My belly fluttered at the sight of his tousled hair and flushed skin, and I forced myself to remember why I was carrying a bottle of vodka.
I handed him the bottle, but he shook his head. “It’s more for you than me,” he said.
He watched while I tossed back a healthy swig and swallowed with a hiss. I handed him the bottle, and he held it by the neck for a long moment before bringing it to his lips to drink.
“You’re sleeping with her?” I asked.
He shook his head, choking on the vodka. “No.”
“But you have slept with her.”
He didn’t deny it. “That’s not the point,” he said. “We’ve known each other a long time. When we first met, we hooked up a few times.” He drank again, shuddering as he swallowed. “I met her at a party in college. We got a little drunk, and I told her about my writing.”
My skin crawled, and I felt the sharp pang of jealousy. It didn’t matter that it was years ago. It killed me to hear about Beckett sharing his biggest secret with another woman.
“Sally was interested in becoming a literary agent. She read my work, and we struck a deal.”
“Before or after you slept with her?”
He winced. “After.”
I bit my lip. “What was the deal?”
Beckett’s mouth opened and then closed, forming a few sentences and then abandoning them as he changed his mind. His green-brown eyes focused on mine, even though I could tell he was dying to look anywhere else.
“We agreed to be partners.” He sighed and looked down at his lap. “I wrote the books…”
I placed two fingers under his chin and forced his head up until he looked at me. “What did Sally do?”
Beckett grimaced. “She made all the appearances. Sally isn’t Miranda Lockhart,” he said. “I am.”
Chapter 30
A bark of laughter escaped my mouth before I could stop it.
“You’re what?” I asked, incredulous.
“Who,” Beckett corrected my grammar.
I started to walk away, but Beckett grabbed my wrist.
“Wait. Do you believe me?”
I blew out a breath of frustration. “I don’t know what to believe.”
I broke away from his hold and paced a few steps to the kitchen. Had my apartment always been this small? I needed distance from him to clear my muddled thoughts. I leaned against the kitchen counter and grabbed one of Miranda Lockhart’s novels from the bag.
I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that Miranda Lockhart wasn’t the woman in the picture on the back of the book. Or thatshewas really ahe.
I looked over at Beckett. He sat on the edge of my couch with his head in his hands. He’d taken off his glasses and was pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. His shoulders slumped.
My anger mounted. I never understood pen names. It seemed like hiding to me. Gabi and I had this argument all the time. She wrote her reviews under the pen name Valentina. No last name, just Valentina. Gabi insisted it was necessary because of her role as an elementary school principal, but I argued she shouldn’t hide for any reason. There was nothing wrong with reading erotica. Erotica had been improving couples’ sex lives for centuries.
“I saw your review ofBeneath the Stars,”Beckett said. “It wasn’t great.”
My cheeks colored. I’d raked the book over the coals. “At least it was honest.”
He groaned. “I didn’t lie to you.”
