Page 94 of Under Pressure

I used to see him as some egotistical jerk with little care for those who don’t paw at him in awe, and now I see his open heart, his kindness, and the fierce desire to take care of those he loves. He lives a laid-back life, but that doesn’t make him lazy or unserious. There’s a depth to him that I wasn’t expecting, and fuck, I’m a sucker for it.For him.

There’s no denying it anymore. I like Beck, and not just in some friendly,yeah, let’s hang out and have a beerkind of way. It’s far more serious than that.

I think I might even miss him more than he misses me, and it’s only been two days.

“You mean it?” he asks, voice low.

“You’re not the guy I thought you were, Beck.”

A pause. “No, I’m not.”

“I took a few pictures of Bodi today. I’ll send them after we hang up. Callie ordered him a Blank Page bandana to wear and mentioned getting a fence built for around the patio just in case he sees a bird or something,” I say, changing the subject before I wind up begging him to come home.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, please do. I can do that once I’m back. It’s a good idea.”

“Alright, well, I should probably let you go. Beauty sleep and all.” I inwardly scold myself for being so awkward.

“That’s the one thing I actually don’t need, believe it or not.”

I snort. “Yeah, you would say that.”

Bodi’s ears lift when we both hear the sound of the keypad on the door start beeping, like it does when you put the code in. I touch his back, feeling it vibrate as he starts to growl.

“Hey, I’ll call you back in a few minutes,” I tell him, already standing.

The front desk is really picky about who they let into the building, so I’m more nervous than worried when I quickly end the call and make my way to the door. I’m still a few feet away when it swings open.

Bodi tears past me, his growl disappearing when he sees the visitor, recognizing her. Me, though? I freeze on the spot because the woman who just stepped into Beck’s place with the comfortability of someone who’s done the same thing a thousand times?

That’s his mother.

34

Serena Rourke looksas if time hasn’t had an effect on her.

Her skin is still as flawless as I remember it being when I was eighteen and pimple-faced. The expertly curled black hair that reaches just past her shoulders falls in a way that screams professional blowout. She has the front pieces pulled back to expose her slim cheekbones and the indent at the centre of her chin that I realize now she shares with her son. If she were to smile, I know without a doubt that she’d have matching dimples, too.

I’m only five six, but I still stand a few inches above her. In a pair of robin-egg-blue Converse shoes, she roams familiar green eyes over me, surprised but attempting to hide just how much. Her lips are glossy, and they press firmly together before parting suddenly.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know anyone was here, or I would have knocked. Please forgive me for being so rude,” she rambles.

Her voice is warm, comforting despite being chock full of worry. I brush it off with a shake of my head and swipe my sweaty palms down my thighs.

“It’s okay. You’re probably here all the time.”

She adjusts her purse strap where it sits heavily on her bare shoulder, leaving a divot in her tan skin. I can make out a brieftan line behind the edge of her tank top. Looking across her body, I see the same line on her other side.

“No, it’s not okay. If I’d known someone was here, I . . . It doesn’t matter. I totally stuck my foot in my mouth here. I’m Serena, Beck’s mother.”

I force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as uncomfortable as it feels. “I remember. Uh, I knew Beck in school. Quinn Archer.”

She beams at me. It’s not exactly the response I was expecting. I pull back a bit as her entire demeanour changes with the flip of a switch, becoming bright and welcoming rather than curious and almost shy.

“Oh, I was hoping you would remember me. Look at you! You’re all grown up and so, so stunning. I’m relieved you didn’t dye your hair. It fits you perfectly.” With an offhand move, she dumps her purse on the kitchen island, and my brows jump into my hairline when it makes a loud bang. Soft, strong hands find my biceps and squeeze. “He was right. I always knew he was a smart boy, but to see you in person? It’s everything.”

“Right about what?” I ask slowly.

She keeps smiling. “How is your café? Is the water all taken care of?”