Hard Beat

“Nope. I just wanted to add you in the picture.”

I stop fighting immediately at the comment, my eyes meeting hers and loving the coy smile that spreads over her lips. She leans forward and brushes a kiss to my lips before causing me to groan when she slides off my lap to sit beside me with her head resting in the crook of my arm.

“Smile,” she says as she holds the phone out and captures us together in the small square window. “See? Perfect. Now what were you asking me?”

I’m reminded immediately of my question that had slipped out, but I refrain from repeating it. “Nothing. Forget about it. It was nothing.”

“No it wasn’t. Nice try, though.” She shifts her body so that her head is on my chest and one hand runs idly up and down my midline. “You asked if I’ll ever quit this life.”

“Mmm-hmm,” I murmur.

“Will you?” she asks, and I’m so mesmerized by the surge of desire I feel at her touch that I don’t immediately realize I’m answering my own question before she does.

“Someday when my career has run its course… This life isn’t fair to kids, and I definitely want to have kids someday.”

“How will you know it’s run its course?” she asks, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of my neck.

“When the buzz is gone,” I say matter-of-factly. “Then I’ll know that I’m too complacent, too cautious, and not worthy of this job anymore.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and I can sense her collecting her thoughts, trying to figure out what I mean. “The buzz?”

“Yeah. That adrenaline buzz you get from getting a story or for you the perfect shot. The one that —”

“Lights your blood on fire and makes you fidget with the unexpected anticipation of what’s to come next,” she finishes for me, and causes my breath to hitch because she gets it. Gets me. That’s a rarity.

“Exactly.” I press a kiss into the crown of her head. “The day I no longer feel that from the first phone call on, I need to hang up my credentials.” I laugh halfheartedly. “But I don’t see that happening anytime soon. I love what I do too much. Am addicted to that buzz in a sense. It’s what drives me on a story, and the promise of it is what keeps me patient in the lulls between them.”

“I feel the same way, in a sense. I always told myself I’d do this job until I met the one,” she says, reminding me immediately of that first night we met, the “You’re the one” that fell from her lips, and I immediately clear away the thought, knowing that isn’t exactly what she was referring to. “And then I’d have to domesticate myself, and my only clients would be babies and brides.” She mock shivers. “So in other words I’ll be doing this for a long time, because I don’t feel that urge coming anytime soon. What would you do, though, Tanner, if you didn’t do this?” Curiosity infuses her tone, and for the first time ever, I don’t feel stupid telling someone besides my family the answer.

“I’d like to write a book.” I wait for her to make a sarcastic comment, but none comes.

“You’d be good at it,” she muses in a way that warms me from within. “Some people like to create storms and then complain when it rains. You, on the other hand, like to stand back, watch the storm move in, churn, and affect people, and then document the fight and fallout. You’re able to separate yourself from the emotions of it all in self-preservation, and yet you can still explain and express what happened so that people feel like they were there. It’s an incredible gift.”

Frankly, I’m a little shocked by her assessment. Flattered by it really. “Thank you,” I murmur to Beaux. It’s all I can say as a comfortable silence falls around us, and I wonder if her thoughts are as foggy as mine on the topic right now. I shift my weight so that we are lying face-to-face on our sides with my hand on the side of her neck; I’m enjoying this moment and completely ignoring the hornet’s nest we will be walking into later today on the embed.

She responds instantly when I brush my lips against hers, her body fitting into mine perfectly as I deepen the kiss.

I lean back and look into her eyes, knowing that my period of hesitation is over. I’ve let the emotions churn and swell within me long enough, and I’m ready to tell her. “Hey, Beaux? I l—”

“Open up, Thomas!” A fist pounding on the hotel room door knocks the words from my mouth. As soon as she recognizes Pauly’s voice, Beaux scrambles up from the bed to grab for a pair of jeans resting over the back of a chair.

“Hold on!” she calls out, but looks at me with a mixture of unease about getting caught in a relationship – as if Pauly didn’t already know since he’s knocking on the door of her room – and confusion over why in the hell I’m not getting some clothes on myself. I snicker as she does the hop-around-to-get-into-her-jeans thing and then succumb to full-blown laughter when she falls over to the ground in the process.

I rise calmly from the bed and pull on my own jeans and slip a shirt over my head as I walk to open the door, still laughing at what just happened. Once I know Beaux is clothed and doesn’t look like we were just rolling around in the sheets, I open the door.

“What’s up, man?” I open the door for him to come in and head back to stand near the table, sliding Beaux a glance and trying not to laugh.

“Nothing. I was just curious if you’d gotten wind of anything, because word on the street is you might have gotten a mission to tag along on,” he says as he leans a shoulder against the wall, eyes flicking back and forth between Beaux and me, lips pursed, expression leery.