Page 31 of Changing Lanes

A band of beauties with broken pasts.

And I’m supposed to fit in here?

I relax my entire body, letting it float up to the surface, and I close my eyes. Not the smartest idea at a pool party but I need a minute. The last couple hours are catching up to me and the thoughts are swirling like a goddamn tornado. Marc’s mom’s revelations, Angela’s semi-revelations, Beckett’s…whatever that was—it’s all given me a new look into the world I’ve found myself in. So many insights and yet no real details, like looking in a fogged-up mirror after a hot shower. Hints without facts.

Is Angela right about Beckett possibly being jealous? He doesn’t act like that to me. He behaves like a brat most of the time except, of course, for the night he put me to bed. He was sweet, almost tender. The next morning, however, all traces of his kindness were gone, replaced with a cold front that could rival any chilly morning I’ve ever experienced.

How’d he end up like that? Who caused those coping mechanisms in the first place?

Esme mentioned the people that are supposed to love the guys the most. Who didn’t give big, baby Beckett the love that they should’ve? And why?

Was it something he chose? Or did life take the choice from him entirely?

Hands latch onto my ankles then I’m yanked forward, causing my ass to sink and my head to spring up out of the water. The movement brings me face-to-face with the object of my thoughts as if my mind has the power to summon the devil himself. He’s smirking down at me like one so I return the favor, except where his looks like he got the last laugh, mine says I’m just getting started.

“You met neighbor girl?”

My eyebrows nosedive until I remember Angela saying she lived across the hall for a while. I peeked inside last week when the cleaners were there and that place is tiny. No wonder she ventured next door.

“Angela? Yeah, she’s cool. She said I should keep you in line.”

The side of his mouth quirks and I notice he hasn’t released me yet. His hands glide up to my knees, his thumbs rubbing the outsides of my legs and sending a trail of goose bumps up my body that even the cold water didn’t cause.

“In line or in a gag?”

I pop a shoulder. Whatever works.

“And how would you do that?”

Tilting my head to the side, I place my feet on the bottom of the pool, slipping out of his grasp. With my chest in line with his face since he’s in a deeper part, I look down at him and I get the feeling I might be the first to do such a thing. His eyes lift to mine and I swear they fucking sparkle like he gets off on it.

“I’ve got my ways.”

I let the suggestion hang in the air between us like a volleyball net.

Ball’s in your court.

He doesn’t press further though. Instead we hold our standoff in silence, each letting the other wonder what’s coming next.

Gesturing to Angela, I say, “You love her.”

This response gets spiked without a second thought. “She’s in love with Coty.”

“That much is obvious. I meant as a friend. She’s special to you.”

I watch him closely as the words sail over to his side, landing at his feet.

Beckett only gives a lazy shrug, saying, “Angie comes from a broken home, too. She laughs through the heartache.”

Too?

“Like you?”

His nostrils flare and I back up.

“You don’t know me.”

A humorless laugh glides across the water between us, reaching for something I’ve already tucked out of reach.