Heat It Up
Page 26
Jane didn’t answer. Liz was probably right, but that didn’t mean she could just erase her feelings for Becker. It was so messed up. She’d only spent a week with the man. One freaking week, yet she’d connected with him in a way she never had with any other man.
“Come on, get up,” Liz suddenly ordered. She stood up and held out her hand. “Let’s go.”
She allowed her sister to help her to her feet. “Where are we going?”
“Anywhere. You need to get out of the apartment and stop thinking about Becker.”
Jane glanced down at her ratty sweat pants. “I’m not even dressed.”
“Then get dressed.” Liz’s chin lifted with determination. “We’ll go get a manicure, or see that new Brad Pitt movie, or just walk down Sunset and window shop.”
“I don’t—”
“No argument,” Liz interrupted. “Now get dressed so we can work on helping you put Thomas Becker right out of your mind, okay?”
The image of Becker’s serious face and spectacular body floated into her mind, eliciting a spark of hurt. She quickly pushed it aside, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go,” she said quietly.
Becker had no clue why he agreed to shoot pool with Carson on Thursday night. Ever since the night he’d seen Jane and Ryan in the parking lot of the hotel, draped all over each other, he’d avoided his fellow SEALs, especially Carson. There had been a couple of messages on his cell phone from Carson, and one from Holly, the day after he’d stopped by their place, but Becker hadn’t returned the calls. Those two had been the reason he’d gone to see Jane in the first place, and look how that turned out.
Fuck. There he went, thinking about her again. It had almost become a twisted game, counting how many times the thought of Jane slid into his mind. The current tally was six, and pathetically, that was just in the last hour.
“I’m still waiting to hear why you’ve been avoiding me this entire week,” Carson said casually as he racked the balls on the pool table.
“I’m not avoiding you,” Becker lied.
Carson shook his head. “Yes, you are. But whatever, don’t tell me why.” He stepped back and gestured for Becker to break the neatly arranged balls. “At least tell me what happened with Jane.”
“Nothing. It didn’t work out.” Averting his eyes, Becker bent forward, pulled his cue back and sent the white ball smashing into the others, making them scatter on the green felt like frantic rats.
He straightened his back and examined the table, annoyed to see that despite the excessive strength he’d put into the shot, not a single ball had landed in a pocket. Behind him, he heard Carson let out a frazzled breath. “What do you mean, it didn’t work out? She wasn’t interested?”
Before Becker could answer, he caught a flash of movement in his peripheral vision. An irrational knot of anger coiled around his insides as Ryan Evans and Matt O’Connor strode up to the pool table. They knocked fists with Carson, but didn’t offer the easygoing gesture to Becker, simply nodded in greeting.
Becker forced himself to nod back. Forced himself not to glare at Evans, or even worse, unleash an upper cut into the younger man’s jaw. Ryan hadn’t done anything wrong. So what if he’d slept with Jane? No matter how much the notion infuriated him, he couldn’t blame Ryan. Fuck, he couldn’t even blame Jane, either. After all, he was the one who’d broken things off with her.
Still, it took a considerable amount of willpower, maintaining a civil attitude toward Ryan. Just looking at the guy, Becker couldn’t help but imagine him in bed with Jane. Which brought a wave of discomfort to his gut, since he and Jane had done just that, hadn’t they? Imagined Ryan in bed with them. The uncomfortable ache faded back into anger, as he realized the fantasy had come true—for Jane, at least. She’d wasted no time climbing into bed with Ryan. Becker’s chest hurt just thinking about it.
“One of you grab me a beer, will you?” Carson said to the two newcomers.
“Get your own beer,” Ryan said, rolling his eyes.
“Come on, please? I’m about to kick Beck’s ass here.”
Matt took pity on Carson and headed toward the long chrome counter on the other side of the bar. As Carson leaned forward to take his shot, Ryan turned to Becker and said, “Have you heard from Jane?”
Becker’s entire body tensed. Seriously? Evans was actually bringing up Jane, to him, the man who’d been f**king her only the day before Ryan?
“No,” he said stiffly. “I haven’t.”
Ryan must have sensed Becker’s hostility because he backed off, and wandered over to Matt, who was returning with the beers. Evans and O’Connor went to stand by Carson, leaving Becker free to focus on the game. He bent to take a shot, forcing himself to relax. Wasn’t Ryan’s fault things hadn’t worked out with Jane.
He sank a couple of balls, zoning out the conversation of the other guys, then missed what could have been a sweet combo. He straightened up, waiting for Carson to shoot, and that was when he caught the tail end of Ryan’s comment to Matt.
“—like, incredible head. That blowjob should go down in history, pun intended.”
Becker pressed his hands to his sides, fighting back a rush of rage. Was Evans such an ass**le that he’d talk about this shit in front of him? And to give O’Connor details about what Jane was like in bed, that was sleazy as hell.
“Come on, get up,” Liz suddenly ordered. She stood up and held out her hand. “Let’s go.”
She allowed her sister to help her to her feet. “Where are we going?”
“Anywhere. You need to get out of the apartment and stop thinking about Becker.”
Jane glanced down at her ratty sweat pants. “I’m not even dressed.”
“Then get dressed.” Liz’s chin lifted with determination. “We’ll go get a manicure, or see that new Brad Pitt movie, or just walk down Sunset and window shop.”
“I don’t—”
“No argument,” Liz interrupted. “Now get dressed so we can work on helping you put Thomas Becker right out of your mind, okay?”
The image of Becker’s serious face and spectacular body floated into her mind, eliciting a spark of hurt. She quickly pushed it aside, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go,” she said quietly.
Becker had no clue why he agreed to shoot pool with Carson on Thursday night. Ever since the night he’d seen Jane and Ryan in the parking lot of the hotel, draped all over each other, he’d avoided his fellow SEALs, especially Carson. There had been a couple of messages on his cell phone from Carson, and one from Holly, the day after he’d stopped by their place, but Becker hadn’t returned the calls. Those two had been the reason he’d gone to see Jane in the first place, and look how that turned out.
Fuck. There he went, thinking about her again. It had almost become a twisted game, counting how many times the thought of Jane slid into his mind. The current tally was six, and pathetically, that was just in the last hour.
“I’m still waiting to hear why you’ve been avoiding me this entire week,” Carson said casually as he racked the balls on the pool table.
“I’m not avoiding you,” Becker lied.
Carson shook his head. “Yes, you are. But whatever, don’t tell me why.” He stepped back and gestured for Becker to break the neatly arranged balls. “At least tell me what happened with Jane.”
“Nothing. It didn’t work out.” Averting his eyes, Becker bent forward, pulled his cue back and sent the white ball smashing into the others, making them scatter on the green felt like frantic rats.
He straightened his back and examined the table, annoyed to see that despite the excessive strength he’d put into the shot, not a single ball had landed in a pocket. Behind him, he heard Carson let out a frazzled breath. “What do you mean, it didn’t work out? She wasn’t interested?”
Before Becker could answer, he caught a flash of movement in his peripheral vision. An irrational knot of anger coiled around his insides as Ryan Evans and Matt O’Connor strode up to the pool table. They knocked fists with Carson, but didn’t offer the easygoing gesture to Becker, simply nodded in greeting.
Becker forced himself to nod back. Forced himself not to glare at Evans, or even worse, unleash an upper cut into the younger man’s jaw. Ryan hadn’t done anything wrong. So what if he’d slept with Jane? No matter how much the notion infuriated him, he couldn’t blame Ryan. Fuck, he couldn’t even blame Jane, either. After all, he was the one who’d broken things off with her.
Still, it took a considerable amount of willpower, maintaining a civil attitude toward Ryan. Just looking at the guy, Becker couldn’t help but imagine him in bed with Jane. Which brought a wave of discomfort to his gut, since he and Jane had done just that, hadn’t they? Imagined Ryan in bed with them. The uncomfortable ache faded back into anger, as he realized the fantasy had come true—for Jane, at least. She’d wasted no time climbing into bed with Ryan. Becker’s chest hurt just thinking about it.
“One of you grab me a beer, will you?” Carson said to the two newcomers.
“Get your own beer,” Ryan said, rolling his eyes.
“Come on, please? I’m about to kick Beck’s ass here.”
Matt took pity on Carson and headed toward the long chrome counter on the other side of the bar. As Carson leaned forward to take his shot, Ryan turned to Becker and said, “Have you heard from Jane?”
Becker’s entire body tensed. Seriously? Evans was actually bringing up Jane, to him, the man who’d been f**king her only the day before Ryan?
“No,” he said stiffly. “I haven’t.”
Ryan must have sensed Becker’s hostility because he backed off, and wandered over to Matt, who was returning with the beers. Evans and O’Connor went to stand by Carson, leaving Becker free to focus on the game. He bent to take a shot, forcing himself to relax. Wasn’t Ryan’s fault things hadn’t worked out with Jane.
He sank a couple of balls, zoning out the conversation of the other guys, then missed what could have been a sweet combo. He straightened up, waiting for Carson to shoot, and that was when he caught the tail end of Ryan’s comment to Matt.
“—like, incredible head. That blowjob should go down in history, pun intended.”
Becker pressed his hands to his sides, fighting back a rush of rage. Was Evans such an ass**le that he’d talk about this shit in front of him? And to give O’Connor details about what Jane was like in bed, that was sleazy as hell.
