“You came,” Beckett says when he reaches me. He nods in approval. “Yep. Here I am.” “You look…really good.” I have no doubt he’s noticed the beaded tips of my nipples, but his gaze doesn’t linger there. It fixes on my abdomen instead. “Fuck,” he groans, eyes glazing over. “What?” “Those abs.” “Jealous?” I say smugly. “Nah.” He lifts the bottom corner of his T-shirt to flash his own set of chiseled abs. Not a six-pack, but a solid twelve. Jesus. “I don’t know. Mine are pretty sick too.”
