The Girl Next Door
Chapter 11

His mouth seeks out mine again. When his tongue sweeps across the seam of my lips, I open, and he deepens the kiss. It's like being dragged to the bottom of the ocean. I lose all sense of time and space. I'm unsure where I begin, and he ends. Beck overwhelms me in every possible way. When he pulls away, I'm dazed and more confused than ever. His breath feathers against my lips, and I want to stand here and breathe him in forever.

"Mmm," he growls, "your mouth is so f*****g sweet." He presses another kiss against my swollen lips. "Just like the rest of you."

A whimper escapes from me. All the doubts crowding inside my head disappear with his nearness.

"Goddamn, I want to be inside you again." He nips my lower lip playfully. "But we can't."

My breath hitches as he turns his back on me and walks to the dresser on the other side of the room. His muscles shift with every step. It's mesmerizing. Everything about him is hard and chiseled. I know he spends a lot of time in the gym. I've heard my parents talk about his dedication to the sport and how much money his parents spend on private coaching and agility trainers.

"I need to clean up before my parents get home, or my dad will have my a*s," he says.

It takes effort to blink out of the mental fog that has settled over me and focus on his words. Sheesh. I have s*x one time, and now my brain is a pile of mush?

Keep it together, girl.

"I should probably get dressed." With that, I hightail it to the bathroom. I need a moment to collect myself. Maybe more than one.

Once shuttered inside the room, I lean against the door and squeeze my eyes tightly closed. Every part of me feels like it's vibrating. When my heartbeat settles, I open my eyes and search for my clothes. I replace my bra, tank, and skirt neatly folded on the counter. Unlike my bathroom at home, his is devoid of tubes and bottles of products cluttering the space.

I don't remember folding up my clothing. If memory serves, I left them in a heap on the floor. The thought of Beck picking up my garments and taking the time to straighten them before setting the pile on the counter sends a shiver scampering down my spine. Why would he bother? Unwilling to linger on those thoughts, I yank Beck's comfy T-shirt off and replace it with my bra and shimmery gold tank. Then I tug the skirt up my thighs.

I glance at the mirror, assessing the damage. The reflection that greets me is just as I suspected.

Total mess. I look like I've been put through the wringer. Even though I know it won't do any good, I rake my fingers through my hair, attempting to smooth it down. After a moment, I give up.

When I leave the bathroom, Beck is dressed in khaki shorts and a black Ramones T-shirt. My pulse skitters as I take him in. I need to pull myself together and stop making such a big deal out of what occurred. People hookup all the time. I don't want to read too much into the situation.

His attention shifts to me. "What are you thinking?"

Unwilling to share my innermost thoughts, I shake my head. "Nothing."

"That's doubtful." With three long-legged strides, he swallows up the distance between us. "If I know anything about you, it's that your brain is always working."

He's right, but I'm still not sharing anything with him.

When I remain silent, he reaches out and strokes the side of my face. I'm tempted to lean into his touch, but I stop myself at the last moment. The attraction surging through me is so much more than what it once was. It's like the floodgates have been opened, and there's no closing them.

"You didn't answer the question," he comments.

And I'm not going to. Somehow, he's already burrowed his way inside my head. I need a bit of distance to wrangle these feelings back under control where they belong.

"All right, I see how it is." He flicks the tip of my nose with his finger. "Ready to head downstairs and check out the damage?"

Relief floods through me when he changes the subject instead of pressing for more. "Yeah."

The amount of regret and loss that flickers through me when he steps away is disconcerting. I've always suspected it would be like this with Beck. It's the reason I've given him a wide berth.

With his back turned to me, I press my hand against my lower abdomen as if that alone will still the butterflies that have winged their way to life inside me. Then I follow him out of the bedroom and into the long stretch of hallway.

Professional family photographs dating back to when Beck and his older brother, Ari, were toddlers dot the light gray walls. By the time we reach the curving staircase, I have a handle on myself. I pause and survey the spacious entryway and a slice of the living

room.

My brows rise as I take in the party's aftermath.

Oh, boy.

"You coming?"

I blink and realize Beck is waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

"Yeah," I mutter, racing down to join him.

The foyer of the Hollingsworth mansion is elegant and stately. There is a sea of black-and-white checkered marble tile and a chandelier suspended from the ceiling that probably costs as much as a high-end car. White Doric columns break up the space between the foyer and the living room.

What seems out of place are the beer bottles and red cups crowded on the antique credenza. One cup has been tipped over. The wood where the liquid has settled is discolored and cloudy. Caroline will flip out when she discovers the damage. Every piece of furniture in this house has been carefully curated by European craftsmen.

I inspect the living room and replace the mess to be just as extensive. More beer bottles and red cups litter the coffee table and floor. A wadded-up shirt, a pair of flip-flops, and a bra have been abandoned by their owners. Couch cushions are strewn about. What the hell were people doing? Building a pillow fort?

I shake my head and blow out a breath.

"Huh," Beck murmurs, rubbing his shadowed jaw, "I thought the damage would be worse."

"Really?" I glance at him. "This seems pretty bad. It will take hours to clean up."

"This is nothing," he replies dismissively.

The idea of allowing a bunch of random people from school to destroy my parent's house is unfathomable.

"Should we check out the kitchen?" he asks, interrupting those thoughts.

"Do we have a choice in the matter?"

"Nope. It's like pulling off a Band-Aid. We need to do it quickly so it's not as painful."

I groan as we step into the two-story kitchen. I've been here enough times to know that under normal circumstances, this place is spotless. It's so clean you could eat off the floor. That's no longer the case. In fact, I'd rather vomit in my mouth than eat anything off the floor.

If I'd thought the living room was trashed, this is ten times worse. Even Beck, who is usually unflappable, skids to a halt.

"Well, shit." His hand goes to the back of his neck as he surveys the damage.

"My thoughts exactly," I say with a snort.

Bottles of booze, bags of chips, empty pizza boxes, plates of half-eaten food are strewn about the room and take up every bit of counter space. Even the long expanse of island is covered with debris.

"What time are the parentals arriving home?" I ask.

He slides his hand through his hair, mussing it more than it already is. "A couple of hours."

"Alrighty then." I clap my hands together. "We better get to work." I have no idea if we'll be able to get this place cleaned up in time, but anything is better than them walking into this shitshow. We haven't even assessed the damage outside.

When Beck fails to respond, I turn to him. "Where are the garbage bags?"

"I appreciate your offer to help, but you don't have to. You're not the one who made the mess, you shouldn't have to clean it up." His lips quirk into a smile. "Don't stress. I'll take care of it."

It's a tempting offer. The idea of going home and crawling into bed for a couple of hours is enticing.

But...if I leave Beck to his own devices, there's no way he'll get done in time.

"It's fine," I murmur, mentally committing myself to three or four hours of cleanup, "I'll stay and help."

Emotion flickers in his eyes. "Are you sure you feel all right?"

Heat slams into my cheeks. Every shift of my thighs reminds me of what we were doing thirty minutes ago. "I'm fine."

He jerks his head into a nod. "Okay, thanks."

Breaking eye contact, I glance around. "I guess we should get started."

"Whatever you say, boss." Beck heads to the pantry and grabs a box of garbage bags and gloves. Without a word between us, I slip the latex over my hands and take a couple of white bags with me to the living room. Beck handles the kitchen as I tackle the other spaces. After all the bottles and random items have been disposed of, I make a sweep of the first floor. At least one good decision on his part was to lock the matching offices.

By the time I've finished straightening up, I've filled three garbage bags with remnants from the party. I've found everything from underwear to baseball caps. Satisfied with the cleanup, I return to the kitchen and replace that Beck has cleared all the surfaces and has loaded the dishwasher. I grab the vacuum and run it through the first floor as Beck sweeps the hardwoods in the kitchen.

When I glance at the clock on the microwave, I'm surprised to replace that almost two hours have slipped by. I survey the kitchen and two-story family room with a critical eye. "It looks pretty good in here."

Beck leans against the broom. "Teamwork makes the dream work."

"It's entirely possible your parents won't realize you invited the entire senior class over last night."

"They'll know. I'm sure Dad has already watched the security footage."

"Oh." I shoot him a frown. "Why would you have a party if you knew you'd get caught?" That makes no sense.

His lips lift into a lazy grin. "Mostly because I don't give a shit."

And there you have it. Beck's motto in life.

When I remain silent, he adds, "I'll get in trouble regardless, so might as well do exactly what I want and have a good time doing it."

That's one of the many differences between us. The idea of doing something I would get in trouble for is a foreign concept.

"I don't get you," I say.

Not the least bit offended, a slow grin spreads across his face. "It's not possible for you to make a move without carefully weighing all the consequences, is it?"

"It's called being responsible. Why are you trying to make it sound so bad?"

"Because spontaneity can be a beautiful thing." His eyes ignite with heat. "Don't you think so?"