’m here and we’re alone and I’m waiting for you to make a move. And it’s making me jittery, which means I will inevitably start saying stupid stuff. Please tell me to stop talking,” I pleaded.

“You make me nervous too, you know,” he confessed, his voice still barely above a whisper.

“I make you nervous? Why?” I scoffed.

Beckett tucked a piece of hair that had gotten loose behind my ear, letting his fingers trail down my cheek. “Because the way I feel when I’m around you is crazy. It’s out of control. I just want to touch you. I want to be with you. All. The. Time. That’s nuts, right? We haven’t known each other that long. But I swear, I feel like you know me better than some who have known me for years.”

I sucked in a breath and bit down on my lip. His eyes dropped to my mouth, heated. “I feel the same way.”

“Good,” Beckett murmured. “I’m going to kiss you. We’re not going to have sex. Not tonight. But I want to kiss you. And maybe grope you a little bit if you’re cool with that.” He chuckled and I poked him in the stomach.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

He pulled me into him, his hands sliding up my arms to settle on either side of my neck. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said softly before kissing me.

And man, did he kiss me.

His tongue gently pressed against the seam of my lips and I parted them instantly. He plunged his tongue into my mouth, invading me. Taking over.

I could have kissed him like that forever. Forget eating and sleeping. All I needed was this man’s lips on mine.

At least until I passed out from hunger or my bladder burst. But until then I’d be pretty damn happy with just the kissing.