I wasn't sure if it was the ballroom, the boy, or the alcohol, but sparklers were going off beneath my skin. Hot and tingly prickles that were just the start of something bigger.

It had been about an hour since Bren and Madie had finished fighting over their miscommunication—which revolved entirely around me—and I finally relaxed into my chair.

Before that, I used Beau's alcohol to calm my nerves. I didn't like unresolved conflict, and it had been floating in the air like a weapon waiting to be unloaded.

But now...Now, I could fully enjoy myself. Turning to the side, I caught Beau's gaze before it flicked away from my face. It wasn't the first time I'd noticed him staring tonight, but it didn't make me uncomfortable. It made me feel...wanted. Like he was glad that I came with tonight. Like I was glad I came.

He wasn't upset at all about the drama my appearance at this gala had caused. If anything, he found it amusing. He'd laughingly cursed at Bren beneath his breath more than once.

Beau reached for his glass, which I knew was as spiked as mine. He twirled it in his grasp with deft fingers, and I frowned, realizing it was still completely full.

"Why haven't you touched your drink?" I asked.

"Afraid I really did spike yours with something other than alcohol?" Beau grinned, immediately lifting his glass to his lips. And then he watched me over the rim of it while he took a sip, proving he wasn't hiding a damn thing.

I laughed, shaking my head. No, I hadn't been concerned.

Still smiling, he nodded toward Madie, who was tugging Bren out of the ballroom with a wicked gleam in her eye, and then Nessa, who was scowling at a handsome man who'd just come to sit next to her, taking her date's spot. The date that had ditched her.

"The last couple of months on campus, it's just been me, Madie, and Nessa. I've gotten in the habit of waiting to drink until I see how much trouble the girls are gonna be for the night," Beau said.

He took another sip, carefully eying my glass, which was nearly empty. When he looked back at me, he winked.

"Someone's gotta stay sober."

—

Why couldn't he just say no?

No, Collins. Don't move in. This is a terrible idea, and you should definitely not move into the same apartment as the guy that you—shit.

No, I couldn't think about that night. Not now that I would have to face Beau Martin every morning. And every night, sleeping across the hall from him.

Why couldn't he just say no?

I shook my head, skipping over the last two porch steps and splashing straight into a puddle. Great. My leather sandals were soaked. That was why I didn't bother with buying quality footwear. They always ended up ruined anyway.

Everything always ended up ruined.

It was obvious why Beau wouldn't say no. Because I had nowhere else to go, and he knew it. That was the sad, sad truth. And this was the guy who'd sent ten dresses ahead of a blind date. Generosity was the name of his game. He didn't have a selfish bone in his body; that was what Bren had told me. He'd grown up with money but wasn't prideful, wasn't boastful, and spent it on everyone else but him. With the exception of his car.

Sighing, I opened the hatchback on my trusty Subaru and began plucking things out.

Three boxes—that was probably the most that I could carry at one time. Well, maybe four—nope, definitely not four. Swearing, I stooped down to pick up the narrow, skinny box that fell onto the street, trying not to drop the pile in my arms.

"I got it."

Beau's voice had this interesting mix of softness and plucky vibrancy. And it brushed against the back of my neck, making me straighten and nearly hit my head on the top of the trunk.

"What are you doing?"

With the box now in his arms, Beau stood, looking at me blankly. "I'm helping you."

"You don't need to do that, Beau," I bristled. If I'd had any available hands, I would have taken the box from him and put it on my already teetering pile. But as it was, I just shook my head at him.

His stare turned toward my care. My completely packed car.

"You're going to carry all of this in by yourself?"

I swallowed. I'd been doing things by myself for a long time.

"Yes."

"And I'm...what? Supposed to just sit on the couch and watch?"

Brushing past him, I gave a little shrug. "Sure. Or whatever tickles your fancy."

"Helping you very much tickles my fancy," Beau called over his shoulder, and the next minute, he was right next to me, carrying a box that definitely had some of my embarrassing childhood stuffed animals popping out of the top. They'd been sitting in my office the last few years. You'd be surprised how many middle schoolers needed a stuffed animal to hug every now and again, even if they'd never admit to still being children at heart.

I glanced at Beau before stepping up onto our rickety porch. Swallowing, I gritted my teeth. Why did he have to be so...ugh, I didn't know how to describe it.

"Let's make one thing very clear, Mr. Martin," I said, finding my voice. "While I appreciate your help, I don't need charity."

He snorted, kicking the front door open in a way that was smooth and annoyingly attractive. I followed him into the apartment, weaving toward the kitchen again. "Mr. Martin is my dad," he said. "Let's not call me that. Love him, but no. It's just weird."

With a heave, I slid my boxes up onto the countertop. "Oh, that's the big moneymaker, huh? Mr. Martin?"

After setting his own pile of boxes down, Beau turned to me with a crooked grin. "I'm honestly surprised with you."

Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I frowned. "What?"

"You're Miss Independent, and yet you assume my dad is the money maker? Please." He laughed, leaning against the kitchen island. "Momma Martin is the powerhouse of the family. A certified badass bitch."

My cheeks warmed, admittedly embarrassed to have made that assumption. And a little floored that Beau had just called his mom a badass bitch. My dad would have laid into me if he'd ever heard me talk like that about my mom. In fact, I was pretty sure I could feel him rolling in his grave just for hearing Beau say it.

It was meant lovingly, though. I could tell by that silly grin on his face that I liked just a little too much.

It was going to be a problem. Living here was going to be a problem.

But I didn't have a whole lot of other choices.

****

"I think that's the last of it."

A loud clunk told me that Beau had just set down my easel, and I wiped my brow, thankful that we were done. It was boiling. A storm was rolling in; I could tell from the moisture in the air, the thickness of the atmosphere. Glancing out the window, I grimaced at the dark clouds.

I didn't like storms.

"Do you want me to go lock your car?" Beau asked.

"No, I—" Spinning around, I lost all my words. Beau was in the process of stripping off his sweat-soaked shirt, leaving his athletic shorts hanging around his hips. And that was all. That was the only thing he had on.

A tattoo wrapped around his side that I didn't remember. It was hard to tell what it was beyond a few long swirling lines that only seemed to accentuate his muscles—his abs and that stupidly hot deep v on his hips.

"Collins?"

Shit.

Frowning, he looked at me like he was truly confused why I'd be staring at him.

He wasn't my type. Growing up on military bases, I had grown an unhealthy attraction to men with buzz cuts, and Beau was totally the opposite of that. He wasn't my type, but that didn't mean that he wasn't ridiculously good-looking in an effortless sort of way. Like he had no clue he was hot.

I cleared my throat. "Is that tattoo new?"

"Oh, yeah." He glanced at the ink, tracing it with his fingers in a way that made my throat go dry. "I got it over the summer."

Nodding, I didn't know what else to say. So I didn't say anything.

The light in Beau's eyes dimmed a bit. Deflating. His grip tightened around the discarded shirt that he held with one hand.

"So...the car?"

"Oh...no. Don't worry about it."

Beau's gaze lingered on me, and he seemed to be considering...something. I didn't get what the big deal was; it was just a few steps outside for me to take care of my car myself, and he'd already done more than enough. But he appeared to be questioning my response.

"I have a feeling you say that a lot," he said finally. Leaning against the wall casually, his muscles flexed as he crossed them over his chest.

"Say what?"

"Don't worry about it."

I looked down, unable to handle him looking like that. And looking at me the way he was.

"Well—"

"That line isn't going to work on a guy like me, Collins. I take care of my people. And now you live with me, so like it or not, you're one of my people."

The way he emphasized like it or not made me suspect that he thought I didn't like it. Or that he didn't like it. Like he felt some obligation to me now that neither of us really wanted. But there was absolutely no obligation here. None at all.

Glancing up, I watched as Beau hooked his thumb in the waistband of his shorts absentmindedly and kicked off the wall, strolling over to the window.

"Beau, it's really fine. I don't need—"

"My help, I know. But something's blowing in," he said, cutting me off and swiping my keys from my nightstand. "I'll go lock up your car."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. If he was going to do it anyway, why did he bother asking?

Sensing there was no use in arguing, I nodded and went back to unpacking a box of books. Lightning flashed, followed shortly by a crack of thunder, which reverberated through the room not two seconds after Beau walked out of it, and I winced at the sound, ignoring the rolling in the pit of my stomach.

Okay, maybe I was glad not to have to go outside again.

When Beau came back inside, he barely even stepped into my room. He tossed my keys back where he found them and leaned against the doorframe.

"Right, well. I'm going to shower because...." He threw a hand up, gesturing to his sweaty shirt and the humid air and everything that made it obvious why he was going to shower. "Because ya boy stinks."

"Okay," I said with a laugh, trying not to think about...that. About showering. Him showering. And me showering when he was going to be just down the hall. About...everything. Goddamnit. I shook my head, ridding the thoughts. "Thank you for your help, Beau."

He studied me for a long moment, making me feel bare. A slight smile played on his lips, and I wondered if he could read my thoughts. About the showering and all that. But then he simply nodded. "I'll leave you to it."

And then Beau left me to it.

He left me to it for pretty much the entire semester.

The day I moved in was the last time he stepped a foot into my room for weeks. When he talked to me, it was because he needed to and not because he wanted to. And when we were in the same room together, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

But at the same time, he kept doing things for me. Little things. Replacing my coffee creamer when it was gone before I could do it myself. Fixing my creaky door. Putting together a shelf I'd ordered that was delivered while I was in class.

And I hated that I'd taken advantage of this situation.

Beau Martin was never going to say no when I'd asked him if he was okay with me living here. I'd known that. I should have been the one to do it.

But now I was here, and I was too much of a scaredy-cat to walk away.

💗

beau wouldn't be a burning boy if he didn't have a protective streak in him.

(shout-out to agirlswriting for coining that term)

(and to @klaralielie for the song suggestion! which i thought nicely described beau and his forever-loyalty to people)

happy new year everyone! thank you for making my 2021 infinitely better. cheers, friends!

xoxo Amelie