Page 116 of Changing Lanes

CHAPTER 28

Paige

The tawny sky is just waking up as I stare out over the gorge in the heart of this beautiful state. The rolling hills are mostly brown with some green sprinkled throughout closest to the river and the shadows they cast have an almost eerie feel to them as foggy clouds loiter menacingly along the crevices.

From my spot just past the now deserted amphitheater, I can see a few early risers making their way to the bathrooms in the distance and figure I better head back in case Cynthia is among them.

Waking this morning, more comfortable than I expected I’d be in a rented outdoor bed with a brick wall of pure heat at my back, I slipped from Beckett’s warm embrace to find my phone completely dead. As soon as I stepped out of the tent, a frantic Angela informed me her coffee machine had taken out the power to all the other glamping sites. Each individual tent gets an outlet for phones and whatnot but with one flick of her espresso maker, she singlehandedly sabotaged my plan to slip out unnoticed.

Unable to help, I went back inside immediately realizing I had no underwear—thanks, Beckett—so I borrowed a pair of Beckett’s sweatpants to wear under my shirt dress. I had to roll up each pants leg and flip the waist band down a few times but it worked out okay especially since it’s actually chilly this early.

Since I couldn’t reach Cynthia by phone, I decided to walk around down by the do-it-yourself campers, but with no clue which tiny tent Cruz’s was in a huge mess of other tiny tents, I gave up and went to watch the sunrise instead.

Back at their site, Marc and Coty are sitting under a canopy at a folding table. Squinting, I see they’re eating sausage and eggs which is impressive considering Angela killed the only possible source of heat before I left.

When they notice me approaching, they exchange glances with each other, then continue eating while taking me in curiously.

They know.

They know what happened between me and Beckett last night but they don’t know what happened between me and Beckett last night.

And maybe, just maybe Beckett doesn’t either.

Just then I hear two heavy thumps and a short exhale. Looking over I see Beckett coming out of his tent, shirtless with a pair of gray sweatpants that I swear were made just to torture me, and hair sticking out at all angles like he’s been yanking his hands through it. He pins me to my spot with a wide-eyed stare and a tight line to his lips.

Unsure what to do, or say, or even think, I wave. A stupid flimsy little wave compared to the momentous actions that just took place between the two of us but it’s my wave and I’m sticking with it.

As I consider tossing in a nice fake smile, Beckett storms across the dirt lined site, putting him toe-to-toe with me in just a few long strides and then his lips are crashing into mine. His hand grasps the back of my head keeping me to him as he deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue just past my shocked lips and, even in my brain fogged state, I silently thank myself for stopping to brush my teeth during my walk. Beckett’s kissing me with so much emotion it’s clear this is more than a simple morning after mind-blowing, life-altering sex kiss.

This kiss is a punishment.

Whatever my offense, I’m ready to surrender and atone for the wrong I’ve committed because this kiss is more than I’ve ever been given, ever been shown.

But, more importantly, it’s a claiming. It’s a lasting promise, a foreboding threat, a sentence I’ll happily spend the rest of my life serving if there’s more where this came from.

I was ready to run, willing to break my promise to Beckett that I wouldn’t. But this. This is why I said I’d stay to begin with. This connection between us that neither of us can deny anymore. It’s here. We’re here. I’m still fucking here.

Before my greedy hands do some claiming of their own, Beckett pulls away, leaving me breathless and feverish. With his hand still cupped to the back of my head, he says, “I thought you left.”

How did I ever look at him and see a selfish screw-off that doesn’t take anything seriously?

Because he wanted me to.

Because he wants everyone to.

I nod a bit, glancing toward Angela’s tent. “You can thank your accomplice over there for making me your hostage.”

“Nah, dream, I’m the one being held captive.”

The intensity both in and around that sentence threatens to set the wilderness around us ablaze.

“Why do you keep calling me dream?”

Beckett licks his lips, dropping his gaze to mine and then back up to my eyes again before answering vaguely, saying, “You’ll see.”

The last time he said that he followed through. So much more than I could’ve ever prepared for.

With a smack on my ass, he tells me, “Now go sit and eat something. And don’t take off yet. I want you to go home with me.”