The Arrangement (A Real Man, #23) - Jenika Snow Page 0,2

part of my family—my life—but also because of how I felt for him on a more romantic level.

Because I was in love with him.

To this day, I still remember the progression of my feelings for him, how at first I’d noticed how attractive he was, then got to know him and loved his personality. He put on a good show of acting like he had no worries or cares, almost this aloofness about him. He was charismatic, and although he’d been the new guy at school, everyone had flocked to him. He was important.

And he always put me first, always made me feel as if no one could touch me, that I was better than anything that was negative and thrown in my way.

And as the years passed and we grew from teenagers to young adults, I found myself falling for him—maybe an inappropriate reaction because of what we were to each other, but a reality nonetheless.

But his words and anger had touched me, broken me. They’d crumbled and ruined the love I hoped—imagined—having with him one day.

But here I was, destiny and circumstance throwing a wrench in the mix and threatening to open up the wound in my heart once more.

And when that front door opened, I felt like everything around me froze, time standing still. My heart was the only thing in motion, beating rapidly against my ribs, painful and loud. Would he be able to hear it? I felt beads of sweat along my temples and gripped my bag tighter. Inside were my basic necessities. Everything else I accumulated over the years was in the storage facility, one that had been prepaid. One that only had one more month left. After that, I’d lose everything.

But I hoped while staying with Beckham and saving up money that I’d been able to find another place. Then I’d be able to figure out what I was going to do with my life.

Until then, I’d stay out of his way, mind my business, and keep my head down.

He held the door open with one hand, his other one extended as he braced it on the door frame. He said nothing as he stared at me. And I couldn’t read his expression, because he was stoic, silent.

I tipped my head back slightly to look into his face. Beckham was a big guy, tall with a muscular build. But he wasn’t too bulky, not like a bodybuilder, but more powerful than a swimmer. And seeing him again after six months had me feeling like I’d fallen right back down that rabbit hole of emotions.

I’d pushed down how I felt for him from all the hurt and anger. It had been a survival tactic, I supposed. But now I felt it rising up violently to the surface. I swallowed it down, bit my tongue to stop from crying—that pain a wakeup call—and reminded myself why I was standing at his doorstep.

Because I was desperate.

I didn’t miss how he eyed me up and down, his gaze raking over my body and making me feel bare. I didn’t know what I expected, but the slow smile that crept across his face wasn’t one of them. I supposed I expected him to be cold and have nothing but an attitude. But he said nothing as he stepped aside and pushed the door open even more, allowing me to enter. Maybe he could see the desperation on my face, the complete hopelessness I felt. I’d hit rock-bottom, and how sad was my life, how lonely and pathetic was I that the one person who hated me the most was the only person I could turn to?

Once I was inside with my back to him, I heard the door shut. I didn’t even know if I could speak right now, but I did turn around, facing him. He wore a blank expression on his face, and I didn’t know why that made me as nervous as it did.

After we parted ways so horribly, and after the hurt had settled, I felt anger, wanting to curse him out, ask how he could treat me like shit after all those years, after how close we’d been... or how close I thought we’d been. But I’d taken the high road, kept my mouth shut, kept my distance, and just let that hurt and anger fester inside me. That’s all I could do.

“Thank you again for letting me stay here.” I cleared my throat, my voice low, scratchy. I swallowed roughly and just