DITCHED Read online

  “She always was one hell of a smart lady. What she said stayed with me. I used it in relationships along the way, and when I got pissed as hell toward the end when she’d decided she didn’t have any more fight left in her to battle cancer, she still reminded me.

  “She said, ‘Honey, remember, only love. That’s the one thing more powerful than this—than cancer. Only love, Becket. That’s going to help you for years to come, when you have a family of your own.’” I press a hand over my chest where the emotions and memories have elicited a nagging ache.

  “She sounds like an amazing woman.”

  “She certainly was,” I say softly.

  “Do you”—Ivy hesitates—“see your father?”

  At the mention of the man who blatantly disrespected my mother and their vows, my jaw clenches. “No.” I press my lips thin before I go on. “Brantley and I were told he’d passed away a few years ago and left us something.” I shake my head against the pillow even though she can’t see me. “He’d been absent for most of our childhood and after the way he treated our mom…we sure as hell didn’t want anything from him.”

  “And you and your brother, are you two close?”

  “Absolutely.” Just thinking of my younger brother, my pseudo partner in crime, brings a smile to my lips. “He lives in Pensacola Beach with his boyfriend, Vonn, but we visit as much as we can.”

  Comfortable silence falls over us and just when I think Ivy’s fallen asleep, she murmurs, “So, you’re not going to address the book on your bedside table?”

  A laugh breaks free. “Ah. Caught sight of that, did you?” I shift to my side, facing her. “Thought the title would be explanatory.” A thick paperback copy of What To Expect When You’re Expecting sits beside my bed.

  She draws in a gasp of exaggerated surprise. “Oh, Becket! Who knocked you up?”

  I respond immediately with mock seriousness. “Dax.”

  Her husky laugh washes over me in seductive waves. “Congratulations.”

  I smile in the darkness. “I’m trying to convince Blue I’m suitable to be her stand-in birth partner.”

  Ivy shifts, assuming the same position, and faces me. “Why would you want to do that?”

  The humor has subsided in her voice, leaving only curiosity.

  I move to rest on my back and fold one hand behind my head. I release a long, slow breath. “Honestly, one reason is it would be an honor to be a part of that moment—to be there for her, in case Knox’s schedule makes him run late.” I swallow hard, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want her to be alone and overwhelmed.”

  “And the other reason?” she whispers back.

  A husky laugh breaks free. “The other reason is if I’m her birth partner, I can really hang the whole baby naming thing over her head.”

  “And what are you requesting she name the baby?”

  “Oh, you know.” I chuckle softly. “Beckina, Becket Junior. Some variation.”

  “Wow. Can’t imagine why she’s not on board with that,” Ivy deadpans.

  The moonlight casts an ethereal glow on the room, and I reach out a hand between us on the mattress. “You opposed to holding hands?”

  I sense her hesitation and immediately start to draw back my hand. “No wor—” My words halt when her soft hand grasps mine, stopping its retreat.

  “No, I’m not.” Her response is laced with a tinge of breathlessness. She laces her fingers with mine, and we lie here in silence for a moment.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Ivy’s words are barely a whisper, and I strain to hear them.

  “Of course.”

  She exhales slowly. “Why are you doing this?”

  I frown, confused by her question. “This?”

  “With me.” She pauses. “When you know it can’t go anywhere.”

  Ah. That’s what she’s getting at.

  I choose my words carefully. “You’re asking why I’m spending time with you?”

  “Yes. Time that’s…hanging out and not sex.”

  A smile tugs at my lips, and I’m grateful for the dark room. “Because that’s not all I want from you.” Our hands still joined, I stroke her smooth skin with the pad of my thumb. “I want to get to know you.”

  Her hand tenses. “But I…”

  I turn my head to the side and face her, speaking softly. “I don’t know what made you wary, and I’m not asking you to share that right now. All I know is, there’s something here, Ivy. I’ve never felt this before.”

  She swallows audibly, and when she speaks, her voice sounds tiny. “I feel it, too.”

  “So…” I draw in a breath, suddenly nervous. “Maybe we can see where things go. I just want to know you.”

  She releases her hold on my hand. Then there’s a shuffling of the covers, and she leans over me, the ends of her long hair tickling my chest. I reach up and tuck it behind her ear, and she rests her cheek against my right pec. “I’ve never done this before, Becket,” she whispers.

  I smooth her hair with my palm, relishing the sensation of the silky strands in contrast to my calloused hand. “The good part is,” I whisper back softly, “we’ll do it together. At our own pace.”

  There’s a beat of silence before she nods against me. “Okay.”

  As we lie in my bed, it’s not so much Ivy’s acquiescence to giving me—giving us—a chance that sends a surge of pleasure and excitement through my veins.

  It’s the fact she’s doing what she claimed she couldn’t do. What she doesn’t do.

  She’s snuggling with me.

  20

  Ivy

  SEPTEMBER

  “Are you watching SportsCenter?”

  My finger clicks the mouse frantically to close the internet window when Darcy enters my office. Of course, it chooses now to lock up, and my MacBook gives me the freaking color wheel of death that spins and spins.

  And spins.

  Dammit! I thought I had the volume down low enough. Time to try to save face or I’ll never hear the end of it.

  My sister stares at me like I’ve grown an extra head.

  I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “You know how those stupid click-bait things are everywhere. So annoying.” Finally, I manage to close the window on my internet browser.

  “Riiight.” She’s not convinced.

  “Okay, so I’m meeting with a potential new client on—”

  “Ah-ah.” Darcy wags her finger at me. “Not so fast.” She settles in the chair across from me. “Fill me in on what I’ve missed.”

  My brows pinch together because I’m confused. “What you’ve missed?” I pose the question slowly. “I wasn’t aware that you missed anything.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You and Becket. Fill me in.”

  “Oh.” I avert my gaze to my laptop. “Nothing to fill you in on.”

  “Is that why you’re avoiding eye contact and why I caught you checking SportsCenter online?”

  I toss up my hands in exasperation. “Fine! I was checking to see how the Jags were doing.”

  Darcy stares at me for a beat before her mouth stretches into a wide, pleased smile. “Oh, really?”

  In my best let’s get to business tone, I say, “We should go over our potential—”

  “We should talk about Becket and his magical voodoo over you.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Darce. Don’t.”

  Her lips press thin in irritation. “Why not? This is the first time this has happened. I’m excited about it.” She stabs a finger in my direction. “You should be excited, too.”

  I am…sort of. I’m also scared as hell.

  That night at Becket’s, when I fell asleep with his arm wrapped snugly around me, I’d never felt safer. What’s worse, I’ve never done that before. I’ve never spent the night with a guy, let alone wrapped in his arms.

  The wonderful and unpredictable thing is, Becket never brought it up the next morning. He had a prime opportunity to harass me about it, to poke fun, but didn’t. Instead, he made me sweet potato pancakes and entertained me with stories about his “girls”—Emilia and Violet.

  Our breakfast didn’t last long since he’d had to head to work for a team meeting. When he walked me to my bike, the kiss he’d given me had been tender, sweet, and left me yearning for more.

  Due to his schedule and mine, we hadn’t been able to have more than a few phone conversations and text messages over the past six weeks.

  Darcy’s features soften. “Look, Ivy. I’m just…I just want you to be happy. And be able to leave behind what happened once and for all.”

  I jerk my eyes away and stare out my office window. “You really think that’s possible?” I ask quietly.

  “I do.” Her response is spoken gently, yet there’s an underlying fervency to her tone.

  I wish I was as confident.

  She must recognize the need to change subjects because she comes around my desk to stop beside my chair. “Pull up SportsCenter again and show me those updates.”

  I twist my lips. “Um…okay.” Shit.

  The instant I click on the link with the snippet of video footage of the Jacksonville Jaguars practicing for their game against the New Orleans Saints, the camera pans to show the team’s quarterback warming up on the field.

  His sleeveless shirt is darkened with sweat and openly displaying his thick, muscular biceps as he throws the football down the field. The look of utter concentration on his face elicits the urge to run my thumb along that crease between his brows and smooth it out. His lips part slightly, and I recall exactly how decadent they felt on mine. The perspiration beading his forehead attests to the current heat and humidity still plaguing New Orleans.

  “Oh, wow,” Darcy breathes. “The gods sure smiled upon Becket Jones when he was made.”

  I whip my head around to glare at her. “Watch it.”

  As soon as the words spill from my lips, I avert my eyes with a gasp, horrified, and cover my mouth. My eyes grow wide.

  Holyshitholyshit. What’s wrong with me?

  “Noted.” Laughter is threaded in her tone, but I don’t have it in me to meet her gaze yet. “Do not admire Becket Jones.” She heads to the door and pauses. “Maybe you can get us tickets to a home game, though? Box seats, even?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” A thought hits me. “Ooh! Maybe I’ll get to experience what you told me about with the”—I snap my fingers, trying to think of the name—“stretch where everyone sings that Neil Diamond song.”

  Darcy lets out a choked laugh. “Oh, Ivy.” She backs away. “You, uh, might want to ask Becket about that.” Then she disappears, her heels clicking as she heads to her office, and her laughter lingers in her wake.

  Confused, I shake it off and get back to work.

  I’m eating my veggie sandwich from the local Jimmy John’s sandwich shop during lunch, attempting to catch up on emails, when the text message comes in.

  Becket: How’s Miss Ditched doing today?

  Me: Checking my copious emails is beginning to stultify me.

  My phone lights up with an incoming call. I smile as I answer. “Hey there.”

  “Dammit. I was trying to figure out how to impress you with my use of the Word of the Day, and you beat me to it.”

  “Ah, but there’s always tomorrow, Jones.”

  His husky laugh sends shivers down my spine. “We’re hanging out in the hotel lounge, watching some ESPN before we see some sights here in New Orleans. Dax wants to check out Café Du Monde and eat his weight in beignets.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  There’s a beat of silence. When he speaks, his voice is low, gravelly. “I know it’s lame and not at all what I’m supposed to say as a guy, but, Ivy?”

  “Yes?”

  “I, uh…” He hesitates before finishing with, “I miss your face.”

  I hear a collection of exaggerated awws and sounds of a whip cracking in the background.

  “Hold on.” Becket covers the phone, causing his next words to sound a bit muffled, but I can still make them out. “Lay off or I won’t bring my famous pecan pie to the next Friendsgiving.” His tone is stern, and I can’t help the smile that overtakes my face.

  Apologies roll in immediately, which is a testament to how much these guys must love this pie of his.

  He comes back on the phone. “As I was saying…” He lowers his voice, and the heated affection is evident. “I miss your face, Ivy Hayes.”

  “Same,” I say softly. An invisible fist clenches the center of my chest, and I absently rub at the spot. Clearing my throat, I add, “Be sure to hit this place called Vonda’s on Royal Street for all-you-can-eat-crawfish.” Darcy, Leif, and I would make pilgrimages there while attending LSU. Especially after final exams.

  “I’ll be sure to do that.” He falls silent for a moment. “I swear it’s more humid down here. I pretty much sweat through my shirt during practice.”

  “I know. It looked hot out there.”

  I wince, knowing I’ve given him ammunition, and pray he won’t make this uncomfortable.

  He lowers his voice. “Hold on. Let me head to where I can hear you a bit better.” The male voices fade a bit. “Did you watch me on ESPN?”

  I lean my head back against my chair and let my eyes fall closed. “I might’ve seen something.”

  His soft laugh greets my ears. “Oh, Ivy. I’ll make a football fan out of you yet.”

  “Oh!” I remember what I mentioned to Darcy earlier. “Don’t feel obligated or anything, but if there’s a home game you’d recommend us seeing, I’d love to come with Darcy and watch you play. I was just telling her how I’ve heard about everyone stopping at whatever inning and singing that Neil Diamond song. It sounds like fun.”

  When I’m greeted with nothing but silence, I check to see if the call was dropped. Confirming Becket’s still on the line, I prompt, “Becket?”

  He lets out a groan. “Ivy, Ivy, Ivy. You wound me, woman.”

  I wrinkle my brow. “How? Don’t you guys stop playing and take a break so the fans can sing?”

  “You’re talking about the stadium singing ‘Sweet Caroline’ during the seventh-inning stretch.”

  “Yes! That’s it. That sounds awesome.”

  “Uh, yeah, it’s pretty fun. But that’s not us.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No. That’s baseball. The Red Sox specifically.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment is heavy in my voice. Then brightening, I ask, “So what do you guys sing?”

  “We don’t sing.” He huffs out a little laugh. “At halftime, there’s usually a performance from a band or a singer.” Suddenly, there’s a shuffling sound, and I hear Dax pipe up. “We’ve had people like Justin Timberlake, Beyoncé, and Lady Gaga perform at the Super Bowl before. Still think Gaga’s better than Beyoncé.”

  A deep male voice makes a dismissive sound. “Aw, hell no. You best not disrespect my Queen B. She’s the bomb.”

  A few other guys complain, “Here we go again.”

  Becket laughs. “One thing’s for sure. You keep me grounded, Ivy.”

  In the background, someone calls out, “Guys! We’ve got rides scheduled in ten minutes.”

  He sighs. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to go grab my stuff from my hotel room.”

  I hate the instant sense of disappointment that fills me. “Okay. Talk to you later. Have fun.”

  “Bye, Ivy.”

  Slowly, I set my phone down and stare at it with dismay. Not only did I screw up a major detail, but I find myself wishing we had more time to talk.

  But right now, I have a bone to pick with my sister for not setting me straight.

  “Darcy!” I call out.

  She pops into view so fast she startles me. I narrow my eyes at her. “You were eavesdropping, weren’t you?”

  Appearing chagrinned, she holds up her palms in surrender. “I couldn’t help it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She snickers. “You were so cute and excited. I couldn’t bear to do it.”

  I bury my face in my hands. “Now I feel like an idiot.”

  “Oh, stop.” Darcy plops down in the chair across from me. “I’m sure Becket didn’t treat you like an idiot.”

  “No,” I mumble. “He was nice about it.” Then again, he’s always nice.

  Darcy waves me off. “So don’t worry about it.” She checks the time on the wall clock and jumps from her seat. “I’ve got to go. I’m attending an online conference Stephanie Duran’s presenting.”

  I tip my head to the side. “The self-proclaimed ‘Doctor of Love’?”

  “Yes. I’m hoping it will help me fortify my business plan.” She winks as she exits.

  Panicked, I call out after her, “Wait! What business plan?” This is news to me. But it’s also just like my sister to pull something like this. She’s been itching to contribute more to our business ever since we moved here.

  “For our sister company.” Her response echoes down the hall. “Hitched!”

  21

  Becket

  THE FRENCH QUARTER

  NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

  “My stomach’s chock-full of crawfish and beignets.” Tank, one of our linemen who lives up to his name, proclaims this while patting his protruding belly. “I dropped four hundred dollas on a bunch a powda’d sugar! But, maaaan, it was ta-sty.”

  “And you got merch!” Mario, our running back, pipes up, and slaps Tank on the back.

  “That I did.” Our lineman preens, tugging at the 3XL Café Du Monde T-shirt he proudly sports.

  “Wait! You got some powdered sugar right there.” Dax licks the pad of his thumb before swiping it across Tank’s cheek to eliminate the offending sugar trail.

  Tank stares, mouth agape. “You did not just give me a spit bath.”

  We all collapse into fits of laughter, clutching our sides, and I struggle to keep my phone steady for the Instagram live video. Coach put me in charge of this since it’s good publicity and he knows we won’t screw up and make asses of ourselves. This is a great group of guys we have, but it hasn’t always been this free of fuck-ups, that’s for sure.

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