“Huh. Didn’t even notice,” he says, and then he pulls his shirt off.
“What are you doing?” I gasp.
“Look.” He twists and points to his left shoulder blade, where there’s a liver-colored birthmark about the size of a quarter. “I have one too. Mine looks like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.”
“Put your shirt back on.” Gah, he’s not all that airbrushed in those billboards. Good lord, the man is ripped. I try to tell myself it means he spends a quarter of his day in the gym, or that he has a really good plastic surgeon, and also that it’s ridiculously stupid that his easy grin is charming my nipples.
Crap.
Am I wearing a bra? The last thing I need is for the message to get lost behind people noticing that my nipples are straining to watch the underwear model in my kitchen.
Good gravy, I just thought that.
And it’s not even the weirdest thought I’ve ever had, but it’s been over a decade since I left home and changed my name, so it’s been a while since I’ve had weird thoughts.
I’d really hoped I’d left that all behind.
Also, if I had to have my body come back to life after the disaster that was Trent Fornicus last year—and yes, he was just as good at it as his name suggests—does it have to happen now?
For an underwear model?
“Wait,” I say.
Beck lifts a brow.
Dammit, even his brows are Hollywood perfection.
He probably manscapes too.
Although, he does have a reasonable amount of chest hair. Not like he’s furry, but if he’s manscaping, he’s not straight-up waxing.
“Wait…for…?” he says.
I shake my head. Get it together, Sarah. “I never show my face, so why is anyone going to believe that I’m @must_love_bees and that you didn’t just hire someone to stand here and pretend to be me?”
He glances at Charlie, who gives him a you’re on your own, buddy look.
“You can post the video on your account,” he says.
“How will people know you didn’t hack me?”
“You already tasered me once. Much fun as it was the first time, I’m not going to do anything to prompt that again.”
Despite his easy grin about the whole thing, I’m going red. I can feel it.
And I don’t do pretty red. It’s one of the things my mother always lamented. Oh, Serendipity, I so wish you’d gotten my lovely blush instead of your father’s brutish blotches. People will judge you horribly.
“I didn’t know it was you,” I start, but Beck waves me off, still grinning.
“Eh. I deserved it. For a lot of reasons.”
“You’re awful happy for a guy who deserved it.”
His grin goes sheepish. “Bad habit. Terrible habit. Being happy, I mean. I’m trying to quit.”
Is he—is he flirting with me? “The camera’s on, isn’t it?” I say.
“Yep, I’m rolling,” Mackenzie announces. “Go on. You two are adorable.”
I shoot her a what the hell? look.
She grins and gives me a thumbs-up.
I sigh. We can edit this out. “Okay. Let’s do this.” Before I puke.
Or change my mind and bolt for the Himalayas.
Save the giraffes, Sarah. Be the difference you want to see in the world. Best chance, right here.
“You sure?” Beck asks.
I don’t like how he’s watching me.
Because there’s a lot of concern in those pretty blue eyes of his, and he’s doing a damn good job of making me feel like his concern is for me, and not this foundation that I know he’s trying to salvage.
I nod anyway, because the world really does need to know that the giraffes are endangered.
Charlie is standing by my kitchen sink, watching. She’s given up her phone, but she’s taking notes on a pad of paper.
Beck looks at Mackenzie, and his smile actually fades. “Hey, people of the world. Beck Ryder here with a huge apology to pretty much all of you, but mostly to this lovely lady right here. Sarah, also known as @must_love_bees on Twitter.”
I force a smile, though now that we’re actually recording, I’m definitely going to vomit. “Hi.”
Beck angles closer, and the weirdest sensation of warmth floods my chest when he drapes his ape arm over the back of my chair. Like this is going to be okay, even though I know it’s completely illogical for his arm to be comforting.
I guess it’s like bungee jumping while attached to a bungee jumping instructor.
You know he knows what he’s doing, so you’re going to survive, even though you also know that there’s still a possibility that this will be the time the cord snaps.
“Tell you a story?” Beck asks me.
I lick my lips, because dammit, it’s hot in here. “Is it about you?”
His gaze dips to my lips, then back to my eyes, and he grins at me. “My sister would like you. You know she got engaged this week?”
“And you wish her a lifetime of popping out babies and mopping floors and greeting her big strong provider with a baked chicken and a smile every night for the rest of her life?” Oh my god, I sound like a nagging asshole.
“That tweet was in really poor taste, wasn’t it?” he says quietly.
“Pretty much,” I reply, just as quietly.
“Both my parents worked the whole time I was growing up,” he tells me. “Both of them. Together. They own an environmental engineering firm.”
“I know. That’s why your sister follows me. We’re all trying to save the world.”
“Except me.” His brows furrow for half a second. “You’re trying to save the giraffes.”
“They’re endangered.”
“But we see them in zoos all the time.”
I heave an exasperated sigh. “Just because you see them in zoos doesn’t mean they’re not endangered in the wild. Zoos work with conservationists. Pandas were endangered for a long time. But because we knew it, people worked to save them. They’re still vulnerable, but we’re making progress. No one knows giraffes are endangered though. That’s why it’s such a big deal that Persephone, the giraffe at the Copper Valley zoo, is having a baby. It’s not just about the cute baby giraffe. It’s about survival of the species.”
“And honeybees?” he asks.
Those are the magic words.
I can talk about honeybees for hours.
Mackenzie’s not there. Charlie’s not there. I’m just telling the underwear ape how important honeybees are for our food supply and the whole ecological chain of events that matters so much to me.
Completely and totally geeking out.
And if he’s not listening, he’s still making me feel like he is, nodding along, asking more questions, cracking the occasional joke that’s actually funny.
I pause, because I realize I’m rambling, and he smiles at me.
Not a hey, lady, want to see me in my underwear pose? smile, but a friendly, I get it, I’m passionate about things too smile.
“You care,” he says.
“Everybody cares about something. What do you care about?”
“My family.”
He doesn’t even pause, and I don’t know if that’s because it’s the answer he’s trained to give, or if he really has kept himself that grounded through the years.