Page 129 of Knot Their Starlet

I keep waiting for his expression to shift into anger. For him to pull me into the privacy of our booth and start yelling at me.

It’s happened before.

Man, how did I think that was okay?

Maybe because I’ve always been yelled at.

And Ezra only really yelled at me when he was drunk, so I think in my head he wasn’t actually yelling at me, the alcohol was.

But instead of getting mad, Beck looks... worried?

“What the fuck.” My head snaps up and I try to take a stumbling step backwards at the sound of the fury in Elijah’s voice.

I don’t go very far at all, considering the hold Leo has on my waist to keep me steady, but he notices the flinch.

“I—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I—” My shoulders curl in on themselves as I start babbling the only words I think will help.

“Stop,” he snaps.

Shit. Okay, looks like that didn’t help at all.

“Cool it, man, can’t you see she’s terrified?” Leo bites back.

“It’s going to be okay, Starlight,” Beck murmurs, continuing to smooth my hair back with his hands. It’s almost like he’s petting me.

It’s working.

“I know—I know I fucked up,” I say, finding the courage with Leo and Beck at my side to meet Elijah’s gaze. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t—didn’t mean to piss you off, Elijah.”

“It’s Eli,” he grunts, running a hand through his hair, his gaze shifting from mine almost immediately. He scans the room, like he’s looking for a threat. “And I’m not pissed off at you. I’m pissed at whoever the fuck decided it was a good idea to fuck with you.”

His words catch me off guard. Especially since my alcohol-muddled brain is slow to follow along with the weight of his statements.

One, he wants me to call him Eli. Not Elijah. He wants me to call him what his friends call him.

Two, is he... feeling protective over me?

No, that can’t be it. It’s probably because me getting blackmailed puts Beck in danger. They’ve been getting closer.

That has to be it.

“I’ll explain in the car. We probably... shouldn’t talk about it here,” Leo says. “I’ll go get the car.”

“You—you’re leaving?” I ask clinging to his side.

“Just for a little bit,” he says, offering me a soft smile. “Your job is to sober up a bit and sit tight until I’ve brought the car out front. Can you do that for me, Lucky Duck?”

“I’m not a lucky duck anymore.” My lower lip wobbles as the words leave my lips. For whatever reason, sad-drunk-me finds that idea heartbreaking.

“You are to me,” he says, briefly resting his forehead against mine before taking a step back.

A split second later, Beck’s hands are at my waist, guiding me so I’m sitting in the booth.

“Sorry this night didn’t go the way you probably wanted,” he murmurs, his thumbs tracing little circles on my thighs.

“No, I’m sorry for ruining your night.” My shoulders slump forward, and my throat gets thick with the urge to break out into sobs. I tilt my head back, fanning my face. “I can’t cry, I can’t cry, I can’t cry.”

“Hey, take a breath. It’s okay if you need to cry. We all cry sometimes.”