Bea & the Broken Record

Chapter 16: Confessions

"I love your smile," I told her. The three words I've wanted to tell her since the first time she kissed me threatened to escape, but I didn't let them. Not yet.

Bea's face reddened. "My parents are away. On a business trip," she cleared her throat and nodded her head, smiling again.

"Are you okay here by yourself?" I asked in concern. It always worried me that she was alone sometimes. Her parents were often times away and she was left to fend for herself. Considering her past and what she had been through, I was scared every time she frowned.

"I'm always okay," she said and kissed me. I kissed back but only for a short moment. "What, Asher?"

"I'm worried about you," I whispered against her lips with our foreheads pressed together. She bit her bottom lip and leaned her head back. The smile on her face was smaller but it was still there.

"You don't have to be," she replied, playing with my hair that needed a cut badly.

"How can I not be?" I asked her. She grabbed my hand and pulled me off the barstool and dragged me into the living room. I stood frozen in front of her couch as she flipped the TV on, grabbed a soft blanket from a nearby closet and tossed it onto the couch.

She fell backward onto the couch and piled the blanket in her lap, patting the seat beside her.

"You do know that we have to cook the guys dinner, right?" I asked with a smirk. Bea chuckled and nodded her head as she scrolled through the movie channels.

"I know. But we don't have to start dinner for a few hours. They can wait," she explained. I smiled and sat down beside her, putting an arm around her and pulling close to my side. She rested her head on my chest and I wondered to myself if she was still okay, or just telling me that so I'll be okay.

*

I worked my way through the drawers in our kitchen in search for a large spatula. It was hard to find these things in the house that I lived in because I never cooked. It was always someone else and it was rarely even them. It was always pizza from Pizza Hut or some other kind of take-out.

The only reason I had to cook was because I lost a bet. A stupid bet on a stupid game at least four stupid weeks ago. Bea had also bet with me, and we both lost. So, now that we had to cook and Bea brought the ingredients or her mother's "crazy cat lady" Italian Meatball Casserole that her mom
made the night I had went over, I had to find the things we needed to cook with.

The rest of the guys sat in the living room with the TV blaring, and laughing loudly for me to hear. Bea had yet to get here for what reason I wasn't sure of. As I searched for a pan to cook the casserole in, Quentin walked into the kitchen with a coke in his hand.

"Where is Bea at?" He asked just when the front door opened slowly. Bea was trying hard to make it through the door without dropping anything that was in her hands. Quentin beat me over to her as he grabbed the glass pan out of her hands. The Walmart bag she had in her other hand looked to be full of ingredients. A sigh of relief left my mouth.

"It's about time, Beatrice," Ben called from the living room. "We're getting so hungry we could eat your arms."

She gave him a pointed look before crossing into the kitchen and setting her bags down on the counter. Quentin grinned and backed out slowly.

"I'll leave you two to it," he smiled.

"Hey," I smiled at her warily. She looked stressed with her hair pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head and a plain gray v-neck shirt on. She propped her hand up on her hip and looked at me while she pursed her lips.