Chapter Four

Beck

I'm not sure how long I zone off, thinking of all the times I almost kissed Willow and destroyed our friendship. Probably way too long, though, because by the time I'm yanked back to reality, we're close to her apartment. I hate that I get so consumed with wanting her and wish I could just figure out a way to talk to her and tell her how I feel without her freaking out.

"Beck, are you okay?" Willow asks.

My gaze moves from the narrow street to her. "Yeah. I was just thinking about stuff."

She twists in the seat, bringing her knee up. I try not to stare at her long legs that I can't stop picturing around me, but she rarely wears shorts—though she really should—and I can't help sneaking a glance or two. Or three. Or four. Or twenty. Still, I can't help wondering why she's dressed like this. She said it was for a party, but I know when she's lying.

"What kind of stuff?" She rests her chin on her knee. "You have that look on your face."

"What look?" The look where I'm thinking about how much I want you and how you'll never want me back? At least, not the way I want you to. Do I have a look for that?

"The look when your dad is being a pain in the ass." Her mouth curves downward. "Is he bugging you about working at the firm again?"

That wasn't where my thoughts were, but I'll take talking about my dad over telling her the truth.

"Princess, he's never stopped bugging me. He likes yelling at me way too much," I say. "And I'm pretty sure he won't ever stop until I agree to do what he wants."

"Please don't let him force you to do anything," she begs. "You deserve to do what you want. And you'd be miserable as a lawyer. I know you would."

"Oh, trust me; I know that, too." I flip on the blinker to turn onto the side road that runs through her rundown neighborhood. "And I've tried to explain that to him. I told him that I'd be the suckiest lawyer that's ever existed. But you know my dad ... His way is the only way."

"Why does he even think you need to go into law?" she asks, tangling a strand of hair around her finger. "Just because he did?"

"I have no idea." I shrug stiffly. "I stopped trying to figure out what the fuck goes on in his head when I turned twelve and realized he loved his job more than his own family."

"I'm sure he doesn't love work more," she tries to convince me. "He's just a workaholic."

"Wills, I love that you're trying to make me feel better, but I already accepted a long time ago that my dad will never like me as much as he likes his clients ... and money, which kind of coincide."

Her lips part, but then shut. A moment of pitying silence ticks by, and I start to feel like shit. Then she grins.

"Well, he's an idiot. You're way better than money. In fact, if I had to choose between you and having all the money in the world, I'd choose you."

"Really?" My lips quirk. "All the money in the world, huh? Man, I must be extremely valuable."

She

bobs her head up and down exaggeratedly. "You're at the top of the list, Beck. Way, way up at the top where no one else is." The lampposts reflect in her eyes, highlighting a hint of sadness. "You always will be."

My chest tightens in the most wonderfully agonizing way. God, what I wouldn't give to just kiss her again. All the money in the world and then some.

"What about Theo?" she asks, already moving on from the moment. Me, I wonder if I'll be stuck there forever, consumed by wanting her but knowing I'll never have her. "Is he only going to law school just to please your dad?"

I shrug. "Probably. I haven't really talked to him about why he decided to go. Theo always seemed like he was going to become someone who needed a lawyer, not the one who would become one."

She giggles, and the sound makes me want to spend all night cracking joke after joke. She looks so beautiful, especially when she laughs. I wish she would do it more often. I wish she wasn't so stressed all the time so she could.

"Theo did get into a lot of trouble," she agrees, her smile fading. "But, anyway. All I'm saying is that maybe if you and Theo were on the same page, you could talk to your dad together and try to make him see it your way."

Leave it to Willow to try to find a solution to my problem.

"I love the suggestion, but I doubt it'll work." When she frowns, I add, "You know my dad. He never hears anything unless he wants to. I don't even know how many times I've tried to have a conversation with him, and he completely ignored me and just walked out of the room." I make a right down a narrow side road lined with small, older houses. "The guy's got a serious case of selective hearing. I swear, it's a fucking gift or something."

"Or maybe they taught him that in law school," she jokes, a small but beautiful smile pulling at her lips.

"Maybe. Or maybe he's just an asshole."

"Aren't those two supposed to be one and the same?"

"They are, actually. In fact, I heard they make you take a class in law school that teaches you asshole skills. I think it's called learning how to channel your inner asshole so that you bully people into doing things your way and become a real prick." 

 "See? All the more reason for you not to go. You'd never be able to pass that class." She reaches over and cups my face with her hand. "Face it. You're too sweet, Beckett."

It takes every ounce of my willpower not to lean into her touch and shut my eyes.

"Beckett? Since when did you start calling me Beckett?"

"I was just trying it out." An evil glint twinkles in her eyes. "I figure, if you end up becoming a lawyer, Beck isn't going to work for you anymore. I don't even know if Beckett will work. You might have to change your name to Greg or Chad or something equally douchey."

"Greg and Chad are douchey names?" I arch a brow. "Since when?"

She removes her hand from my face, leaving my skin—my entire body—cold. "I have a Greg and a Chad in my Women's Literature class, and every single time they come to class, they make a point to walk by my desk and"—she makes air quotes—" 'accidentally' knock my books onto the floor. I don't even know why they take the class to begin with. I don't think they ever do any of the assignments."

I thrum my fingers on top of the steering wheel, a little annoyed with Greg and Chad, though I've never met them. "Yeah, I might know why they're doing that."

"Really ...? Wait ... Do you mean taking the class or knocking my books off my desk?"

"Both."

"Okay ..." She looks at me expectantly. "Are you going to tell me?"

Honestly, I'm not sure I want to. As wrong as it is, I like that Willow is clueless about how attractive she is and that she doesn't notice when guys check her out. I worry, though, that she'll one day become aware, and then she'll meet a guy she decides is worth giving up her no dating rule for.

When she stares at me with her lip jutting out in a pout, I cave.

"They're doing it so they can check out your ass when you pick up your books," I explain. "And they probably took the class because they thought there'd be a ton of girls in it."

Her nose crinkles. "Really? That doesn't seem like it could be true."

"Trust me; I'm right."

"But it doesn't make any sense. I mean, they knock my books off every single class. And for what? Just to look at my ass? It's not that great." She faces forward in her seat, shaking her head. "No, I'm pretty sure they're being assholes. They always laugh when they do it, too."

"Trust me on this one. I'm a guy. I know how guys think, and I promise you that guys check out your ass all the time ... It's a really great ass." My gaze wanders to her legs as she crosses them. "And if you were wearing those shorts, Chad and Greg would probably knock your books off before and after class, maybe even take a few bathroom breaks ..." I force my eyes off her legs to find her gaping at me. "What?" I ask innocently. "You tell Wynter when guys are checking her out. Why can't I do the same thing for you?"

She self-consciously tugs on the hem of her shorts. "Because I don't tell Wynter she has a great ass."

"Well, maybe you're not as good of a friend as I am," I say, slowing down to turn into the parking lot of the apartment complex. "And FYI, you never tell me my ass is nice, either."

She looks completely unimpressed. "I don't tell Wynter her ass is nice because that's not what friends do."

"Says who?"

"Says everyone."

"Well, I think everyone is wrong and I'm right. Telling your friend that they have a nice ass should be done daily to boost their self-confidence. That's what life's about, right? Making other people feel better?" I flash her my best charming smile. "And when people feel better, the world is a better place."

She gives a dramatic eye roll. "Okay, maybe you should become a lawyer, Mr. Overdramatic."

"Hey." I playfully poke her side, and she squeals through a laugh. "No going over to the dark side." I'm about to laugh with her when her smile suddenly vanishes. "What's wrong?"

She rubs her lips together. "It's nothing. I was just thinking about some stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" I ask as I park in front of her apartment. The sound of thudding music and the sight of empty liquor bottles on the steps cause me to immediately frown. "You want me to come inside for a while?" So I can find out what's bothering you and so you don't have to be alone at one of your mom's parties.

She scrutinizes the smoke snaking out the open window of her apartment. "No ... I'm fine. I just didn't know she was having a party." She fiddles with the hem of her shorts again. "I was trying to get a hold of her all day ... I thought she was passed out drunk, but I guess we made it to the rebound stage already." Heaving a sigh, she unfastens her seatbelt. "Thanks for the ride. I'll see you tomorrow." She reaches for the door handle then pauses. "Unless you have other stuff to do. I can always just have Ari come over here and pick me up and we can tow my car. It should only take two people."

"No way. Ari doesn't get to take away doing my favorite thing." I catch her wrist. "What's with the mood dive?"

She tips her head downward, her long, brown hair veiling her face. "It's nothing. I'm just really tired. With work and school and stuff, I haven't been sleeping very well."

"Willow," I summon my best warning tone, "fess up the truth or pay the consequences."

She peers over at me, restraining a smile. "You know, that used to work on me until I found out what your"—she makes an air quote with her free hand—" 'consequences' were."

"Hey, tickling can be a good form of punishment, especially when someone almost pees their pants."

"I did that one time," she argues, holding up a finger. "And that was after you tickled me for five minutes. Anyone would've lost bladder control in that situation."

A cocky grin spreads across my lips. "Not me. And you want to know why?"

"No," she answers, having heard it all before.

I brag, anyway, trying to get her to smile. "Because I'm not ticklish."

"So you say." Her eyes travel across my arms, my chest, my legs, and she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. "But it's never been proven, at least that I've seen."

Fuck, what I wouldn't give for her to look at me like that all the time.

"I'll tell you what. If you come home with me and spend the night at my place, I'll let you find out the real answer."

"Aren't we a little too old for sleepovers?"

"You just spent the night at my house last month."

Wariness floods her eyes. "Yeah, but only because my car broke down, and I didn't want to make you drive me home."

"You used to stay at my house all the time to get away from this shit," I remind her, nodding at the house. "What's the difference now?"

She sucks in a shallow inhale. "The difference is, I'm starting to realize that this shit is just part of life, and I can't escape it by running away for the night."

With that, she climbs out of the car, slams the door shut, and rushes inside the apartment.

My lips part in shock. Never has Willow run away from me like that. Well, except for the time we kissed. Never mind running away into her house. It's usually the opposite.

I rewind through everything I said, trying to figure out where I went wrong. All I can come up with is perhaps I pushed the whole flirting thing too far. I did mention her ass a lot, but seriously, it's an incredibly hot ass.

I need to make sure she's okay, that she's not freaking out. Then I need to lie, lie, lie, lie and pretend I don't like her so much it hurts.

I get out of the car, make my way up the path, and knock on the door. No one answers.

Figuring the music is too loud, I decide to walk in, but the door is locked. People laugh from inside, and the music is turned up more loudly as the front window slides shut.

Through the thin walls, I hear Willow

's mom shout at the top of her lungs, "Holy shit! Look at my daughter, everyone!" The request is followed by, "She's turning into a little slut!"

"Just like her mama!" a male voice says.

Goddammit, I hate this place. I hate that Willow's in there.

Fighting the urge to break down the door, I return to my car and send Willow a text.

Me: Just want to make sure you're okay before I take off. Things sound pretty intense in there ...

A couple of minutes tick by while I wait for her to respond. A few guys carrying beers and passing around a joint exit her place, a couple a few doors down are yelling at each other, and a woman is trying to sell herself to everyone who passes by. Everything about this area is sketchy, so when a brand spankin' new Mercedes pulls into the parking lot, I have to question if perhaps it belongs to a drug lord. Then again, I'm sitting in my BMW. Perhaps the driver's here to try to save someone they care about.

I keep throwing glances at the car, curious to see who gets out until my phone pings, distracting me.

Wills: Yep, I'm fine. It's not as noisy in my room. And I have the door locked, so no one will bother me. Thanks for the ride, Beck. I really do appreciate everything you do.

What she doesn't say, but I swear is written between the lines, is she feels guilty I have to help her. She wishes she didn't have to be here while feeling obligated to because her mom is smashed.

One day, though, I'm going to get her away from this life, no matter what it takes. Until then, I'll keep doing what I can, helping her as much as she'll allow me to, and hope to God nothing bad ever happens to her.

I fear I'll one day drop her off here or she'll break down on the side of the road, and I'll never see her again.