The Girl Next Door
Chapter 32

I park the Jeep in the circular drive and grab my duffle bag before heading up the wide stone steps in front of the house. The door is unlocked, which means someone has to be home. Once inside the two-story foyer, I call out, "Hello?" I pause and wait for a response. When silence greets me, I raise my voice and bellow, "Mom? Dad? Are you home?" "In the kitchen, honey," Mom yells back. "I hope you're hungry."

Is that a joke?

I'm always hungry.

Especially for a homecooked meal.

I set my bag next to the front door before heading through the hallway that leads to the kitchen. Mom is at the oversized marble island chopping vegetables. A smile lights up her face when she sees me. I give her a quick kiss and hug before beelining to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. Happy to be home for a few days, I settle on the stool across from her.

"How was the drive?" she asks.

"It was fine." I pause for a beat before adding, "Although my Jeep made a few weird noises when I started it up. But it went away and didn't give me any other problems."

"Hmm." Her brows beetle together. "Make sure to mention it to your father when he gets home."

"When will that be?" I untwist the cap and lift the bottle to my lips, taking a long swig.

"Tomorrow morning." Even though the smile remains intact, it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "He's been out of town the last few days."

"Where did he go this time?" It feels like my father spends more time on business trips than he does at home. The man needs to take it easy. Whenever I mention it, he tells me that he loves his job and has no intention of slowing down anytime soon. "New York, maybe." Mom lifts her shoulders. "That man is always on the go. At this point, all of the cities blur together."

"One of these days, he's going to have a heart attack." It's something I think about all the time. I don't want to lose anyone else. "He needs to stop working so hard and enjoy his life."

"You're preaching to the choir, honey. I keep telling him the same thing," she murmurs, focusing on the carrots and celery she's chopping, "but you know how he is."

Yes, I do. He's a workaholic, and I'm not sure if that will ever change.

"Your father's birthday is coming up soon," she says, "and I've been thinking about booking a cruise for us."

I perk up. "That's a great idea!"

She glances at me and quirks her lips into a tentative smile. The sadness that is always present in her eyes vanishes. "It's been years since we took a vacation." Looking thoughtful, she pauses before shaking her head. "It must have been before..." Pain flashes in her eyes, and she quickly glances at the vegetables on the cutting board.

"I know, Mom," I say softly. "Don't ask him, just book it."

She worries her lower lip. "You really think I should do it?"

"Definitely. That way, he'll be forced to take the time off."

"True," she sighs. "I'll give it some thought."

I rise to my feet. "Do you need any help with dinner?"

"Nope, it's all under control." She looks at the clock on the stove. "It should be ready in an hour."

"Okay. I'm going up to take a bath and relax a little." I love my apartment at school, but I miss my jetted tub.

"Take your time, honey. We can eat whenever you're ready." She dumps the veggies into a sauté pan. "Maybe we can rent a movie and hang out tonight. Or did you make other plans?"

"I'm all yours." A low-key evening with Mom is exactly what I need.

She smiles, and the last wisps of sadness disappear from her eyes. "I wasn't sure if you'd want to get together with a few friends and go out."

"No one is around, they're all at school."

"I'm sure Beck is back." She gives me a look chock-full of speculation. "I wondered if you two would drive home together."

"He asked," I admit reluctantly, "but I said no."

"How come?" She uses an oversized wooden spoon to push around the vegetables in the pan. "Beck is such a lovely boy."

First of all, he is definitely not a boy.

And second-

"No one on the face of this planet has ever referred to Beckett Hollingsworth as lovely."

She throws a look over her shoulder as her lips tremble upward. "Oh, I don't know about that. He's pretty darn lovely to look at, don't you think?"

My mouth drops open. "Oh my God! Did you seriously just say that?"

"I did," she chuckles. For the first time in forever, there's a lightheartedness to her. It's nice to see.

"You know," she continues before I can recover, "I've always thought he had feelings for you."

"Mom," I groan, embarrassment licking at my cheeks, "he does not. Trust me on this. Beck has more girls sniffing around him than he knows what to do with." Which is exactly why I keep shutting down his advances. Fool me once, shame on you.

Fool me twice, and I deserve everything I get.

Ignoring me, she muses, "Remember how protective he was when you two were kids? That boy always sat next to you on the bus." A distant look enters her eyes as if she's tumbled back in time. "I always felt better knowing he was looking out for you." Of course, I remember. It's probably where my infatuation with Beck stems from.

"He really is a sweet boy. Maybe a little misunderstood. I wish his father wouldn't be so hard on him."

I scrunch my nose. "You think Archie is hard on Beck?"

"Yes, I do. He treats Ari like the heir to the kingdom. I'm sure it was difficult for Beck to grow up in his older brother's shadow. Everything came so easily to Ari. School, athletics, popularity. He never had to work for any of it. And Beck," she shrugs, "he's different. Sometimes it seems like no matter how hard that poor boy tries, he will never please Archie." She glances at me. "When Brianna was alive, you both had your own interests. We tried to cultivate them without making you girls feel like you were in competition with each other."

That's true.

Brianna was a gifted artist. She loved to draw and paint. Even though she did well in school, math was always a struggle. Academics came easier to me. And picking up a tennis racket felt like second nature. My parents attended art shows and tennis tournaments. They never made us feel like one was more favored or important than the other. We each had our own talents, and when one of us did well, they always applauded it.

Now that I think about it, I guess what Mom is saying isn't wrong. Archie does treat his older son like the heir apparent. He's always crowing about Ari's latest accomplishments. And Beck is an afterthought.

A kernel of pity blooms inside my chest.

Does it bother Beck that Archie lavishes so much attention on his brother?

How could it not?

"Anyway," Mom says, drawing me back to our conversation. "Beck seems to be doing well for himself."

"Yes, he is." I fall silent as Mom's words swirl through my mind. It takes effort to push all thoughts of Beck away, but that's nothing new. "Okay, I'm going to head upstairs for a bath. I'll be down in a bit." "Sounds good, honey." I take a few steps toward the hallway when she says, "Oh, I forgot to mention that I picked up a dress for you to wear tomorrow. You're going to love it."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Let me know what you think. It's draped over the chaise in your room."

"Will do," I call over my shoulder before jogging up the stairs.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm soaking in a frothy tub of bubbles. With my head resting against the porcelain edge, I close my eyes and let the tension leak from my body. I hate to admit it, but I can't stop thinking about what happened at the club. The way Beck set me on the desk and...

Yeah.

What is it about him that makes me lose total control?

Even thinking about the way he buried his face between my legs sends a tidal wave of arousal crashing over me. The pleasure he's capable of is like nothing I've ever experienced before. Is it any wonder I replace him so damn addictive?

An uncomfortable ache throbs to life between my thighs as I shift in the warm water.

Don't do it.

Don't you dare touch yourself and think about him.

With my eyes closed, my fingertips trail across my breasts before carefully circling around the puckered tips. Hot licks of need spike through me. It's one thing to have Beck bring me to my knees and quite another to touch myself while conjuring up an image of him. If I were smart, I would ignore the heat swirling through my core, but I can't.

I'm too turned on.

My hand disappears beneath the sudsy surface until its able to stroke over the lips of my p***y. When my fingertips brush over my clit, I groan and spread my legs wider. One image of Beck with his face pressed against my core and his tongue dancing across my silky flesh is all it takes to push me over the edge. My muscles spasm as I moan out my o****m. My fingers keep moving, stroking over my clit until I've wrung every shudder from my body.

The moment my mind clears, I groan. Only this time, it has nothing to do with pleasure.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Frustrated with myself for this infatuation that refuses to die, I suck in a breath and sink beneath the surface until my entire body is submerged.

Beck is a weakness I can't afford. I keep waiting for him to lose interest and move on, but that has yet to happen. What I know is this-if I'm not careful, he could break down every last one of my defenses, and I'm afraid it's only a matter of time before that happens.