“Well, um, because of what we did last night,” I muttered.
The bartender delivered Beau's beer just in time for him to take down a long, nervous gulp. “Oh?”
“I don't normally do that kind of thing with guys, Beau.”
His wild-eyed charm returned. “Sex? You don't have sex with guys?”
“Har-har. I mean, I don't do the one night stand thing.”
“Perfect—how about a two night stand?”
“Beau! I'm trying to be serious.”
A look of boyish regret furrowed his brow. “Shit, I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. Okay, we're being serious now. Go ahead.”
“The point is, I don't normally jump into bed with people unless I care about them, and so it sort of fucked me up doing that with you, you know?”
Beau's stature shrank when he heard that.
What are you doing, Camille? You're turning him off!The devil inside me yelled—the devil that still desperately wanted to get laid by the star of the hockey game, anyway.
Yet I continued. “AndI overslept this morning andcompletelyfucked up the bakery's official opening. Like, an I-don't-know-if-we'll-ever-recover kind of fuck-up.”
Beau's jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
“Andwe made a sex mess all over Piper's bed sheets, which sent me spiraling into a panic about what a shitty friend I am. Thankfully, she was super cool about it, but still.”
He sank his teeth into his bottom lip. “Yeah … I guess, in hindsight, screwing in her bed wasn't the best move.”
“I just had so much regret afterward, Beau. I dunno, I felt like we shouldn't have done it. And the way you left afterwards didn't sit right with me.”
Beau nodded gravely. “Honestly …? Funny you should say that. I felt the same way.”
I hadn't expected him to agree with me. I expected him to becocky Beau,and continue to insist that we should turn that one night stand into a two night stand. And in a way, that was exactly what Iwantedfrom him.
“So, we agree it was a mistake?” I asked.
I was arming the trap and I knew it.
“Yeah … I mean, I guess so,” he answered.
Heavy disappointment sank to my stomach, like a boulder dropped in water. But I kept my dignity intact.
“Good,” I said with a laugh to hide my hurt pride. I knocked back my margarita and drank until the glass went empty. “We were just two drunk idiots, then, doing something we never should've done.”
An uncomfortable silence came between us.
Was that it? Now we had nothing to say to each other? Silently, I kicked myself for even bringing up last night … it wasn't that long ago when I was telling myself I'd befinewith being Beau's fuck-toy for the night. Yet, here I was, ruining the night by telling him how much I regretted sleeping with him.
Beau stared into his pint of beer. He looked troubled, and I felt bad for him, because he was what healwayswas: a successful jock who liked to get laid and hated commitment. He was even willingto play the role of gentleman for the night, if that meant getting laid some more. Which was admirable, in a way—it was the most any woman would ever manage to wrangle out of him, anyhow.
But then, Beau Bradford surprised me.
“I have a confession of my own to make,” he sputtered suddenly.
My ears perked up. “What?”
“A confession. A bad one. Like, actually bad. Way worse than yours.”
