Broken Beast 4av12

Copyright © 2020 by R.R. Banks

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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Broken Beast R.R. Banks

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Accidentally Married (Sample)

A Note from the Author

About the Author

Also by R.R. Banks

Chapter One

Simone

God, I can actually breathe up here. The early March air is damp, especially up in these mountains, but it’s still infinitely easier to breathe than the air back in Manhattan. The wind streams in through the open window of my rental car, and my blasting music flows out. The winding roads up the Catskills test my rusty driving abilities, especially with half of the contents of my apartment in the back seat and trunk. I never thought I had a lot of stuff until I had to shove it into a sedan as fast as I could in the middle of the night like a bandit. I grip the wheel a little tighter, looking at the finger-shaped bruises my ex Max left, peeking out from the wristband of my sweater. I did what I had to do. This six-month creative sabbatical is going to be the fresh start I need. My boss Katya claimed that I looked burned out from working too hard in the frenetic energy of our offices, which I wasn’t. I was just trying to dump my nowex, Max — who had clearly never been dumped before — over the course of a month, which takes a big toll on a girl’s psyche. I haven’t told her that, though. I took the opportunity to leave without protest. Katya’s extraordinarily chill about everything, but she doesn’t need to know the dirty details of my hot mess love life. Regardless of why I looked like shit the other day, she thinks some time off will help me design some great clothes. Hopefully she’s right. I need a lot of time to myself to get my head back on straight and do some soul searching. I still can’t believe how I stayed with him for a year and a half when he is absolutely batshit. Maybe because he’s just as gorgeous as he is batshit, which makes me cringe just

thinking about how shallow that sounds. But seriously, he’s a freaking model, and not the kind with a weird look that only works for high fashion. Max looks like he just strolled out of a Calvin Klein underwear ad (though, to his dismay, he never booked them). Piercing blue eyes, dark hair that always looks great, a square jaw… He has the whole package. I’m pretty good-looking in a non-model way, but I’d never dreamed of being with a man who literally turns heads. In my brain, I’m still the emo teenage girl filled with too much dorky creative energy, a body with boobs and hips that she hadn’t quite gotten used to, and braces. Maybe that’s why I got all swept up and ignored the flaming red flags he waved in front of me. It was the perfect illusion. Finally, I had nabbed a guy who seemed like he had it all. Not only is he super hot, but he has it together. His career is pretty steady and solid enough for him to make a good living without being an actual celebrity. I didn’t have to worry about being knifed by a fan or having to pay for every date we had. My past adult relationships had been with guys who didn’t have anything together. They were nice and good-looking, and the type who had their shit together, but they couldn’t spend any time with me because they were too busy making shit happen. And none of those guys had Max’s charm. God, he can sell anything to anyone. That’s another reason why I stayed so long — he talked me out of dumping him at least three times before I finally shut him down. And he manipulated me like a pro and made me believe I could never be anything without him. All of my accomplishments? To him, they were all because of his influence. If I got some praise at work, it was because he inspired me. If someone said I looked hot on Instagram, it was because I’d lost five pounds doing some stupid low-carb diet he’d pushed on me for a few weeks. Well, that was only if a woman said I looked hot. If a guy said I looked hot, he would tell me to delete the picture. If my best friend, Gigi, hadn’t sat me down for an intervention, I would probably still be with him, trying to be perfect. I still have a lot of reflecting to do, but just being away from him already feels like a weight is lifting off my shoulders. At least I can pretend to be back to normal if I’m not close to the city. I haven’t told him, or any of my friends — besides Gigi — of my exact location.

“In a quarter mile, take the exit on the right,” my GPS says, interrupting my song for a moment. My heart flutters with excitement rather than anxiety for once. The little mountain town of Gray’s Point isn’t a huge tourist town, but it’s absolutely beautiful. Well, at least from what I’ve seen in my Googling and on my Airbnb’s listing. It’s nestled in the Catskills, with stunning views in every direction. My home for the next six months is a guest house on a little farm owned by a young family. From the looks of it, it’s even bigger than my apartment, with plenty of space for my sewing machine, fabric, and yarn. The area is rife with alpaca and sheep farms, with some hand-spun yarns and fabric shops close by. It’s perfect for me, since I love natural fabrics, and Katya’s customers do, too. Maybe it’s an untapped goldmine for designers. I pull off the highway and slow down significantly, taking in the sights along the main street. Gray’s Point is beyond charming, from the old-school looking tavern to actual roadside stands where people probably sell apples when it’s warm. I want to come back and explore later. It’s already getting late in the afternoon and I’m exhausted from all of my driving and anxiety. So I keep driving, and pull off of the main road onto a smaller one to my new home for the next half year. I see the main house right away, and then the guest house. It looks just like the picture online, except for the truck in front and the worried couple talking to a man in a handyman’s outfit. Something in my gut tightens as I slow to a stop. “Hi, are you Simone?” the woman asks, hiking a baby higher on her hip. The little boy has a fist full of her gorgeous waist-length hair, which he’s trying to shove into his mouth. The woman doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. “Yep, I am.” I hop out of the car, my booties sinking slightly into the mud. I stop myself from wrinkling my nose. I can’t seem like some dumb city girl who can’t handle the outdoors if there’s not a patio and a margarita involved. But ugh, these are my favorites. Gigi says I’m the queen of impractical footwear, and I can’t defend myself against a claim that’s entirely true. “I’m Holly. Nice to meet you.” She smiles, but it’s tight with anxiety. “And that’s my husband, Andrew, talking to the plumber. And this is Justin.”

She raises Justin’s tiny fist at me to wave, making me grin. I love babies, and Justin is insanely adorable. His round little cheeks! His chubby little arms! I want to squeeze him. Yet again, Max flashes into my mind. He’s not a kid person — yet another reason we broke up. He said he could make himself a kid person, which I put a hard stop on. I can’t imagine how he would be as a dad. Like, the images literally can’t come to my mind, not even one of him in the same room as a baby. “What’s going on?” I ask, pulling my attention away from Justin. Holly bites her bottom lip. “The roof sprung a leak and partially collapsed, and then a pipe burst, so the floor is ruined.” “Shit.” I lean against my car. “I know. I’m so sorry. A big storm came through last night that was way worse than we expected.” She gently pulls her hair from Justin’s grip. “Andrew is working on it. We have space on the couch, but that’s clearly not what you paid for. There’s a chance that it’s not too, too bad, and things will be fixed in a bit, but I’m not sure.” Shit times two. I run my hands through my hair. I wouldn’t mind staying on a couch for a bit, but part of the reason I picked this place was that it has plenty of room for me to work. I need space for my sewing machine, my dress form, my fabrics, my knitting… From the looks of the house, it’s not that big inside. Especially not if a whole family is going to be there, too. Regardless, I can’t go back to Manhattan. Max’s craziness is escalating rapidly, and I can’t go back there until he cools down. And on top of that, the person subletting my apartment already moved in. Gigi lives in a studio apartment with her boyfriend, and my other friends have families crammed into apartments. I don’t have a place to go. Andrew finally walks over, giving me the same nervous smile that Holly did. He looks like he belongs in the town. His shirt is flannel that’s actually functional and not just for fashion, and his work boots aren’t stylish, but practical. “You must be Simone. I’m Andrew.” He shakes my hand. “I’m sure Holly has filled you in on what happened."

I nod. “I’m sorry everything imploded in there.” Andrew chuckles, even though his face says he’s minutes away from having a breakdown. “It looks really bad. I knew I should have had those pipes fixed ages ago. The floor was original hardwood from the 1800s, and now it’s wrecked from water damage.” Ouch. I don’t know anything about home ownership, but I can tell that kind of loss has to hurt. “That’s the bad news,” Andrew continues. “The good news is that I think there’s a solution. Our neighbor has a similar guest house on his property, just a little bit down the road. He’s a carpenter and blacksmith, so he might even have some space for you to work if his guest house doesn’t.” Relief floods through me. That sounds perfect, almost better than their guest house. “But how do you know he’ll even go for that?” Holly asks, bouncing Justin up and down absently. “He’s a nice guy when you get to know him, but you know how reclusive he can be.” Andrew stuffs his hands into his pockets, watching his son rest his head on Holly’s shoulder. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. And he does owe me a favor since I connected him to some people who needed some metalwork done last month.” Holly sighs, and says, “Yeah, I think that might be our best bet. Let’s drive over there. I’m sure he’s home.” After Andrew finishes up with the plumber, we get into his SUV and start the drive to their neighbor’s house. “Sorry for this mess,” Andrew says, looking over his shoulder at me in the backseat next to Justin’s car seat. He’s probably around my age, in his late twenties or early thirties, but he seems old-school in a way I can’t place. Like a dad, but a warm, pleasant, sitcom dad. “It’s not your fault at all,” I nod.

“Did you at least have a nice drive up?” Holly asks, turning in her seat so she’s sitting on her hip. “Yeah, I did. It’s weird driving again. I mean, I grew up in New Jersey, so it’s not a totally new thing, but I’m out of my element.” I look out the window at the ing trees, still naked from the winter. “It’s so beautiful.” “Yeah, that’s why we moved up here,” Andrew replies. “It’s very laidback, and even though it looks pretty old, there’s a lot going on in the area without it feeling too touristy. No offense, of course.” “None taken.” “And it’s a nice place to raise a family,” Holly smiles, looking over at Justin again. A strange cluster of emotions washes over me. Jealousy’s in there, for sure, but so is my burning ambition to make it, fast so I can get to the family stage of my life. I need to get my designs out there before I even think about getting all domestic or even dating, considering my terrible track record. With all the open time I have not commuting or sitting through meetings, I can work on my own designs alongside the ones for Katya. Maybe if my designs are good enough, she’ll help me go independent with a bit of seed money. Then once I’m on my own feet, maybe I can find a partner who’s not a beautiful, controlling asshole. I stop myself before I rub my temples to relieve the growing tension there. I can’t fall apart in front of strangers. Andrew finally makes a right turn onto a different driveway. The path looks similar to theirs, but it’s much longer, going deeper into the wooded land. It’s much more inviting, too, lined with lights that we desperately need in the rapidly setting sun. My stomach twists in knots. What if the guy says no? Or what if he’s a creep? I’m sure he’s not a creep, though, if Holly and Andrew are friendly with him, right? God, there are so many ways this could go wrong. Soon, the house comes into view, then the guest house. They both have the same vibe as Andrew and Holly’s house, but this house is much larger. Nice, but not too flashy. Beyond the two houses is another building, which looks like it was built way after the others. It looks like a warehouse, with a truck parked out front. When Andrew parks and shuts off the engine, I hear the faint strains of

rock music echoing off of the stunning mountains behind the property. We walk past the house and toward the source of the music. As we get close enough to hear what music’s playing underneath the sound of hammering, nostalgia slaps me across the face. Their neighbor is blasting Led Zeppelin’s song, “Dazed and Confused,” which brings me right back to high school. I begging Gigi’s older sister to play it for us when we carpooled to school, which she adamantly refused half the time. I thought I was so much cooler than the other kids for liking music that wasn’t pop or modern rock. God, teenaged-me was so cringey. Though honestly, I still love Led Zeppelin. At least past-me had decent taste in music. The warehouse has two garage-style doors, one that’s closed and one that’s open. Their neighbor is in the open side, his back to us. And damn, what a nice back. Even though he’s sitting, I can tell the guy is huge and tall. His broad, muscled shoulders look powerful under his black T-shirt, like he could carry a whole animal across them, and taper down to an equally strong-looking lower back. I can see the long, thick muscles alongside his spine. Just looking at this guy’s back is making me tingle between my thighs. Yeah, Max and I had sex one last time before I dumped him, but I feel like I haven’t gotten any in ages. Max relied way too much on his gorgeous face and body, as if that alone would make come. Yeah, no. I swear he could only find my clit if I put its location into fucking Google Maps. “Hey, Jay?” Andrew calls over the loud music. “Sorry to bug you, but do you have a second?” “Hm? Sure.” The man turns to look at us and takes my breath away. It’s been more than ten years since I’ve seen him, but I know it’s Jay Breiman instantly. His steel grey eyes are unforgettable. He was my first actual boyfriend and gave me my first kiss against a stranger’s car in a Target parking lot one day after school. He burned music mixes for me filled with songs I still love today (like the one playing right at this moment) and meticulously decorated each CD with sharpies. We spent so much time making out that I’m surprised we didn’t get brain damage from a lack of oxygen or start a fire from the friction of all our dry humping.

My parents hated his guts, because they saw him as a bad influence with all of this black clothes and loud music. And maybe the hickeys he gave me. And maybe the pot he smoked. And maybe his clear distaste for authority. Okay, as an adult, I get where they were coming from. But underneath all that, he was always so sweet. He made me laugh, and never made me feel like I had to be anyone else but myself. He’d give me little gifts and always text me goodnight. God, it literally looks like he aged up wearing the same outfit that he wore all the time back then — a black T-shirt and black pants, with a ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe. His wonderfully soft, rich brown hair is still longer on top and shaved on the sides, looking effortlessly cool. Now he has a thick, brown beard across his angular jaw, and his face doesn’t have a trace of the baby fat I once knew. His face isn’t gorgeous in the way I’d gotten used to seeing from hanging around Max and his model friends all the time, but he’s still insanely handsome. All of his features are strong and masculine, from his strong brow to his nose. And speaking of his past, what happened to him? He moved when his Dad sold his company, and he dumped me just because he didn’t want to do long distance. And, having been dumped, I didn’t really want to keep in touch with him. I look him over again, taking in the tattoo that’s peeking above his collar. Gigi says that even though his family was super loaded, he started hanging with a bad crowd. Apparently, he went to jail and got disinherited. That wouldn’t surprise me — his parents were (and probably still are) a piece of work. Maybe that’s why he’s up here in the sticks, doing whatever he does in this warehouse. He certainly doesn’t have the look of a guy who could buy up half the town if he wanted to. His shirt and jeans don’t look designer by any means, and his home looks pretty normal from the outside. Jay finally stands and approaches us. He was a big guy back when we were fifteen, already over six feet tall and broad enough for the football coach to urge him to try out for the team. He liked to hold my hand, just because of how teeny it was compared to his. Even so, teenaged-Jay’s size doesn’t even come close to his size now. He’s a freaking giant, over a foot taller than me even in my heeled boots. His body is all filled out, his arms and thighs corded with muscle. The way his T-shirt stretches across his chest only intensifies the dull ache spreading from my nipples to my clit. I want to see his ass. There’s no way thighs that

good would be without a matching butt. Is my mouth hanging open? I swallow to regain control of my face. Jay looks at me with the gorgeous, grey eyes that I wrote mortifying poems about in my LiveJournal, which is hopefully lost to the depths of the internet forever. He knows my face, clearly, but can’t place me. The last time he saw me was right before we broke up at the beginning of the summer before junior year and he moved, and I looked way different, at least on the outside. I’m still the same height as I was back then, but that’s about it. Thankfully, I'm more secure in my body, and my makeup game is much more subtle and natural. “Simone?” he finally manages, slowly, like he’s not sure if he’s hallucinating. “Hey,” I say, suddenly feeling shy, like I’ve never talked to a man in my life. This is so not what I need when I’m trying to pull my shit together. I can’t trust myself to make good decisions about men, which is half the reason I fled upstate. “Do you two know each other?” Holly asks, looking back and forth between us. Jay smiles, and it makes me weak in the knees the way it used to. “Oh yeah, we go way back,” he says. “Nice to see you.”

Chapter Two

Jay

The only thoughts going through my head right now are what the hell is Simone doing here? And Fuck, she’s still hot. My attraction to her turns right back on where I’d left it, like I’m fifteen again. I hardly notice Andrew, Holly, Baby Justin, or even the Led Zeppelin song blasting through my speakers anymore. All I can take in are Simone’s delicate features. She's still so fucking pretty, it hurts, and her graceful curves are even more pronounced in the snug turtleneck sweater dress she has on. Goddamn. My teenage self, had his mind blown from seeing her breasts, the first ones I’d ever seen in the flesh. My thirty-year-old self is fit to explode looking at her without seeing her actual skin besides her face and hands. God, it’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid. I see a nice set of tits under a sweater and I get half a chub? I’m a fucking disaster. The second thing I notice about her is that she’s incredibly composed, and far more sophisticated and expensive-looking than I ever would have guessed. Back in our sophomore year, both of us wore a lot of black band shirts, and we didn’t give a shit about looking put together in a traditional sense. She used to take any fabric she could get her hands on and do some creative shit to it, like turning a tote bag into a crop-top or making patches to go on her leather jacket, whatever. She was great at it, no matter what it was. The only similarity between then and now is the color of her dress — black. It doesn’t even look like she’s wearing makeup, in contrast to all that eyeliner she would put on sometimes. What did I expect her to look like anyway? I always kind of thought she’d look a little more punk, but I guess I was wrong. I think about her more than I should, probably. Like what would have happened

if my parents hadn’t forced us to move to Manhattan, basically just to be around more rich people who’d kiss their asses? How long would we have dated? I never had girlfriends in high school after her, probably because I was so torn up over my massively stupid decision to break up with her. I still might regret it to this day. By the time I got over my stupid pride after I got out of juvenile hall and looked her up, she already had another boyfriend. Or at least that’s what the guy looked like, according to her Facebook. So I gave up, and now she’s here in front of me. Is it a stroke of luck? I don’t often have strokes of luck. Who knows if she’s even close to the same person she was back then... What if she’s become the very person I left the city to avoid? There’s a reason why I love this little town. People are actually decent, and not just when something’s going wrong. The air is crisp and clear, and the views can’t be beat. It’s not stuck in the old times either, but it hasn’t become some chain restaurant-filled shit show. There’s all the stuff I need. I can be a craftsman without anyone breathing down my neck to make the business big or whatever, even if my client is in the city. I can live my life the way I want to live it, and no one cares where I’ve been. The song changes to something by Cream. I put something by them on one of the CDs I burned for Simone, no doubt. My music taste hasn’t changed much since high school, but thankfully my taste isn’t terrible. “Jay?” Andrew catches my attention again. “Did you hear that?” “What?” I pull myself back together and hit pause on my speakers. How long had he been talking? “I didn’t, sorry. Music’s loud.” “So, you know how I mentioned that we listed our little guest house on Airbnb to bring in a little more money?” Holly asks, looking slightly nervous. “The pipes kind of exploded and it’s totally not at all ready for any type of visitors.” “You need me to get in there and fix something?” I ask, cracking the knuckles on each thumb. But then why’s Simone here, if they just need some handiwork? “No, it’s not that. We already got a plumber since it’s a really big job.” Holly

swallows, letting Justin smack her face with his little palm. She hardly flinches and guides his hand away. “It’s going to take a while, and Simone rented it for the six months she’s going to be here. Can she possibly stay in your guest house for now?” “Oh.” I lean against one of my worktables, crossing my arms. It’s not really a guest house — it’s just an extra building on the property that I use to store projects and have a little extra room to think if I need it when my warehouse is too cluttered. I can’t flat out say no to them. Andrew and Holly are my only actual friends, mostly because it’s hard for even my anti-social ass not to like them. When my generator went out in the dead of winter nearly five years ago, they let me stay with them until it was fixed. In that short amount of time, they made me feel right at home, and ever since then, they’re the only people who I really let into my life. And even they don’t know the details of my criminal record or the shit I’ve done. Not that it’s any of their business. It happened ten years ago, and I haven’t done anything truly bad since. Well, nothing I’ve been caught doing. “I know this is a lot, but we feel terrible.” Andrew glances at Simone. “We’re working out the logistics with Airbnb in of how much she’s paid.” I fiddle with a stray piece of wood on the table I’m leaning against. Yeah, I’m fine with Andrew and Holly living nearby, but being in close quarters with Simone? I don’t know how that’s going to be. I’ve never had a roommate, unless it was by force, like in actual prison. Or even had anyone stay on my property for more than an afternoon. That’s another reason why it’s great up here. I’m not caged in by skyscrapers, and Holly and Andrew, my closest neighbors, are far enough away to hardly see me most of the time. I look over Simone again. She’s calm, her fingers laced together in front of her body. I force myself to look at her shoulder, so I don’t ogle her, but that only makes me think about how pretty her hair is. It’s a natural dark brown, no hot pink highlights or anything, falling past her shoulders in shiny, bouncy waves. Having Simone share at least part of my home is like playing a video game I’ve never played on hard mode. I have to deal with the fact that my space is being invaded, on top of the fact that I want to fuck her senseless and she’s only been

back in my life for less than five minutes. In high school, we probably spent half of the time we were alone making out and dry humping like the world was about to end. I’m guessing that sort of sexual chemistry doesn’t just disappear, even if it’s been fifteen or so years. I’d have to test that theory. I need to slow the fuck down. I don’t even know if she has a boyfriend or not. I might be setting myself up for months of sadly jacking it whenever I have a second of privacy in my own damn house. And putting the attraction aside, what if she’s a shitty tenant? Who knows… She might be a kleptomaniac who blasts music all the time or she might be messy beyond reason. The old Simone I knew was sassy, but a good girl overall. The only things she consistently did to get in trouble were wearing clothing that was a little too revealing (or not revealing enough, if you asked teen-me), getting caught staying out past curfew, or dabbling in weed and booze. Her parents thought that I’d drag her into a life of sin with me, even though those things were also the extent of my rebellion when I was that age, too. But not even a year and a half later, I’d landed in juvie for fighting while drunk off my ass, so I guess their instincts were right. “I don’t want to intrude, but I’m kind of out of options.” Simone finally speaks up, pulling me from my memories. “I’m on a sabbatical from work, so I’ve sublet my apartment back in the city. I just need a space where I can decompress and have space to work.” I let out a long breath. Her green eyes betray a flicker of hope behind her composed façade. God, how can those eyes still get me after all these fucking years? I run my hand over my face, trying not to sigh. I owe Andrew and Holly for their kindness years ago, and I’m not the kind of guy who forgets that. Even though I’m massively uncomfortable with this, I can suck it up and not be a dick by turning her away if it helps out the few people I give a shit about. It’s going to be two months tops until their cabin is fixed, probably, and Simone only needs access to my kitchen and bathroom. I’m out here in my workspace most of the time anyway, so we probably won’t even see each other much. “Fine. You want to see it before you make a final decision?” I ask.

Simone sags with relief. I hadn’t even noticed any tension in her body. “That would be great.” “C’mon. I’ll show you what you’re getting into.” I lead the way out to the side house. I haven’t been inside the house for a little bit, since it’s been a while since I’ve finished something that hasn’t sold. It’s small, but more than enough space for one person. One side has shelves and shelves of my work, from small wood carvings to swords sheathed in leather that I’d tanned myself. There are a few long tables on the adjacent wall, where I sometimes package things and mail them to my customers. A sleeper sofa is on the other side, which folds out, alongside some storage bins. It would look like a garage if it didn’t have the wood floors and drywall. I never thought I’d need a guest house, even though that’s what the previous owners used this space for. “There’s no bathroom, obviously, and no kitchen. You can use those inside the house.” With me and Simone, plus Andrew, Holly, and Justin, the space feels cramped. Simone is standing really close to me, and it’s making my hands sweat. “This is absolutely perfect.” She looks up at me, grinning, the tiniest gap between her two front teeth despite having had braces. I how much she hated her retainer, so she never wore it. It makes my heart flip over in my chest, and her full lips send blood rushing toward my cock. “Thank you, Jay.” “Don’t worry about it.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “So, we’re set?” “Yes, we are. Thank you so, so much,” Holly says, coming in for a one-armed hug. Justin squirms, his tiny face scrunching up as he tries to free himself from her grasp. “We owe you one,” Andrew says, taking Justin from Holly’s arms so he won’t go diving head-first onto the floor. “Seriously, it’s fine.” I let go of Holly. She’s so small that it’s a miracle that she carried Justin to term. Andrew is a tall guy. Regular person tall, like a little over six feet, not borderline giant like me. Justin’s already big, according to Holly. I don’t know shit about babies, so I’ve taken her word for it. “I’m going to grab my stuff,” Simone says.

“I’ll help.” “You don’t need to. I’ve got it.” She steps outside gingerly, like she’s scared of getting her shoes dirty on the damp ground. She’s going to have to get used to wearing boots that actually function if she’s going to live around here. “Not to intrude, but I think you’ll definitely need some help,” Holly offers. “Your little car is stuffed to the brim. We can help.” Simone’s mouth tightens ever so slightly, a flash of displeasure gone as quickly as it came. “I guess you’re right. I do need help.” “Go get your car. Seriously, I don’t mind helping.” I nod my head toward Andrew and Holly. “And I’ve got it under control. You guys have other things to worry about.” Andrew sighs as the weight suddenly falls back onto his shoulders. Justin starts squirming again. “True. I should do some stuff about the guest house.” “And it looks like Justin needs a nap anyway.” Holly takes the baby back. “We’ll drive you guys back to our place.” We pile into their SUV, with me in the front next to Andrew. In a short moment, we’re back at their place. The car Simone drove up here really is stuffed to the brim. I’m surprised she could see out of the rearview mirror on her drive up, especially since things are a little haphazardly thrown in. “Wow, Holly wasn’t lying,” I remark, opening enger side door. “You’ve got a lot of shit.” Simone digs for her keys in her black leather bag. “I’m going to be here for six months, so I figured I should be thorough.” I don’t even try to wedge into the front seat at first — I push the seat all the way back. Whatever’s back there squishes easily. “Your stuff’s fine, right?” I ask. “Yeah, it’s probably just clothing.” She slides into the driver’s seat and turns the car on. She pulls out of the driveway and turns to go toward my house.

“Nice to see you finally ed your driver’s test,” I say absently. “It took a few tries,” she replies, smiling a little. We fall into silence again. I have so many questions I want to ask her, but I don’t know where to start. At least it doesn’t seem like she hates my guts. Not that she should. It’s been fifteen years, and if she held a grudge for that long over a high school relationship, I wouldn’t want to talk to her anyway. Time should heal all wounds, or whatever the fuck the saying is. Though, if it did, I probably wouldn’t be as flustered as I am now. She was my first girlfriend, yeah, and my track record with girlfriends between now and then has been really fucking dicey. I’m not sure if it’s weirdly sweet or just embarrassing that she’s still the best relationship I’ve ever had. Yeah, you know what? On second thought, it’s embarrassing, for both me and every grown-ass woman I’ve dated. How could a fifteen-year-old be a better boyfriend than a twenty-something-year-old? I think I was a better person at fifteen, which is even sadder to it. I was angry at the world in the way teenagers who have hardly seen any of it are, but I was less jaded and wary of others. She parks in front of the little house and kills the ignition. Before I can even get out, she’s popped the trunk and attempting to drag a suitcase just as big as she is out of the car. Once I get to her, I grab it and pick it up with no problem. “I put it in, so I can pull it out,” Simone mutters, her eyes flicking up to mine for a moment, like she’s too embarrassed to look me in the eye. “It’s basically your size. Let me get the big stuff and you can get the small stuff. We’ll be done in less time.” I grab another big bag and take it inside before she can complain. She gives me a stubborn stink eye. The little ass. I’m right — it doesn’t take us long to get all of her stuff in. A lot of it is in trash bags, like she’d hastily thrown things in and left town, which is a little strange. She has a startling number of duffel bags, and a big box that I have to handle because it’s so heavy. Once everything’s in, and I’ve folded out the sofa bed, there’s not a ton of space for her to move around. “I’ll unpack a lot of this onto the tables, so it’ll be a lot less cramped,” she says,

looking around with her hands on her hips. “This is a great space. Is all of that yours on that wall?” “Yeah, it’s all stuff I’ve made.” I follow her eyes to the floating shelves. I need to organize the space. I'll do it after she leaves, I guess. Everything’s on there in no particular order, woodwork mixed with metalwork mixed with all the other shit I’ve tried over the years. “Wow.” She goes over to the wall. “Can I touch?” “Yeah, go crazy.” With her back turned, I let my eyes roam over her. She’s probably the same height as she was in high school, but she’s filled out, especially in the hips and ass. I like that even though she’s smaller than me, she doesn’t look like I’ll break her if I touch her — she has some substance to her, but not so much that it takes away from her natural grace. “Is… Is this a sword?” she asks, turning around. My eyes snap back up from her ass. She’s holding one of the first katanas I ever made. It’s not good by any means, but I finished it. “A katana, yeah.” “Dang.” She looks it over, turning it in her hands. “It can cut people?” “No, it’s a sword that doesn’t work,” I remark, deadpan. My hands start to sweat. Does she like my sword? Can she still take a joke? “Of course, it can cut people. What? Do you want to go all samurai on me?” She playfully rolls her eyes and puts the sword back. “No, I feel like I’d hurt myself by accident before I hurt anyone else. Where’d you learn to do all this stuff?” she asks. “At first, juvie. Then I realized I had a knack for making shit when I landed in prison again a few years after that.” I shrug and watch her face for a reaction. “Hm,” is all she says. She’s got a decent poker face, but I can sense some burning curiosity under her surface. “What’d you get arrested for?” I pause, wondering how much I should tell her. “Assault, disorderly conduct, things like that. Nothing too serious, since I was only in there for a year and a

half.” Again, she manages to look relieved without having looked tense before. I can’t seem to read her clearly, which is unnerving but relatable. I had been more open with her back then than I have with anyone else since. It’s not worth trusting most people with what’s really deep inside, as I’ve learned the hard way after we broke up. “What are you doing up here anyway?” I ask, trying to diffuse the tension. “You said it was a work thing?” “Yeah. I’m a fashion designer, and my boss wants me to take some time away to design some new things. I like working with natural fibers and stuff, and this area has a lot of alpaca and sheep farms.” She fiddles with the black pendant around her neck. “Plus, I want to get away from the city.” “Nice.” She always talked about being a fashion designer, so it’s cool to see that she’s actually doing it. I never doubted that she would make it. “Congrats.” She nods and thanks me. “Come on — let me show you the house.” We head over to the main house, which is only a few short steps from the guest house and go in through the back door. Part of the reason I never have house guests is that my home is the most peaceful place on earth. I don’t want to disturb that. It isn’t flashy by any means, but I’ve put a lot of work into it. I made all of the furniture myself (aside from my couch) and remodeled some areas to bring it into the current century, like the bathroom and kitchen. My walls are painted colors that are gentle on the eyes, and it’s always really quiet. I have more than enough money to keep decking it out, but I don’t want to overdo it. It has just enough stuff to satisfy me, and everything I’ve made is built to last. My home growing up was filled with either uncomfortable tension, screaming, or drugged-out yelling, surrounded by poor quality shit that my parents bought just for appearances. I never want to live like that again. “Your house is really nice,” Simone comments, stopping next to me and taking

in the living room. Her eyes are wide, looking over my TV stand and TV, the one visually obvious indulgence in the room. Then her eyes go to the bookcase, then my record player and collection of vinyl. I’m not sure if she’s impressed or not, or if it’s what she was expecting. Maybe she’s expecting something lavish. Does she know about my money? I got disinherited when I went to juvie, or so my parents told me in a rage after they couldn’t manage to buy my way out of the place. After my parents died in a car crash when I was twenty-five, I learned that they’d left the millions they’d managed to not spend away to me after all. I took the money, invested a lot of it, and moved up here to start my craftsman business. Thanks to some shrewd investment and careful planning, I’m worth well over a billion dollars these days. Not that anyone in this town is aware. Another benefit of not telling people about my past is that no one tries to milk me dry or get close to me just for the perks. And most people don’t know how expensive a lot of the tools I use for my business are, or how much it cost to build all of the deceptively simple looking remodels I’ve done, so no one has any idea of my wealth. I hope it stays that way. “Thanks.” I gesture toward the kitchen. “There’s the kitchen. I don’t cook much, so there’s space in the fridge for whatever you want to buy. I can show you where the grocery store in town is. You have anything to put in the bathroom?” “Oh, shoot, yes. Let me go grab it.” She brushes past me and goes back outside. A few minutes later, she comes back in with a whole goddamn suitcase. It’s not huge, but it’s big enough to give me pause. “Are these your towels and stuff?” I ask, because that’s the only explanation for a whole suitcase of bathroom shit. “No, it’s my toiletries and makeup.” She lifts the suitcase. “Show me the way.” I lead her to the bathroom, which, thankfully, is big. I kept the huge, clawfoot bathtub that was in the house before, but added a shower that’s big enough for me to fit. The countertop with the sink is long, with a massive mirror that spans its length. I like the long, clean lines. I only keep my toothbrush, toothpaste, and soap on the counter, so it doesn’t look cluttered. There’s a row of windows close to the ceiling that let in natural light when it’s sunny.

Simone kneels and opens the suitcase. I watch in awe as she pulls out item after item. She has the basic stuff, like body wash and lotion, then a shitload of smaller vials and jars. She even has four candles in there, along with what looks like a pillow. “Jeez,” I mutter. “What is all of this?” “Hm?” She looks up at me from the ground, holding two small tubs, surprised I’m still there. “My stuff.” “No shit, but what is it?” I lean down and pick up a tube. “What the fuck is hyaluronic acid? Why are you putting acid on your face?” She grabs the vial and puts it back in the case. “It’s skincare. It makes your skin moisturized. Other acids take the dead skin off. Why? Are you offended by that?” “I’m just…” I look at the amount of skincare she has, then at her face. Her skin is really nice, so at least she’s not doing it for nothing. “I’ve never shared a bathroom with a woman before. Is this normal? Putting all of this on your face before you even put on makeup?” “Ever? Not even a girlfriend who stays over a lot?” She looks surprised. “Nope.” My last girlfriend, Alice, usually used my stuff or we stayed at her place. We only dated a year before I dumped her because… Well, I got bored. She’s a nice girl, but besides some slightly above-average sex, we didn’t have a lot of romantic chemistry. And it doesn’t help that she said I was too closed off to get serious with me. “Oh.” She’s clearly turning something over in her head, but she doesn’t say anything about my girlfriend comment. She starts putting her stuff away. “I just like pampering myself. It’s fun. Makes my skin soft and smooth. Makes my lips not super chapped in this dry air.” I make a little sound in the back of my throat, acknowledging what she said, and she looks up at me. Her greenish eyes have a playful sparkle in them that makes me want her so badly that it takes my breath away for a second. It’s the kind of look women have given me when they’re interested but aren’t sure if they should go for it. It’s also the number one thing that’ll break my will to keep my hands to

myself. I fuck with my hair instead of doing something stupid. Is she flirting with me, or am I just projecting my hopes that she is onto her? “And I get a lot of free stuff, so I didn’t buy all of this,” she continues, going back to what she was doing. “I thought you said you were a fashion designer?” “Some of my friends are makeup artists and models.” She glances at the bottom of a vial and puts it on the counter. “So they along extra stuff.” “Wow. Models and makeup artists?” I hope I don’t sound weirded out, even though I am. I never would have dreamed she’d hang with people like that, but then again, I never dreamed she’d come back to in my life at all. Maybe I’m imagining things differently than they actually were. “Yeah. I’m still best friends with Gigi, though.” She shrugs. “She works at a makeup company, so lots of this stuff is from her.” “Oh, cool.” I Gigi. She was attached to Simone at the hip, so by extension, I was kind of attached to Gigi, too. She knew I was trouble in a lot of ways, but she always gave me a chance because Simone liked me. “Some things don’t change.” “Right?” she says with a smile. That teeny fucking space between her teeth makes me want her even more. What’s my problem? “Are you still friends with anyone from back then?” “Nope.” I don’t mean to sound so brusque, but that’s how the words come out. I’m not sure why they do, because I haven’t even once thought about my high school friends since then. “Oh.” She stands up and arranges her stuff on the countertop, unfazed by my tone. My eye twitches at the new amount of clutter, but I rein it back in. An awkward silence falls onto the room as she takes a bunch of bottles to the shower. I can’t just walk out, can I? Maybe I should. I want to dry my hands on a towel, but that would look weird if I don’t wash my hands first.

I fucking hate this. No wonder I’ve only stumbled into relationships after hookups — these moments of wondering whether every little thing she does is a sign of attraction are irritating. And I hate being this self-conscious. I can’t the last time I’ve felt it this acutely. “Can you help me put these up here?” she asks, holding up a candle and pointing at a high shelf. “I don’t know why I brought these. I doubt I’ll use them often.” “Sure.” I take the candle from her and easily put it on the shelf. It smells like lavender. “You’ve gotten even bigger,” she says, looking up at me. That same impish gleam is in her eyes. “I thought you were done growing back in high school.” “Maybe it seems like that because you’re still the same height, I think.” I rest my hand on the top of her head, which I always used to do. “Nah, maybe you’ve grown a quarter inch.” “Wow, so exact.” She smirks. “I’ve just noticed you’ve grown, and I have a good eye for measurements,” I say. I’m not lying — she probably is just a tiny bit taller — but it comes out like an innuendo. Her cheeks go pink right away, but she doesn’t look put off. She almost looks pleased. We look at each other for a beat, not saying anything. “Um, anyway.” She slides out from underneath my hand, her face going serious again despite the pink flush to her cheeks. I step back to give her more space. I fucked that up, didn’t I? But I swear, there was a hint of pleasure on her face before she threw up that wall. That alone still has me yearning despite my misstep. “I’ll be out back in my workspace if you need me,” I break the silence, leaving before I start thinking with my dick before my brain. I don’t even look back at her to see if she says anything.

Chapter Three

Simone

My ceiling is different. Instead of the plain white with a water stain that the super hasn’t covered up, I’m looking up at wooden beams. My eyes fly open and I sit up, clutching my blankets. Where the hell am I? Finally, the wheels in my brain start rolling again. I’m in Jay’s guest house, on his sleeper sofa. The sheets are warm and flannel, so different from my own back home. In the silence of the area, I slept like the dead. After he abruptly left me unpacking my stuff in the bathroom, I fended for myself, annoyed that I had to find sheets and blankets. In fact, I’m still annoyed. What’s his deal? We were getting along just fine. Sure, I got a little skittish when it seemed like things were veering in a flirty direction, but things were friendly. But then he just left and didn’t come by again for the rest of the night. Whatever. If he’s going to be weird, then so be it. I’m here for more pressing things than starting things up with my high school ex-boyfriend who may or may not be a felon. My parents hated him because his whole look screamed ‘danger’ back then. I guess they’ll be happy to learn they were right about him, if I ever tell them we’ve reconnected. I want to curl up in bed and stay for the rest of the morning, but nature’s calling. It’s freezing outside still, but I don’t want to put on my coat and boots just to walk a couple yards to the house. I dig my fluffy robe out of my bags and slide it on over my silky chemise and matching shorts. I have flip flops around here somewhere. It takes me a few minutes to find them, but once I have them, I book it out the door before I get too cold. I make it inside and to the bathroom, suddenly feeling like an intruder. His house

is just as silent as outside. Is he awake? Where’s his bedroom, anyway? Not that I need to go in there ever. Or need to think about what his bed is like, ever. I sigh and open the door to the bathroom, only to find it already occupied. The lights are off, and it’s only lit up with natural light, but that doesn’t stop me from seeing all of Jay’s naked body in the mirror. He clearly just woke up, because he’s rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, getting the sleep out of them and groaning. God, his body is almost indescribably good. He’s got muscle for days, rippling under his skin even with the simple movement of rubbing his eyes. He has more tattoos than what I saw yesterday, decorating his skin from his left shoulder down to the cleft of his very, very great ass. He looks powerful, like he actually uses the muscles to do things. The rest of puberty was very kind to him. Against my better judgement, I look in the mirror again, and holy shit. His cock is hard, and thick. Like, the thickest I’ve seen in the flesh, making my pussy twitch. Is it out of fear of being inside of me, or is it horniness? I imagine him bending me over the counter and pounding me from behind until I can’t walk straight for days. And then images of him with his head between my thighs, all that thick brown hair tickling me as his tongue works its magic on me. Yeah, it’s horniness, burning from the inside out. I forgot I could feel like this, since Max definitely never made me feel this way. I must have made a sound, because Jay drops his arms and swears, leaping to shut the door. I squeak and turn, darting down the hallway. Oh God. Please kill me. Why didn’t I think to knock? But also, who just stands in their bathroom butt naked with the lights off? Especially when he knows he has a guest? I put my hands on my cheeks, which literally feel like I’ve caught a fever. I can’t un-see that. I’ll never be able to get him out of my head now. Between his face, his body, and our past, I’m going to be so horny that I’ll probably implode by the end of my stay. “Hey, Simone?” Jay calls down the hall. He’s put on black shorts, but no shirt, and I think he still has a freaking hard-on, even from this distance. Just shoot me, universe. Shouldn’t being startled kill a boner? He’s sort of covering himself with his hands, but he doesn’t seem too bothered. He mostly looks sleepy. Does he think I don’t notice what’s going on down under, or is he still half-awake

somehow? “Mm?” is all I can manage to say. “I’m sorry. I should have locked the door. My brain doesn’t work until I have coffee, and I forgot that you’d need the bathroom,” he explains, his deep voice still rough from sleep. Ugh, that voice is not helping this situation. It’s so wonderfully deep. “It’s fine!” I say, my voice still at least an octave higher than it usually is. “I’m sorry I didn’t knock.” “It’s free now.” He turns his back and goes down the hall, presumably to his bedroom. I scuttle in to pee and do my morning skin routine. I focus on each and every step, even throwing in some that I don’t usually do every day. The familiarity of it doesn’t do a damn thing to calm me down or alleviate my mortification. I do not need any distractions. Yeah, Katya wants me to relax and work on these collections, but I want to use the time to work on my own stuff, too. I slap toner onto my face with a little too much enthusiasm, then finish up with moisturizer. I don’t want to bother with makeup, especially since I’m just planning on going into town. The faster I can get dressed, the faster I can put as much distance between me and Jay as possible. It’s unseasonably warm for late March, so I put on a slouchy sweater, leggings, my favorite leather jacket, and comfortable heeled boots. It’s a relief, not having to dress way up or try to impress. All of my clothes are well-made and fit properly, but sometimes, I just want to be cozy. I hop into my car and follow my GPS back to the main drag of town. The ride is mostly empty fields, some with goats and alpaca, and others that are just empty, the mountains in the far background. The town is really cute, and even though it’s mid-morning on a weekday, it’s bustling with activity. There really are a lot of businesses, which is surprising in a tiny town like this. I guess people nearby like to come through to get to the hiking trails ten or so miles over. I saw signs for them on the drive in. I park at one end of the main road so I can walk around.

Thank God there’s a bagel place right next to where I’ve parked. I go in to get something to eat and a cup of coffee. I could smell that Jay made some coffee before I left, but like hell was I going to stick around. Imagine that awkward conversation. The woman inside looks positively thrilled to see me. So much so that I look behind me to see if she’s looking at someone else. But no, she’s just incredibly friendly. She makes me a bagel with cream cheese with care and doesn’t let me leave until my coffee has the perfect ratio of coffee to sugar and cream. Wow. This is already off to a good start. This morning wasn’t a bad omen after all. I walk and eat my bagel, since I want to do a quick lap to get a sense of where everything is first. I by a gas station, a dry cleaner, and a tavern that looks like it’ll be fun when it’s open. Maybe I’ll get over my embarrassment over seeing Jay naked sometime in the next one hundred years and we can get a beer or something. I find the grocery store, then the drug store. There’s even a little witchy apothecary and a few places to grab a bite to eat for lunch. Finally, I come across the place that I came for — Natasha’s Yarn and Fabric. I stumbled upon it by accident when I was looking for places to stay during my time off, and it sounded perfect. I hope it lives up to my expectations. It’s one of the larger buildings on the main strip, in one half of an old factory. The Yelp reviews say it’s a hidden gem, and people come from the surrounding towns to shop there. It must be good, since the town isn’t huge by any means. If there are enough people to keep the business alive, they must have a lot of customers. I step inside and immediately feel right at home. There are rows and rows of shelves stretching toward the high ceilings, stacked with fabric to my left, and to my right there’s a wall of cubbies filled with yarn. Right in front of me, there’s a teenager sitting in front of a wall of thread spools and behind the . “Hi!” she grins, standing up. “Do you need help with anything?” She’s probably about eighteen, tops, and has the exact same vibe I did when I was around that age — a little geeky, but creative, and filled with almost too much energy. She has her black hair up in two high buns, held up by scrunchies, and is wearing a big sweater with a yellow smiley face knitted into it. The outfit

could look juvenile, but she pulls it off. She just looks fun. I like her immediately, and weirdly enough, the moment reminds me of when I met Gigi our freshman year of high school. I knew Gigi and I would get along from the second we met. “I’d love to get a little tour, if it’s not too much trouble.” I look around. “Sometimes it takes me a long time to really get to know a fabric store, so I miss some good stuff sometimes.” “Yeah, of course!” She comes around the front of the counter. “It’s always a little slow in the middle of the day, so I’m happy to do anything.” She walks over to the fabric section, and I trail behind her. “Are you curious about anything in particular?” the girl asks. “Mm, not really. I’m working on a new collection, so it would be great to see everything.” I look up at the tall shelves. “Oh, cool.” She stops. “Are you a fashion designer?” “Mmhm. I’m just staying here for a while. I live in New York City most of the time.” I run my hand across some thick, dark green fabrics. “That’s really cool.” I recognize the look on her face — one of barelysuppressed enthusiasm. “I’ve never met anyone who does real fashion design. Most people who come in here are making stuff for fun, or for their Etsy pages. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I mean, you do it for your job.” She sounds completely amazed, like I’m Beyoncé, instead of just some random woman who walked into the store. “It’s not all fun, but it’s what I’m good at, I think,” I smile. “Well, I like your style, so you’re probably really good.” She picks at a thread on her sweater, her pale cheeks going pink. “Sorry, I need to actually show you around like I said I would.” “Don’t worry about it. And thanks for the compliment.” I sense that she probably wants to get sucked into the floor to get out of this situation and try to break the

ice. “I’m Simone, by the way.” “I’m Maya.” She shakes my hand, nice and firm. “Okay, let’s actually get into the stuff we have.” She takes me through each aisle, showing me the diverse fabrics and trims they have in stock. There’s a lot of fabric that’s suited for the people in the area, like flannel and denim, and some that surprise me, like some gorgeous linen and silks that almost have me drooling. She gives me a quick rundown of the trimmings and threads, then takes me to the yarn. “This is where the magic happens. Or where it ends up, I guess,” Maya says, spreading her arms into the air. “Our yarn. My parents own an alpaca farm, too, and we make all of this yarn to the left. The other stuff isn’t ours but it’s pretty good.” “Oh man.” I pick up some yarn that’s been dyed a speckled green color, almost like sea foam. “This is gorgeous. Your parents make this?” “Mmhm. It’s been a trade in the family for a long time.” It’s so soft that I want everything I own to be made of this. I love to knit and can see myself using this for projects for a long time. I’ve hardly started my research or my inspiration board beyond the loose instructions Katya gave me, so I shouldn’t start buying anything, but there’s nothing wrong with tooling around with some things for fun. For the first time in a while, I’m truly excited and not stressed. I have so many open days, and so much quiet. No one’s going to drag me to a last-minute party or event that I’ll regret going to. “I love this.” I pick up another skein, in an earthy green, and examine it closely. It’s really well-made. “This is seriously incredible, and I can’t wait to work with it. You said it’s from alpacas on your family’s farm?” “Yep. I help out on weekends. Or all the time now, I guess, since I graduated high school early.” Her eyes are downcast, and the light in her eyes dips like a brownout. I shouldn’t pry, so I switch gears. “Do you think I could see it? How you guys make it?” I ask. It’s the first thing

that pops into my head, and it’s not a bad idea. “Sure! I mean, I’d have to ask my parents first, but they’re really nice.” She’s bright again, her cute dimples popping in her cheeks. “They won’t be here until later tonight, though.” “It’s cool. I’ll be around for sure, so just let me know.” I pick out another skein of yarn, this time in gray. I have some ideas percolating in my head for more serious designs, but I want to knit a sweater or a hat or something. Yeah, it’s basically spring, but I can always wear it later. “I’ll just take these today.” Maya rings me up, bags my yarn, and hands it over. “Thanks for coming in,” Maya says, folding her hands on the counter. “Thanks for showing me around.” I tuck the receipt inside the bag. “Do you think... Um, not to be super aggressive, but if you come to the farm, would you be up for teaching me some stuff about deg clothes?” she stammers in one breath. “I already know how to sew but I don’t know more advanced stuff.” Her big brown eyes are so hopeful that no one could say no. And why not? I would have killed to have advice from an actual fashion designer back when I was her age. I can pay it forward. “Yeah, sure. I’d be happy to.” I look inside my purse and see that I have one business card left. “Just shoot me an email, and we can set something up.” Maya takes the card and tucks it into her pocket. “I will. Thank you so much.” “No problem.” I give her a nod and a smile, then step outside. The day has warmed up a little, so I take off my jacket. I want to get home and start working, but I need to get actual food to keep in the house. I walk all the way back to the grocery store. Just as I go to grab a basket, I feel a person looming over me. “If you told me you needed some stuff, I could have gotten it for you,” Jay says. He’s holding a paper bag filled with groceries in one hand, and his car keys in

the other. I’m annoyed to say that he looks just as good as he did this morning, in black jeans and a dark flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He has his hair finger combed to the side, with some pieces that are falling around his face. I want to study his tattoos, so I don’t have to look him in the eye, but he’s moving around too much. “It’s fine. I just need some, uh…” My brain just stops processing thoughts when I finally look up at him. I don’t even know what I’m here for now. Do I even know what grocery stores are for? “Some food.” One side of Jay’s mouth quirks up in a smile. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.” I run my hands through my hair, tugging a little bit too hard in frustration. “Can we not chit-chat? Things are still so awkward.” “The only way to make it not awkward is to start talking about other things, no? That way we’ll be free of our uncomfortable encounter.” He puts his bag down between his feet. “So, that’s what we’re doing. What have you been up to today?” He’s not wrong. Ugh. “I’ve just been walking around town. Had some breakfast.” I hold up my bag of yarn. “Went to that amazing fabric and yarn store. I can’t believe there’s such a hidden gem up here. They should do more marketing or something around the city. I bet people would come here if they’re already coming up to the mountains for a trip, especially for the alpaca yarn.” His eyes seem to darken a bit. “Uh-huh. So the town gets more touristy?” “I mean, to some extent. This town is really nice. More people should come.” I shrug. “I’m not keen on the idea.” He looks over my shoulder, his focus on something in the distance. “It’s a slippery slope from cute, quiet, peaceful town to a hellscape of chain restaurants and cheesy tourist traps.” His tone bugs me. Why wouldn’t he want more people to spend money in the town? Isn’t that a good thing? He’s so confusing. It doesn’t mean that the town

has to lose what makes it special. It doesn’t have to become the commercialized place he seems to think it would be. Before I can bring all of that up, he picks up his bags, gives me a nod, and walks right past me. “I’ll see you around.” I turn and watch him go, trying to stare at the back of his head instead of his butt. For someone who wants to diffuse the awkwardness, he doesn’t seem to be trying that hard.

Chapter Four

Jay

See, this is why I can’t handle people eighty percent of the time. Too many things have already gone wrong today. First thing: Simone. It’s been one day, and already something embarrassing has happened. I usually walk around naked all the time without a single fuck given, so of course I didn’t to put clothes on when I went to the bathroom this morning. My brain doesn’t even turn on until at least ten minutes after my first cup of coffee for the day. Simone’s utter shock at seeing me naked jolted me awake. Was it good shock or bad shock on her face? There’s no way she didn’t see my morning wood, which makes matters even worse. Maybe it was bad shock. I think I played it cool when I told her the bathroom was free, even though I was still a little hard. Again, my sleep-addled brain didn’t process that even with my underwear on, I was still visibly aroused, even with my hands covering my junk. God, I hope she doesn’t think I’m a fucking creep. I’m not helping my own case. Either way, seeing her in my house in that fluffy, girly robe that hardly came past her ass, over some pajamas that were way too fancy and sexy for just a regular night, turned my reflexive morning wood into something that had to be taken care of soon. I hadn’t jerked off with such enthusiasm in a while. Or more than once in a row. I spent so much time in my bedroom that I hardly got any work done before I came out here. And that leads to the second thing: I have to be in town for this stupid fucking meeting instead of working all day on the custom desk and decorative sword I’m

building for some clients. I grabbed a few non-essential food items from the grocery so I wouldn’t be the first one there, where I bumped into Simone. She looked upbeat, so different than she did this morning or yesterday. If she hadn’t brought up making Gray’s Point a tourist destination, then I would be in a better mood, just from seeing how hot she looked. But nope, so now I’m feeling even crankier, like a six-foot-eight baby. I want to eat pizza, go back to sleep, and start the day over again. I open the door to Main Street Tavern and Grill — or just The Tavern for short — which is one of the most popular hangout spots in the area. Since it’s the middle of the day, it’s pretty much empty besides Harry, the owner, working in the kitchen, and everyone who’s here for the meeting — two couples, a single older woman, and a younger man named Harrison. Edgar, the douche who’s been a thorn in my ass for over a year, is standing next to an easel with a covered poster on it, smiling. He looks so dead behind the eyes no matter what, so I wonder why he bothers trying to look happy. I’ve gotten better at not truly hating people, but he tests my limits. I first had the misfortune of meeting him over the phone, when he called me on my landline. The only reason I have it is for emergencies, and I never give out the number, so I knew something was up. After attempting to make small talk with me, I asked him what the fuck he wanted. He flat out asked me if he could buy my land. I said no, hung up, and thought that was it. But it wasn’t. A month later, he called again and asked if I would reconsider. Again, I said no, because it’s my fucking home. Then, I overheard someone mention that some guy kept calling, trying to offer them money for their land when I was out for a drink with my ex. I pumped him for more details and learned that Edgar wanted to put a fucking resort on the land he wanted to buy from people in town. We weren’t the only ones he was targeting. Basically, he’d called everyone who lived on my side of the town, including Andrew and Holly. Some people had already sold their land to him, but it wasn’t enough space for what he and his company wanted to build. And that started this whole mess — Edgar’s been up our asses trying to make the case that the resort is a great opportunity for us and our town. Today he supposedly has something

that could change our minds. I doubt it, but I figure I should check it out to confirm that he’s still full of shit. I did some Googling on him once I learned of his active pursuit of land in Gray’s Point, and immediately knew I had to stop him. His company’s other properties are sprinkled across the region, and every last one of them has been altered so much that the local wildlife and sometimes even the local resources can’t recover. Animal habitats that get smaller and smaller make wild animals come into towns, where people or animals are much more likely to get hurt. From what I’ve researched, he’s always just inside the law, but not by much. People depend on their land up here, and obviously, the ecosystem shouldn’t get fucked up because some guy wants to put some nonsense on the land. The man has next to no taste. His company is behind a number of weird little hotels in the area, and all of them are sickeningly tacky, with random themes like “Jungle Excursion” or vague like “Romance Evening.” Not even “Romantic Evening.” Just “Romance Evening.” They look like they could be fun for families or couples wanting a cheap trip that has a little something extra, which is good and all. Except the Yelp reviews say that they’re far from the inexpensive getaways that they’re d as. The hotels are total rip-offs, with added costs for basic things like bell service or whatever thrown in left and right. Normal people wanting to go on vacation shouldn’t come away completely shocked at the costs they weren’t expecting. That alone isn’t what gets me. It’s his company’s reputation amongst workers that really pushes me over the edge. There are so many lawsuits over how terribly he treats his employees that I’m shocked that he’s still in business. The complaints range from management taking tips from cleaning staff to persistent sexual harassment. Edgar and his co-founders aren’t moving quickly to fix the problems. So fuck Edgar and his shitty management, and fuck his plans for Gray’s Point. Yeah, I know I don’t own the town, but I give a shit about it, more than any place I’ve lived. I can’t have this piece of shit screw up the peace that so many people love about the town and provide jobs that will only harm more than they help.

Edgar says hello to me, but I only grunt in response. I know he’s intimidated by me, so I sit right up front, crossing one ankle over my knee, looking up at him with a blank expression on my face. Being a big guy has its advantages sometimes. All I have to do is exist and people scramble to not get on my bad side “Are we ready to start?” Edgar asks, slapping his hands together and looking at the little gathering. “I guess,” someone replies. “Great.” Edgar turns and pulls the cover off of the poster he put up. It has a mock-up of a building that looks like a cabin fucked a McMansion. It’s horrendous. “Here’s the mock-up of the resort, to start. I hope it gives you a good idea of what we’re going for.” I look over my shoulder to see everyone’s reactions. Harrison’s mouth is set in a tense line, and the others seem… Not entirely put off by it. “I know there’s been a little reluctance to sell, but I have some news that might sweeten the deal.” Edgar pulls a pen from his pocket and clicks the end repeatedly, which drives me insane. “We can up the payment for your properties by up to twenty percent, and…” I zone out immediately after that, keeping a blank stare on my face as Edgar bullshits everyone. “Up to twenty percent” means that he’s off the hook if he only ups the payment by one percent. Of course he would phrase it this way. He goes on and on about how good the resort will be for the area, and how it’ll bring more mainstream businesses in, which will also help the growing unemployment issue among young people in the area. It sounds like it’s a good idea, but I don’t trust his track record. Finally he shuts up and asks, “Any questions?” “Yeah, I have one,” I start. “So you’re saying that this will bring more people to town, but this looks like a cheap monstrosity. Doesn’t it defeat the purpose of having the resort in the town if it throws off what makes it appealing in the first place?”

Edgar’s eyes narrow briefly before he pulls it back together. “Gray’s Point will still have its charms. It’s a nice, safe area, and will continue to be that way after the resort is built.” The way he says it as if it’s a done deal irritates me. “And what about the natural wildlife and environment? How will that be affected?” I ask. “Everything will be fine,” Edgar insists, dodging the real question at hand. “But how do you know? What if it’s all different and the town basically dies?” Harrison asks, sounding way more intense than I am. It sends chills up my spine, to my surprise. I don’t scare easily. “Where am I supposed to live?” Edgar gives that same urbane smile he always gives when he’s trying to smooth things over. “I’m sure you can find more than adequate housing with the money from our deal.” Edgar looks away from Harrison, and toward something behind both of us. “My family’s been here for generations,” Harrison mutters. “I’m not leaving.” I turn in my chair so I can look at him. He’s probably around my age, but he looks so exhausted that he could for a couple years older. His voice scared me, but his whole demeanor pings an alert in the back of my brain. In prison, there were guys like me who were one and done (or two and done, but I don’t count my juvenile hall stay), and then there were guys who had Problems with a capital P. Harrison reminds me of the latter group. He’s a plain-looking guy — brown hair, brownish eyes, not too tall or short — but he has anger bubbling under the surface of his skin. It doesn’t seem like it has anywhere to go, so I guess it’s coming out in spurts. I know the feeling well, and it’s what landed me in jail twice. “You don’t have to sell,” I whisper quietly, like soothing a horse. “This guy’s full of shit.” Harrison looks at the ground. “I know, I know. But that’s a lot of money I can’t

always find doing farm work.” He turns his attention away from me and back onto Edgar. I turn back to the front as well, feeling a little unsettled. The town’s mostly blue collar, but the job market’s tough right now. The amount of money Edgar’s offering, even though it’s nowhere near what the land’s actually worth, would be tempting for anyone who’s having trouble making ends meet. I’m surprised Harrison’s as reluctant as he is, if he really is broke. I sit through Edgar trying to kiss the asses of the elderly couple who came — the Greens, though I’ve forgotten their first names — and a series of questions from the single older woman, Jenna, about the construction and potential timeline of the project. It’s tiring, at least mentally, and I want to go home, but I stick it out until Edgar calls the meeting. No one seems to be overly swayed in his favor, so at least that’s a notch in today’s win column. I say goodbye to everyone, letting them know that I’m up for discussing the plans elsewhere if they want to. I try to emphasize that the meetings are business only. I’m not up for anything else. By the time I’m out, my stomach is growling, and I’m itching to get back to work. I pick up a few bagels before hopping back into my truck to go back home. I get home in record time and head into the house to put away the stuff I bought before the meeting. It’s still weird seeing Simone’s car parked out front next to mine. I can see her through the windows of the kitchen into the little house. She has her hair up in a bun that exposes her long, slender neck, and a huge pair of headphones on her head. She’s completely lost in her work, bobbing her head to some song and looking at something — a sketch, a laptop, I’m not sure. We listened to a lot of music when we dated. She had a nice voice, but she didn’t like to sing much around people besides me. The memory makes me feel warm inside, which hasn’t happened in a long ass time. Most memories of our relationship back then still make me feel pretty nice. Too bad things have been so damn awkward now. Maybe I should go say hi or something. Or apologize for earlier, both in town and this morning. I finish off my third bagel and sweep the crumbs off my hands and into the sink. Nah. I can’t handle another awkward interaction today. Maybe

tomorrow will be better.

Chapter Five

Simone

I haven’t felt this rested in my adult life. Jay’s property is always dead silent at night, aside from the sound of an occasional critter, so I’ve been sleeping hard, and a lot, these past two weeks. The sofa bed is really comfortable, too, to my surprise, which helps. I was a little worried when I moved in, but it’s been great. My interactions with Jay have been limited to ing each other on our way to the bathroom (fully clothed, of course) and small talk whenever we’re both in the kitchen. It’s better than the awkward, maybe flirting thing we had going on before. There’s an unspoken barrier we’re both holding up, and it’s working so far. This solitude is great for my productivity. I stretch in bed and roll over onto my stomach to check my phone. There’s a text from Gigi about her birthday party in a couple of weeks, but that’s about it. Nothing from Max, thank God. It’s already eight in the morning, so I need to get dressed and get back to work before I head out to Maya’s family’s farm. I’m psyched that her parents were open to me coming by. I’ve never actually seen any of the materials I use being made. Plus, I like Maya. Her enthusiasm for learning new things is infectious. Our emails setting up our design lessons had about ten gifs to express her excitement for some take-home work I said I’d give her. I slip on my robe over my knee-length sleep shirt, tucking my phone into my robe’s pocket. Usually Jay is awake by now, and he always makes a pot of coffee that can wake the dead. I look over my shoes by the door. It’s wet outside from rain last night, so I don’t want to wear flip flops and get my feet dirty. I slip my toes into my old Keds without putting my heels in and open the door. Right as I step onto the stairs outside, I get a text. Being impulsive and

impatient, I pull out my phone immediately, and all of the air in my lungs leaves my body instantly when I read it. Who’s living in your apartment, love? Where are you? Max is the only person who’s ever called me love. How did he get my number? I went through the trouble of getting it changed just so he wouldn’t find me. I can’t immediately block his number because before I know it, I’m airborne and falling onto the ground. A sharp pain shoots up my ankle as I slam into the mud, catching myself on my forearms. On the upside, it cushioned my landing, but on the other, my robe is wrecked. It’s going to be a pain in the ass to wash since it’s one hundred percent silk. Why can’t I go back fifteen minutes and pick out my cotton one? And also burn my phone? “Ugh, why!” I yell before I can stop myself. It echoes throughout the area, which only adds to my mortification. My ankle is throbbing, and the tears in my eyes are a mixture of pain and frustration. I delicately pull my arms from the mud and try to sit up. My phone is a few feet away, but I don’t know if I can handle looking at it again. My heart is pounding so hard that I’m worried I’ll faint if I try to get up. “You okay?” Jay calls from the house. He’s in a T-shirt and sweats. “Mmhm!” I try to put weight on my ankle, and shit that hurts. But I can do it, so I guess it’s not broken. “Yeah, you aren’t.” Jay’s beside me in an instant, taking my shoe off and looking at my ankle. It’s already swelling, but not much. “Come on, you’re coming inside.” “What? I’m fine. Just need a second,” I insist, pushing his hands away. “What happened? Did you slip?” He looks at my shoes. “There’s no tread on these things.” I take a deep breath out of my nose, closing my eyes and trying to take my mind off the pain. I hope my face isn’t betraying my emotions. “I just slipped. It’s fine, really.”

“Give me this.” He pinches my robe. “I’ll put it in the washer —” “No, please,” I shake my head, feeling overwhelmed. His brows furrow. “It’s silk. You can’t just throw it in the washer, or it’ll destroy the fabric, and it’s my favorite.” He has the restraint to not sigh. “Fine, just take it off and hold it so we can handle it inside. We don’t want to get even muddier than we are now.” I do as he says, begrudgingly, folding it into a little roll that isn’t as messy to hold. I go to hand it to him, but instead he scoops me up like I don’t weigh anything. I’m so thrown off that I nearly go flying out of his arms. “Hey! Hold on!” I accidentally smack him on the neck trying to get a grip. “Where are you taking me?” “Inside the house to clean you up. You’re bleeding, too, you know,” he explains, walking back toward the house. “I can walk, kind of.” Hobble, at least. I could lean on him and get there. “No, you can’t, Simone. Christ, it’s a miracle you haven’t fallen off a mountain with that attitude.” Jay kicks open the door and walks toward the bathroom. He nudges the bathroom door open with his foot. I look teeny in our reflection, and with my disheveled appearance and his size, I look like I’ve just been kidnapped by the beast in the fairy tales. He gently puts me on the sink counter and steps back to examine my ankle. He treats it delicately, despite his enormous hands, brushing his fingers over my skin. It looks a little swollen, and it’s throbbing gently with the pulse of my heart. I’m so mad at myself for getting distracted and falling like a wounded gazelle that I can hardly focus on the pain. My phone seems to be on fire, wrapped in my possibly ruined robe. I need to take it out, but I don’t want Jay to see what’s on my screen. I take more slow, steady breaths. “Doesn’t look broken. Might be a bad sprain, but we can keep an eye on it.” He goes under the sink and comes up with a well-organized first aid kit. It’s filled with a lot of bandages and burn ointment.

“Do you burn yourself a lot?” I ask, gesturing toward the ointment. “It happens. I use a lot of heat in my work. Blacksmithing, welding, shit like that.” He shrugs and takes my arm. There’s a big, ugly scrape up my forearm where I landed. He gets to work on cleaning my wound first. It stings a little, but he’s careful with me. The silence forces me back to why I fell in the first place. Anxiety stews in my gut. If Max has my new cell number, what else does he know? Am I even safe here anymore? Sure, he was controlling, but besides the time he grabbed my wrist and pushed me against the wall, he was never violent. But the potential is there. All I need to do is block that number again and hope that he somehow doesn’t me in some other way. Maybe I can call Gigi and ask her to keep an eye out for anything suspicious or anyone doing anything weird around my place. It’ll be fine. I can handle it. “What’s going on in your head?” Jay whispers, smoothing a bandage on my arm. His voice is low and quiet, like we’re in a spa and not just his bathroom. “Nothing,” I respond. I can feel his steel grey eyes burning into me. It makes me tingle all the way down to my wrecked ankle. Without saying anything, I see the moment that he realizes I’m bullshitting him pop into his head. How? We’ve only had polite conversations, not the deep, soul-wrenching ones we had when we were teenagers, where we told each other our deepest fears. How has he gotten to read me in such a short time? Maybe my pain tolerance is worse than I thought. And since when was he this gentle and caring? He’s treating me like I’m made of porcelain without making me feel too… I don’t know… Babyish? I don’t know how I’m feeling about it. Not quite pleased, but not displeased either. He moves on to my ankle once my cuts are all bandaged, wrapping it up just snug enough. Once he’s done, he looks me over. I notice his gaze stop briefly at my breasts, free from a bra in my big soft sleep shirt, before moving quickly over to my arm. Is he blushing? I think he is, at least a little. I shouldn’t want to grin like an idiot, or worse, push my boobs up a little with my arm. It shouldn’t

make me feel anything, because I cannot deal with a relationship or even casual sex right now, as evidenced by my inability to even walk if I get bad news. “Thanks for this.” I slide off the counter. “I need to hop in the shower now or I’m going to be late.” “Where do you think you’re going?” Jay asks, not moving from his spot in front of me. “What are you, my mom? I’m going to visit an alpaca farm today.” I try to get past him, but I gasp when I step on my ankle just a little bit too hard. “You can’t walk on that busted ankle.” “Mm, I’ll pop an ibuprofen and get on with it.” My ankle really hurts, but it’s not the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. “I’ve been looking forward to this for days and I don’t want to miss it.” “You’re being ridiculous. The farmer will understand if you can’t come because you can’t walk. Don’t make me pick you up again and put you on the couch.” He blocks me from moving with the slightest shift in his weight. “You wouldn’t.” I glare up at him. “Moni, did I not just pick you up off the ground outside?” he points out. No one has called me Moni in years. I didn’t know I missed it until now. “Fuck yeah, you know I would.” Before I can respond, he puts me over his shoulder like a bag of mulch. I don’t even fight him this time, because if I do, I’ll probably screw up some other part of my body on the way down. God, he’s freaking tall. Even being over his shoulder feels way higher than I’m comfortable with, even though I feel secure with his arm across the back of my thighs. He takes me to the living room and places me on the couch, then leaves the room for a second. I try to get up on my one foot like an idiot, as if I can outrun him, but he’s back before I know it, some pillows under his arm and an ice pack in his hand. He glares at me, as if to say, “really?” “What’s it going to take for me to keep you here, so you don’t do more damage

to yourself?” Jay asks, throwing the pillows down on the couch. I look him over, trying to think of something absurd, even though I know I should take a damn day off. But being inside all day will give me too much down time to think. I’m already about to burst out of my skin and it’s only been five minutes since my fall. I need to be distracted, consistently and thoroughly, or I’ll lose my mind with anxiety. Going to the farm would have been perfect. I would have been distracted by alpacas, which are pretty cute, and I would be focused on being on my best behavior around relative strangers. And that doesn’t even take my excitement of seeing the process of how their yarn’s made into . Basically, Max would be the farthest thing from my mind if I hadn’t been such a klutz. Tears of frustration come to my eyes, but I manage to hold them in. I hate that Jay is right. The logical half of my brain and the stupid, prideful part of my brain are wrestling in the back of my mind. They come to a compromise. “If you can’t meet my demands, will you let me go?” I ask. He plays with the ice pack, meeting my gaze with a playful spark in his eye. “Sure.” “Okay. I want food. Lots of it. The exact kind of food to be determined in a bit.” I pause for a second, thinking of what he really wouldn’t want to do so I can get out of here. He mentioned a deadline for a project coming up… So, I continue the conversation by saying, “And I want you to stay in here with me all day, not working. Not even checking your email. But you have to watch whatever I want to watch.” “Not a problem.” He smiles, and it lights up his face. “Anything else?” Okay, that backfired. It’s nice to see him smile, though. It turns him from a slightly terrifying giant to a gorgeous, approachable man who happens to be gigantic. “I want a dog to cuddle. And a pedicure,” I add. He still doesn’t look fazed. “And, uh, a steak dinner. Maybe a foot massage, too, on the good foot, obviously.”

“That’s it?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest like I just asked him to get a carton of milk from the store. “Where are you going to find a dog for me to cuddle? You can’t just adopt one out of nowhere,” I say, starting to laugh. He’s so damn sure of himself. “I have my ways.” He puts the pillows on the table and takes my leg, guiding my foot onto the cushions. “If that’s all that you need to stay here, I can deliver.” “You’re seriously going to give me a foot massage and pedicure, too? What if I wanted a helicopter ride or something?” He puts the ice pack over my ankle. It feels amazing, and he seems satisfied with the relief on my face. “Simone. You’re just being ridiculous. I’ll meet all your demands even though I know you’d probably come back here limping if I let you go.” He cups my calf and adjusts my ankle on the pillows. His hands are so big — how are his fingers and hands so nimble? “Let yourself be taken care of, for fuck’s sake.” I sigh. He doesn’t have to do all of this for me, but he’s going to. It seems like this protective streak is in his blood and I can’t stop him. We lock eyes for another few moments. “Okay, I will. But I get antsy if I’m not distracted from things like this,” I say. I leave out the fact that ‘things like this’ means Max stalking me and not my ankle. “Alright.” He looks me over. “I’ll need a bit to get everything you need. You’re going to stay put?” “I promise.” “You need coffee while I’m gone?” “Please, if it’s not a bother.” He goes into the kitchen and returns with a cup from the machine, warm with just the right amount of my almond milk creamer in it. He re how I like my coffee when I make it at home? I don’t think any man I’ve been with, dating

or not, has ever thought to notice it. Well, him included, but I didn’t drink coffee in high school. “Remote’s here. Cable’s a rip off so I don’t have it, but I have all of the streaming services. It’s a smart TV, so go nuts.” He places the remote on my lap. “Text me all the food you want, too.” I don’t even want to touch my phone. “Can I just tell you?” “I guess?” His dark brows furrow and he pulls out his phone, no questions asked. “Go ahead.” I rattle off a list of garbage food — bagels, ice cream, chips, cookies, all that. If I’m going to be laid up for a day, I might as well enjoy it. “Got it. And then that steak dinner.” One side of Jay’s mouth quirks up. Does he know how attractive that makes him look? “And the dog. And the foot massage. And the pedicure.” “Mmhm.” I sip my coffee, smiling. “Your wish is my command. I’ll be back soon.” He grabs his keys and leaves, his truck rumbling down the driveway. I can’t believe he’s doing this. I’m way too alone right now. I turn on the TV and turn on something mindless, sipping my coffee. My phone on the table might as well be on fire. I keep staring at it, the text unanswered. All I have to do is pick it up and block his number. I can do it. I lurch forward and grab my phone. Max hasn’t sent any more texts, thankfully, so I block the number he texted me on and slide my phone down the table. It falls onto the dark blue rug, so I doubt I shattered the screen. That makes me feel a little bit better. But not by much. I waste a lot of time going through all of the streaming services Jay has before creeping on his recently watched and to-watch lists. There’s a lot of sci-fi here,

and basically every reality TV show that requires some skill, like cooking shows or design shows. Interesting. I can’t imagine him sitting down with a beer and watching Gordon Ramsey yell at people, but he’s surprised me more in the past half hour than anyone has in recent memory. I settle on an episode of an intense cooking show and sigh. It’s a good distraction, but I want more. By the time the episode is over, I hear Jay’s truck rolling up the driveway again. I crane my neck to look out the window, but I can’t see him. All I hear is him whistling to himself, the sound getting louder as he approaches the house. Instead of his footsteps coming into the house, I hear the scuttling of claws on the ground. A small, fat wiener dog comes running into the room as fast as his short legs can carry him, thrilled to see me, even though I have no idea whose dog he is, or where he came from. “Whose dog is this?” I ask, reaching down to pet the dog. The fur on his nose is white, and it looks like he’s blind in one eye. “Hey, little buddy.” “That’s Curtis.” Jay comes in, barefoot with bags of groceries. “These are your snacks. What do you want first?” My mouth drops open. I don’t know what to do or if I even want to eat. Curtis puts his paws up on the couch and I pick him up, putting him in my lap. He tries to lick my face before he curls up in the crook of my arm, sighing. He would be the worst guard dog — I’m a complete stranger and here he is, cuddled up to me like we’re best friends. “But… Whose dog is this?” I ask again, staring down at Curtis’s soft ears. I manage to close my gaping mouth. “What? How?” “It wasn’t that hard. He’s Andrew and Holly’s dog. I stopped by and told Holly what happened, and she said we could take him for the day.” He’s in the kitchen, but he pops his head out to grin at me. “You could have made your demands more ridiculous, you know. This was cake.” I want to glower at him, but I can’t help but smile. “You say that now, but you haven’t given me a pedicure yet.” “How hard could it be? I have Google.” He goes back into the kitchen. He

shuffles around for a bit and comes back into the living room. He has bagels and two tubs of cream cheese on a big polished wooden slab. I wonder if he made it himself. “I have weird feet.” “Okay…” He puts the bagels down on the table and sits just beyond my stretched-out leg. He looks at my wrapped-up foot for a second. “What does that have to do with anything?” “That makes it unpleasant.” I look down at my feet, which haven’t seen a pedicure in months. “If I can’t handle a woman’s foot after dealing with some of the shit I’ve been through, then you have the right to grab one of the katanas I’ve made and stab me through the liver.” He pulls apart a bagel. “What kind of cream cheese do you want?” “Strawberry please. But I can handle it myself. You’ve already done more than enough, thank you.” He nods and hands me the cream cheese, then starts on his own bagel. “What were you watching?” “Oh, some cooking show.” I wave toward the TV. “You like all of these competition shows?” “Yeah. I ire skill, especially when it requires use of your hands.” He finishes his bagel and sits back with it on his little plate. “I like seeing how other people work, since I work with my hands, too.” “Speaking of work, you’re fine sitting here with me all day? You aren’t freaking out about being behind?” I lift my plate from Curtis’s twitching nose and take a bite of my bagel. It has the perfect ratio of cream cheese to bagel. “I mean, I’ll probably fall a little behind, but it’s not the end of the world.” He sits back, grabbing another bagel and putting it on the plate in his lap. “You need help and you’re torn up about missing your day at the alpaca farm. So why not take a break and distract you? We can catch up. We haven’t had the chance to besides talking about work, which is kind of boring.”

He gives me a look that immediately sends a blend of tingles and confusion all up my body. God, he grew up nicely. The angles of his face come together in just the right way to create something that draws me to him and makes me want to just look at him like I’d study at a painting in a museum. But at the same time, the more I’m around him, the more he confuses the hell out of me. There’s the side of him who apparently went to prison for, like he said, assault and disorderly conduct, plus resisting arrest — thank you, Google. And then there’s this side of him, who actually went to go find a dog to comfort me while I’m laid up, without asking for anything in return. Well, not that I’m aware of. What could he be hiding? It feels like he has two separate halves. What if he suddenly reveals his crazy like Max did? And I haven’t even factored the Jay I knew before into all of this. He had problems at home — his parents were bonkers — which he hid with sarcasm and anger simmering under the surface. The Jay in front of me doesn’t seem angry. But I hardly trust my own judgement anymore when it comes to men, so who knows what’s real... “You want me to bring any of your stuff inside?” he asks after swallowing a bite. “Your work stuff.” “No, I might as well take a day off, too.” I’ve made a lot of progress. I have a couple of weeks until I go back to the city for Gigi’s birthday and my status meeting with Katya. “I’m down to watch some trashy TV.” “Please spare me from the trashiest trash,” he chuckles, leaning back into the couch and putting his feet up on the coffee table. “You don’t get a say today. That’s part of the deal,” I tease, picking up the remote again. I’m not such an asshole that I would pick something he hates. He looks up at the ceiling and runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know. If I can handle prison, I can handle some trash TV.” “Wow, you’re comparing makeover shows to literal prison?” I ask, looking over at him. His hair is messed up, even pushed out of his face, flopping from its usual side part into an upturned curl. If we were closer, I’d have to stop myself from reaching over and tucking some behind his ear. I miss touching him in a non-sexual way. When we weren’t making out or fooling around, we were

usually snuggled up on the couch or on a bean bag listening to music. “Not directly.” He smirks, then nods his head toward the TV. “Pick something. I’ll get us more coffee.” I do as he says, and he brings us more coffee. I settle on Kitchen Nightmares, since it’s a little bit of skill-based something, plus the trashy drama I love. He seems fine with it. We spend the first hour or so watching quietly, sometimes making comments here and there. And then, something shifts. “How much would you have to get paid to eat at that restaurant?” Jay asks me. The restaurant is a pizza place that hasn’t been cleaned or updated in twenty or so years. On top of that, their definition of “fresh food” is very different than what most people would think. “Depends on how hungry I am.” I tear open a bag of potato chips. One goes flying out, and Curtis eats it off of my chest. “I guess you would have to pay me the cost of the meal at a minimum.” “Really?” “Oh yeah. I have a strong stomach.” I offer him the bag of chips and he takes it. “Jesus. You’d have to pay me at least a thousand bucks.” Jay dunks his hand into the bag of chips and comes out with a small handful. He elegantly pours half of them into his mouth like they’re water instead of potatoes. Back in high school, I always used to tease him because he would do stuff like that. The memory makes me smile a little. “Seriously? A thousand?” I take the chips back. “I couldn’t stomach it. I’ve given myself food poisoning more than once, and that was when I was trying really hard to be clean.” “How is that possible?” I ask. He shrugs, and the motion looks exaggerated, just from the size of his shoulders. It’s hard not to notice how good he looks in just a black T-shirt. How does he pull that off? “I told you I don’t cook that much. That’s why. Certain meats and I are in a blood feud.” He peeks under the ice pack on my ankle, which is now more like a

bag of slush. He goes to replace the pack. When he comes back, he sits closer to me, close enough for me to feel his body heat. “I guess I’ll need my strong stomach for that steak dinner, won’t I?” I grin. “Yeah, you will.” He leans back into the sofa again. “Not even kidding.” “Oh my God.” My eyes widen in horror. “Did I sign my death certificate?” “Not your death certificate — it’s not like I’m going to open up some canned beans rife with botulism and dump them on a raw steak I dropped on the ground. I’m just saying, you threw out the ‘steak dinner’ idea without knowing what you were getting into.” “I haven’t barfed in years and I’m not starting today. Or tomorrow.” “Congrats?” He laughs, looking at me like I’m a little nuts. The confusion in his eyes, paired with his sarcastic grin, makes me start laughing, too. “What a weirdass thing to be proud of.” I try to kick him with my good foot, still laughing so hard that I wake up Curtis from his spot on my lap. “Okay, maybe I’ll cook the steak. But you’re still on the hook for the pedicure.” I wiggle my toes on my good foot. “Fine, fine.” He rests his hand on my ankle, as if he’s adjusting the ice pack, but leaves it there. It’s a nice weight, helping the remaining coolness seep into my skin. The tips of his fingers brush my skin. I try to focus on the show again, but all I can think about is his hand casually on my ankle. As we continue watching the show, he slides it to the top of my foot, resting the weight of his hand on the pillow so he won’t hurt me. I’ve made a massive mistake. I always associated foot massages and pedicures with salons, not men. The likeliness of any of my exes actually giving me a foot massage was exactly zero. But Jay’s definitely going to keep his word — I can tell. I don’t have a foot fetish or anything, but a foot massage could lead to a calf massage, which could

lead to a thigh massage, which could lead to his dick massaging my vagina. His very big, perfect dick that I can’t stop thinking about when I’m alone at night. A few more hours go by, and I don’t think he’s noticed my sudden shift in mood. We’re still joking around and watching reality TV makeover shows. We chat a bit about work, too, and I bore him with all sorts of jargon about design. He explains to me some of the finer points of woodworking and metalworking. He’s put his arm across the back of the couch, and Curtis’s chunky body is the only thing between us. “It’s getting late. You want to cook dinner, or do you want your pedicure?” he asks, hitting pause before the next episode auto-plays. He turns to look at me, a lingering smile on his face. There’s a little something else underneath the smile, like he has a secret he’s itching to tell, that makes my heart race. “Um, you don’t have to do any of this.” I wiggle my toes on my messed-up foot. It feels a lot better, so I put it on the ground. “I was just being a dramatic baby.” “Hey, it was part of the deal. Now I’m kind of curious if I can do it. I’ve never painted anyone’s nails before.” He stands. “Or do you just want the foot massage?” He looks down at me, and it’s clear that he really wants to do something with me. I’m not sure if it’s sexual, or that he literally wants to paint my nails, and my confusion isn’t just because I’m terrible with men. I always convinced him to do girly things in high school for shits and giggles, whether it was walking in heels (disaster) or doing winged eyeliner (surprisingly not terrible). I stare at him for way, way too long, trying to figure it out and he tilts his head, like he’s saying, “Well?” “Sure…” I say slowly. He nods and walks down the hall. I hear him shuffling around and he returns with my nail polish and lotion. “How did you know I had nail polish here?” I ask. It’s the one shade I actually buy, a nice pale pink. “I snooped.” He sits down on his coffee table with a thump. He has to be at least two hundred fifty pounds, mostly muscle. That’s some confidence in his own

carpentry. “You have so many bottles and whatnot that I couldn’t not snoop.” “Wow, way to invade my privacy,” I say, jokingly. “You know I can’t resist snooping,” he replies. “What do I do first?” He’s waiting for my response, and I’m not sure what to do. “It might be better to do the massage first, so you don’t get the polish messed up,” I finally say. “Alright, then.” He grabs the lotion and puts some on his hand. It’s my fancy stuff that smells like jasmine. He rubs his hands together to warm it up and grabs my foot. My feet are pretty average, but they look teeny in his hands. His hands are rough, especially in comparison to my skin, with shiny burn scars on the back of them, trailing underneath the band of his watch. He presses on my muscles gently. God, that feels good. I groan softly and sink into the couch. The only sound in the room is Curtis snoring on the other side of the couch. My eyes flutter closed as he makes his way around my foot, then to my ankle and low calf. I open my eyes again and look at him, and realize that he’s looking at me, heat in his eyes. His eyes dip back down to my leg, then between them. My sleep shirt is up around my thighs a little bit from sliding down on the couch, and with the massage and my ankle, I’m basically flashing him. I try to move my knee to cover myself a little, but I can’t with his hands on my ankle. He looks back up at me, and the expression on his face alone makes me wet. Should I roll with it? I think my body is going to roll with it, whether this is a good idea or not. I’m alight with lust and my brain is focused on lighting my body up, not rational thought. I let my knee fall to the side, exposing more of my crotch. His hands work my muscles up my calf and my thigh, until his hand reaches my hip under my long T-shirt. The electricity in the air is making me feel a little lightheaded.

“Simone,” Jay finally whispers. His voice is raspy and low. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I nod before I can stop myself. I don’t even know what I’m getting into, but I know I want it. He pushes my shirt up a little more so he can see my panties, which, thankfully, are my comfortable, yet sexy ones. His tongue darts out along his bottom lip, like he’s finally sat down to a feast after a long day. He goes down on his knees in front of me, stooping to kiss up my calf and inner thighs, stopping at the fabric right over my clit. Oh. Okay. We’re starting here? No preamble besides a foot massage? I’d be lying if I didn’t it I’m so turned on that I can hardly think. It’s been so damn long since I’ve let myself be overtly sexual. My brand of horniness flew in the early stages of my past relationships, but they always wanted me to dial it back once we settled a little. I’ve forgotten what it’s like, just going for it for my own pleasure, not worrying if I seem too eager. I’ve missed this. “Do you always walk around wearing sexy underwear like this?” he asks, tugging the crimson lace panties down my legs and off. “Um, I guess,” I stammer. “Fuck, I kind of regret asking. Now I’m going to think about what you’re wearing under everything all the time.” “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a fancy panties kind of guy,” I reply, my voice breathy. I like the way it sounds. “I didn’t know I was one until just now, honestly.” He looks down at my panties on the floor. He tugs me down on the couch, so my ass is hanging off the edge and my knees are pushed back to my shoulders. He wraps my hands behind my knees, so I hold my legs open. Realizing that I’m about to slide off the couch, he grabs the pillow my foot had been resting on and puts it under me so I’m more stable. He pauses for a moment, looking at me all spread out in front of him. To my surprise, I only feel slightly embarrassed. The hunger in his eyes gets rid of any

hesitation I have. At first, I think he’s going to go diving in since I’m all exposed, but instead, he kisses my inner thighs, skipping over my pussy and up the other one again. I glare at him, but he just grins. Finally, finally, he runs his tongue up my slit and just around my clit. My pussy clenches, already anticipating what he’s about to do to me. His tongue dances all over me, from flicking across my clit just enough to make me whine, to dipping inside me, stroking a spot that sends my eyes rolling back into my head. I want to grab his hair and hold his face to my pussy but every time I move, he forces me back into position, hardly breaking his rhythm. He might be the one eating me out, but there’s no doubt that he’s the one in charge of this situation. He senses my need and stops playing around, settling on steady licks and sucks on my clit. Then his finger s the mix, and holy shit. My pussy clamps down on his thick finger and my hips buck into his face. I’m lost in feeling. I can hardly catch my breath because of the skillful way he’s taking me higher and higher. I look down at his head. His hair is falling loosely to the side, and the sight of the muscles of his shoulders subtly moving underneath his T-shirt is enough to make me squirm, trying to fuck myself on his fingers. “Yes, more of that,” I gasp in a voice that hardly sounds like mine anymore. I’m tingling from head to toe, feeling an orgasm building fast from a place deep inside me. “You like that, huh?” he rumbles against my flesh, making a swirling motion with his fingers. It makes me come so quickly that I hardly have time to process what’s happening. It washes over my entire body, my toes curling, my nipples tightening, my ears ringing. My grip on my legs weakens, and my good foot falls to the floor. I catch my bad foot before it slams down too hard, though it doesn’t hurt the way it did this morning. He sits back, wiping his face and pushing his hair back from his eyes. God, he’s so handsome.

I lie there for a blissful moment, just grinning deeply as the most pleasure I’ve felt in a long, long time courses through me. My body comes back online more slowly than my brain. The full realization of what just happened hits me, and I suddenly feel naked. I close my legs and draw them up to my chest. I can’t believe we did that. Now that it’s finally happened, I can’t go back to normal. I can’t un-learn that he’s basically a gold medalist in eating pussy. I can’t un-learn that he’s still sweet under that rough exterior, maybe even more than before. But I also know that I can’t let this go any further. My feelings are so jumbled, like yarn someone shoved into a bag. I know I like him, but I also know fucking him or trying to date him again would be like pouring soda on myself and taking a stroll through a forest filled with bees. I’m just waiting to get hurt. With everything going on with Max, I don’t need any more complications. “That was great, but I should go,” I say. “Mm,” is all he grunts in response. He’s confused, clearly, but he’s not going to stop me from leaving. I’m just as lost. I get up, stepping lightly on my bad foot, and look for my panties. Jay hands them over to me like he’s handing me a remote. I tug them on. “Um, thanks. For today,” I attempt, because what else would I say? Thanks for blowing my fucking mind and making me more confused about men and dating? “Yeah, it’s no problem.” He stands. “Make sure you ice your ankle and keep it elevated. Ice pack’s in the freezer if you want to take it.” He walks me to the door and opens it. We both pause for a second, unsure of what to do. Should I just stroll out? It’s like a weirdo version of the walk of shame. I look up at him, and he goes for a kiss on the cheek. I can smell myself on him, and it’s taking a hell of a lot of self-control for me to not shove him back inside to his bedroom. But I leave, hobbling across the grass to my little house.

Chapter Six

Jay

I fell asleep thinking about Simone, and now, having just woken up, I’m still thinking about her. And not only in a sexual way, to my surprise. I feel like a goofy teenager again, with the same big, ridiculous crush on her that I had back in high school. Her bright smile seems to take over her whole face when she finally lets herself go a little. Her laugh is completely unrestrained and loud, and I love it. The way she looks at me when we’re talking makes me feel like how I am is perfectly fine. I’m getting better at reading her, too, though it’s a little disturbing at how closed off she is now. Our little chats about work leading up to last night were really revealing to me. She’s just as ambitious as she was before, but she’s extremely worried about how it’ll all pan out, even though she’d probably say otherwise. Something else is up with her, but I didn’t want to prod her yesterday. There’s something between us again on a romantic level, and I know I’m not hallucinating it just because I went down on her. That’s one of the hardest parts. Shoving my emotions down and smothering them until they die? I’m a champion at that. Controlling my dick? Not so much. Especially since she looks hot in basic clothing — her big T-shirt draped across her tits in a way that made it hard to stare, and how her smooth skin emphasized the curve of her thighs and calves. And Jesus, that foot massage and everything that came after it. When she threw out the idea in her list of not-that-absurd demands, I was like, “Okay, whatever, it’s no big deal. Feet aren’t sexy, at least to me.”

Past me is dumb as fuck. The pleasure written across her face when I rubbed her petite foot for maybe thirty seconds is mostly responsible for the hard-on I have now. I might as well have been feeling her up from the way she melted. I guess that’s what made me go for it, even though it was a bold move. I really, really enjoyed tasting her, but I couldn’t look her in the eye with my face buried between her legs. The rest of women’s bodies are great, obviously, but I love seeing their faces contort with pleasure, just like hers did when I massaged her foot. It took all of my power to not whip my cock out and plunge into her like the fate of the world depended on it. And then there’s the slightly awkward goodbye to think about. If I had moved a centimeter to my left, I would have kissed her lips when she kissed my cheek on her way out. Is that what we are now? Just fuck buddies? Are we anything at all? How would that even work, if she’s leaving in a few months? Am I overthinking this? I left the city for a reason, so like hell would I go back and forth all the time. I grip the base of my cock and absently run my hand up and down its length. I can already tell that just jerking off to what happened between us isn’t enough. I want to feel all of her body and see how big my hands will be wrapped around her small waist. I like that contrast, with my constantly beat-up and callused hands against her pale, unblemished skin. I want to be buried in her to the hilt, watching her fall to pieces. I want to make her scream. Just as I’m about to take care of myself, my phone starts ringing. It’s early, though — just past six-thirty in the morning. My stomach clenches instinctually. The last time anyone called me this early, I got news that my parents had been killed in a car wreck. But it’s Andrew. “Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask when I pick up. “Oh good, you’re up.” I hear a ton of noise in the background. “Can you come into town? There’s been another fire. It might be arson. We just need help keeping the area clear of people.” “Ah, shit. I’ll be there in a bit.” I hang up and roll over onto my stomach. I’m too

exhausted to be fully awake, probably because I couldn’t sleep after what happened with Simone. But I can’t linger on it. I need to get into town. I dress quickly, suck down some coffee, and drive to town. I can see what Andrew was talking about. The air is thick with smoke, and the road is blocked from a shit ton of cars, from locals who clearly just want to see what’s up, to cops from the next town over. The ambulance from the town over is there, too, its lights flashing in the dawn light. Then I see the reason why — there are news vans there, with mics, cameras, and anchors talking. People who live in the area are milling around, getting in the way of the firefighters trying to finish up their jobs. “Hey, let’s clear the area,” I call loudly, making my way through the crowd and motioning for people to give the firefighters space. People move right away. One of the first jobs I got out of prison before I decided to get a carpentry apprenticeship was as a bouncer. The crowd control skills I learned there come in handy more often than I’d like them to. “Oh good, you’re here. Thanks for coming,” Andrew says, coming up behind me. He looks tired, too. The town is so small that we don’t have a full-fledged police and fire department of our own, so some locals act as the main s if things go wrong. Andrew is one of them. “No problem. What happened? They think it’s an arson?” I turn to look toward the fire, or the remnants of it. The houses are on the edge of town, just close enough to possibly cause a chain reaction of fires down main street. Thankfully it only hit a few houses. I can see where the fire started from the scorch marks up one side of the house closest to us, a spray of black ash against the white. “This first house caught on fire, and there’s a line of gasoline connecting it to the houses next to it.” Andrew runs his hand down his face. “It’s looking like arson, and not even a clean one.” “Shit.” If it’s definitely arson, it might be the third one of the season. Two fires broke out last month, but our police force is basically non-existent and can’t devote its limited resources to crimes like that. I don’t even think the closest town has more than two detectives, so how are we supposed to manage? The crime rate is low, sure, but three suspicious fires are way too many for such a small town. What if it’s a serial arsonist? How will we stop them? Luck and

gumption? This isn’t like Murder, She Wrote. No one’s going to solve this with gumption and good luck. “I know.” Andrew looks over his shoulder at the firefighters. “It wouldn’t have been that bad if we’d had a fire team in town.” “Did anyone get hurt?” I see an older man sneak past me out of my peripheral vision. “Sir, get back. Give them space to do their jobs.” He steps back as if I shoved him. “Not seriously. One house was empty — the first one that got hit. The people in the other houses got out in time since they could smell the smoke. I think one kid is being treated for slight smoke inhalation.” Andrew sighs. I nod and look over at a news crew from the closest big town. Dread fills my gut. If they’re here reporting, there’ll probably be even more attention on the town. I’m less concerned about how outsiders view it and more concerned about the people who live there. How could their home go from a place where they feel safe to a place where people’s homes get burned down on a semi-regular basis? Having the news crews here makes it feel much more serious. “Who called the news crews?” I ask. “Who else?” Andrew jerks his head to another camera crew. Fucking Edgar. My blood boils immediately. “Of course he would.” I glare at him, hoping he’ll somehow feel it. Where is he staying? I didn’t realize that he actually stayed in the town overnight sometimes. Maybe he already bought some property. I hope he hasn’t. “But why? Isn’t this making the town look less attractive for his little hotel?” Andrew crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at him also. Edgar tried buying his land a while back, but he refused. He’s pulled out of the fight, though, and doesn’t attend any of the meetings Edgar’s held since. “I’d think so.” I step a little closer to him and the crew, pretending to keep another part of the crowd back, just so I can hear what he’s saying. “It’s truly a shame that this is happening.” Edgar is awfully put together for this

early in the morning, in his designer sweatpants and coordinating sweat-wicking shirt. His brown hair is neatly combed, and his eyes look alive and bright. Sure, he might be a morning person, but I’ll bet he’s getting off on the drama. He seems like that kind of guy. He must notice me out of the corner of his eye, because he seems to tense up. “As a resident, how does this make you feel?” the anchorman asks. “It makes me worried. It makes me feel like I can’t rely on the town to be safe anymore.” He looks down at the ground, pausing dramatically. “I hope that the town can grow so that our police force can, too. We can’t let this kind of thing happen again.” I can’t believe he’s trying to himself off as a local, the fucking asshole. And I can’t believe he’s milking this situation to his advantage. His hotel would cause growth, alright. And we’d probably need more cops to make the tourists feel safe in a town that’s a shadow of what it was. I’m not saying that I think we shouldn’t have a bigger police and fire force — obviously, that would be a good thing whether we had a ton of crime or not. I’m just saying that I would rather have another reason for it to grow, besides all these arsons and Edgar’s attempts at turning the town into a corporate-owned nightmare. I need to look into how that could happen. I’d happily use some of my money to help the town, as long as no one knows it’s me who’s behind it. I grimace and motion for more people to get back, making my way over to Andrew again. Harrison has ed him. He doesn’t look like he’s energized by this situation in the slightest. His eyes have dark circles, and his shirt is stained. But the rage in his body is unmistakable, and it all seems to be aimed at Edgar. “I fucking hate that guy,” Harrison spits when I get close enough for him to talk to me. “The fuck is his problem? Why is he here?” “I’m not sure,” I reply, even though I’m now fully aware that Harrison could be a problem. I don’t want to have to break up a fight between Harrison and Edgar, so I keep my revelations to myself. I can easily see Harrison launching himself at him and not stopping until one of them has to be wheeled away. “You’re fine, right?” Andrew asks.

“Yeah.” He sniffs and runs his hands through his messy hair. “I just heard all the sirens by, then I saw the local news. I had to get down here.” I nod. “Well, hopefully everything will be okay.” “Hopefully.” More police cars pull up, and a few cops get out. They immediately start putting up barriers so people can’t cross into the crime scene. I guess my job here is done. “I should get home. I have some work to do.” “Alright. See you around.” Harrison nods at me. I hop back into my truck and drive back home in silence, feeling out of sorts. No one got hurt, sure, but I don’t think the fire bodes well for the town’s future. Maybe I could make an anonymous donation to the fire department. That wouldn’t solve everything, but maybe they’d have a little more money to work with. When I get home, I go into the kitchen to make more coffee. Simone must have been in, because there’s a fresh pot. I pour a cup, sip, and nearly spit it right back out into the cup. Holy shit, this is garbage. The woman can do a lot of things, but making good coffee is not one of those skills. I dump the coffee out and start a new pot. She didn’t put enough coffee grounds in the machine. Once I’ve made a able brew, I pour myself a mug and head out to my warehouse. Pounding some hot metal sounds like a good remedy to my worries. I take a peek at her through the window on my way back to my warehouse. She’s hard at work, as always, headphones on. This time, she’s working on a dress form, draping plain cotton over it. She’s wearing a T-shirt and leggings that meld to her form, sending my blood rushing down to my groin again. I can’t get distracted again, no matter how good the distraction is — I need to actually get some shit done. My workspace is kind of a mess right now, but it’s the place where I feel most at peace, my home aside. I never thought that I would be able to live a life like this, where I have control over my day and do something I’m good at. I can create without worrying about money. Ironically, that makes me work harder on each project.

I have to work on another decorative axe. I’m not sure why they’re trendy right now. Maybe it’s a Game of Thrones thing. I don’t mind either way, since they’re fun to make, and the design my client wants will be a good challenge. I slam the rest of my coffee and get into it, stepping into my hot workspace. I’m not blasting music today, since it gets a little too loud, but it doesn’t matter. I get into a flow, losing track of time as I do my work. My concentration breaks a few hours later when my stomach starts growling. I head back to the house. I go to my bedroom to change my T-shirt, and come out to find Simone standing over the sink. Her skin’s a healthy olive tone most of the time, but right now, she’s white as a sheet. “Hey,” I greet her, and she jumps. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” “S’fine,” she says, hardly loud enough for me to hear. Something is off with her, really off. I don’t think it’s me, or any residual feelings about our hook up. She looks close to ing out, like she’s received awful news. It’s enough for me to push past any lingering awkwardness from last night. “You okay?” I ask. I look at her hands. She’s gripping edge of the sink with both hands. There’s a plate sitting in the sink. “Mmhm.” She smiles, almost. Her mouth makes the movement, but I can see the stark anxiety in her eyes that she can’t hide. “You’re not. You look like all the blood in your body’s disappeared.” I step closer to her. “What’s wrong?” Finally, she looks alive again, her eyes narrowing with confusion. Still, she speaks up. “It’s just that fire. I heard about it on the local news.” She pushes off of the sink and opens the fridge. I try not to stare at her perfect ass when she bends over to get a yogurt. “I’m not big on fires.” “It’s fine. It wasn’t even close to us,” I shrug, even though I don’t know if it’s truly fine. But it is true that the scene is literally on the other side of town.

“I know. Still.” She rips open the yogurt with a little too much energy. “It’s unsettling.” “I know. I went down there this morning and it was a bit of a circus.” “I didn’t even hear you leave.” She licks the foil from her yogurt. Does she know how sexual that looks? My brain shifts from her fear to her body, and back to her fear in rapid succession. “I slept a little late.” “Andrew called me over for crowd control.” I look over her face again. Her color’s returning, but she’s clearly still not totally normal. “Are you the town’s bouncer?” she asks, a genuine smile coming back onto her face. She leans her hip on the counter. “More or less.” I slip past her to get to the fridge for the milk. I don’t feel like cooking, so I pull out my family sized box of Cocoa Puffs and dump a bunch into a massive bowl. I cover it all in milk. I can tell Simone’s probably judging me for eating the same shit I did in high school, but that just makes me smirk. With the lull in conversation, my mind drifts to last night and whether I should bring it up at all. Her mind drifts back to whatever she was worried about, because she stares back down at her yogurt with the same stricken look just barely visible on her face. Silence is clearly her kryptonite. “You want to grab a drink or something at the tavern tonight?” I ask. She blinks in confusion. “Just casual Nothing too crazy. Seems like you need it, if I’m being honest.” That makes her smile again. It’s so damn cute that I nearly lose my train of thought. “Sure. I could always use a drink,” she says. “You’ve figured out my constant need for distraction, haven’t you?” “Hey, you’re the one who just said it.” I shrug. “Meet me in here at eight?” “Sure thing.” She grabs a spoon from the drawer and finally digs into her yogurt

properly. “I have to get back to work, but I’ll be back here by then.” She gives me a look over her shoulder on her way out, and this time her expression is clear — lust, mixed with her lingering smile. She’s definitely still thinking about last night, and what these drinks will mean for us. I wish I knew.

Chapter Seven

Simone

I can’t believe I’m out here with Jay. It’s not a date, according to him, so I’ve kept it casual with high-waisted jeans and a deep green T-shirt. My hair’s up and off the back of my neck because of the humidity in the air. It’s only April, but the dampness of summer is already here, even in the evening. He’s driving us to the tavern I walked past in my first few days, the one that looked like fun. He’s a better driver than he was back then, thank God. He got his license before I did, but he barely ed because of his lead foot. It’s weird being in the car with him again. His parents bought him a car when he got his permit, and it became our make out spot. We didn’t go past second base in the year or so we dated (with one or two exceptions), even though I know he must have wanted to all the time, based on all of the boners I felt against my body. He definitely wanted to take things farther last night. I roll my eyes at myself. As if his foot massage turning into him eating me out better than anyone had in my life wasn’t taking it from zero to a hundred. I know that if I hadn’t gotten up and left after that, I would have gladly let him fuck me into oblivion. Once I got back into my own bed, I was able to sort out my tangled thoughts. The problem isn’t that I don’t like him like that. The problem is that I like him a little too much. Yesterday was great, my fucked-up ankle aside. I haven’t laughed like that in ages, or felt so attended to, like he really gave a shit about knowing me as a person. God, that’s depressing. Max, the one person who should have cared, never seemed like he truly gave a shit whenever I was sick.

But that’s it — we’ve had one day. I can’t leap into dating a guy after one great day, especially after all the shit I’m dealing with Max. I’m not ready to be a decent partner to anyone. And who’s to say that he wants to actually date? He’s a bit of a recluse, his friendships with Holly and Andrew aside. And I’m leaving in a few months anyway. I doubt he would want to go back and forth between here and the city, even to see me. And that leads to the second problem: Max. He’d lose his shit if he knew I was dating someone else. The realization hurts my heart. Will I feel like this forever? Like I’m being held down by an invisible weight everywhere I go? When Jay walked in on me standing over the sink earlier, I’d been moments from puking. I’ve never had an anxiety attack, but I think I was close to having one when I heard about the fire. In retrospect, this should have been a red flag, but Max told me he used to get in trouble as a kid for lighting stuff on fire. When I asked him what ‘as a kid’ meant, expecting him to say that he was maybe eight or nine, but he said he was eighteen. Yikes. My brain leapt from local fire to Max trying to kill me in an instant. Am I paranoid now? Yes. But when I left, he was well on his way to being full-on physically abusive. Who’s to say he wouldn’t kill me? I’ve seen enough shows about people getting murdered after not taking a partner’s threats seriously to know that I should be worried. He’s the type of person who likes to be flashy, and I have no doubt that he’d do some crazy shit like burn some houses down to intimidate me. Intimidate me into doing what, I don’t know. But if by some stretch of imagination he actually was involved, he did a good job of scaring the shit out of me. I stare at the road in front of us. I’m not helping myself by dwelling on this shit. I’m thankful Jay picked up on my need to put my mind somewhere else. In a few short minutes, we arrive at the tavern. Some people are standing outside, smoking, and rock music is streaming outside. I like the dive bar vibe. My friends back in the city like to go to fancy cocktail bars a lot of the time, when in reality, we could have just as much fun in a place with five-dollar beer and shot specials. When we step inside, the scent of beer and smoke washes over me. Everyone looks like they’re having an amazing time, empty drink glasses cluttering the

little tables. This town is not good for my health. Between our day filled with eating trash, and this booze, my nutrition has been a bit of a mess. I haven’t even worked out in days. Not that I often do without Gigi dragging me to whatever hellish boutique fitness place she’s fallen in love with, but still. Clearly my body’s still looking pretty good, if Jay’s ogling of my tits and ass is any indication. I can see him staring in the reflection of the mirrored jukebox in the corner he’s guided us to. “What do you want to drink?” he asks. “Uh, anything is fine.” “Is there anything you definitely don’t want?” A little smile appears on his lips. “No whiskey or rye. And no beer, or anything. And nothing too sweet.” I bite my bottom lip. “Okay, maybe just a rum and diet coke.” “You got it.” He walks over to the bar. He’s still wearing the same jeans that he usually wears, but his ass looks particularly good today. My face goes hot when he looks back at me and catches me staring, giving me a little smile. He comes back a few minutes later with our drinks — he got himself a beer and my rum and diet coke, as requested. I expect our conversation to flow like it did yesterday before our hook-up, but we’re both just sipping our drinks, unsure of where to start. At least yesterday we had the TV to talk about. That’s basically the extent of our non-sexual interactions. “So, what happened to you?” I blurt after taking a sip of my drink. They went hard on the rum and light on the coke, and the burn takes me by surprise. I’m way too used to watered down and overpriced drinks. He raises an eyebrow, amused. “What do you mean? Needs a time frame.” “Just… After you moved. Everything from then to now…” I shrug. Hearing what I’ve been curious about for years will be a good enough distraction.

He leans back in his seat, sighing. “Well, you didn’t keep in touch with me,” he points out. “You dumped me. I wasn’t going to text you all the time, especially since you were moving to super cool Manhattan from our little town in New Jersey,” I reply. I watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he downs half his beer in one go. “True.” He drums his fingers on the wooden table to the beat of the song. “I didn’t want to move. Which I think you knew. My parents were already fucking bonkers, and having money only made it worse. Our apartment was huge, and we had all this staff and shit.” He looks away from me, his focus clearly somewhere inside his head. It looks like he’s going to leave it at that or not elaborate, but he continues. “Even though I had everything anyone could ever want, I was a little punk asshole who hated his parents and being told what to do. On top of that, when my parents weren’t having fancy parties with guests they didn’t even like all that much, they were in constant screeching matches over money. We had so much of it, but they acted like we were living paycheck to paycheck. We were always well-off, but it’s like something just snapped. At least before the money really took off their relationship was cool at best.” He takes another long swig of beer and lets out another sigh that’s so heavy that I expect him to slide right to the floor. “Long story short, I go out partying at some club that my sixteen-year-old ass shouldn’t have been in and get in a fight with another kid whose parents were even richer than mine,” he continues. “That’s the only reason I had to go to juvenile hall. Two sets of rich parents trying to free their children from responsibility is like two bulls trying to fight for dominance. One had to go down, and that was me.” “Wow.” I sip my drink more slowly this time. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. I deserved it for being a little shit.” He smiles a little. “I got my GED while I was in there and graduated early, then I was out on my own. My parents were so ashamed that they disinherited me entirely.”

“Holy shit.” So the rumors were true. He gives me a look that’s like, ‘yeah, can you believe it?’ but leaves the subject alone. “Meanwhile, my parents were finally starting their drawn-out divorce, which was awkward as hell, considering that Mom didn’t want to move out of their apartment. In the few times they did call me, it was to try to get me to give them ammo for their divorce. So much fucking screaming. So much of my mom trying to plant fucking ideas in my head.” “That’s rough.” I his mom being the definition of over-the-top. She was beautiful, with the same steel grey eyes that Jay has, and loved being the center of attention. Even though they hadn’t yet been quite so super-duper-rich when Jay and I were dating, she was already well on her way down the plastic surgery rabbit hole. She basically morphed into a reality TV star with the attitude to match. “Yeah.” He looks down at the table, picking at his bottle’s label. “It put me off families entirely — having one, hanging out with cousins or whoever. Fuck it. No kid deserves that kind of home life. The smallest point I can give my parents is that they stuck together until I was out on my own. So, I guess they tried. It’s better that they had their meltdowns when I was more emotionally capable of handling it. I would have been even more fucked-up if I were a kid when all that went down.” I get where he’s coming from, even though I know marriages don’t all end up like that. But then again, it’s like when one person gets food poisoning from a restaurant while their friend doesn’t; just because one person didn’t have a bad experience there doesn’t change the fact that their friend did, and rightfully doesn’t want to go back. But Jay’s so alone up here, since I’m guessing his parents are still back in the city. Then again, the alternative would be a lot worse. He never liked being in noisy places or around a lot of people anyway. I can’t imagine him even having a roommate. “How are your parents? Do you see them at all?” I ask. “Not since I cremated them both,” he replies.

“Oh no, Jay. I’m so sorry.” I want to touch him, but I hold myself back. “They died in a car accident but didn’t suffer. It happened right before I moved up here.” He seems at peace with it, so I don’t want to press further. I know he didn’t like his parents at all, but he loved them. That must be a strange mix of emotions. “What’d you do before that?” I prod, since I’m not sure where to go from here. “Honestly, most of my early twenties were spent making poor financial decisions and hanging out with terrible people,” he continues. “It took me a long time to realize that I’m not that kind of guy. The city type, I mean. I mentioned that I went to prison again, right? That was when I knew.” I nod. His expression doesn’t betray much of what’s inside of his head, but I can tell that it’s hard for him to talk about. Despite his discomfort, he continues. “At least the second time I went, I got in trouble for defending someone.” “Another fight?” “Yeah. I got jumped by this guy when I was trying to get him to back off of a friend of mine.” He swallows. “I got a little carried away, so even though it was technically in self-defense, I still got screwed. It was the second full on fistfight I’d gotten into in my life. And I had a bunch of weed on me, so that didn’t help.” The idea of him beating some guy to a pulp is scary, but the fact that he did it for a friend (and in self-defense) somehow makes me less worried. “On the upside,” he comments, finally draining his beer. “I learned about craftsmanship in there, and here I am with my own business and my own land. And I got my anger more under control by learning to channel it into constructive things” “Wow.” I love the proud smile on his face, so different from the insecure teen who would never it that he was happy with anything he did. “That’s impressive, Jay.” “Thanks.” He fiddles with his bottle. “What’s been going on with you?”

I laugh. “Nothing exciting. I followed the typical roap. Graduated, went to college for fashion design, and after some internships, I ended up with Katya, my boss.” He nods, those grey eyes burning into me. I can tell he wants more, and I feel guilty for resisting. I have no reason to not trust him, at least as of yet. But everything feels a little too raw. My high school and early college days weren’t nearly as tough as his, but still. I can’t tell him about my wild insecurities about my looks and abilities. I definitely can’t tell him my string of failed relationships, each one less promising than the last. Every last one ended up with my hopes and deepest self feeling crushed like a little bug under a boot, even if the breakup was somewhat mutual. Like clockwork, I would open my heart and the guy would end up not liking what he saw. I was too introverted, or not warm enough, or too eager. Shouldn’t I have learned how to not drive men away by now? Max is the only outlier, and I’m sure he just wants to get back with me to mold me into the “perfect” woman. He’s damn good at exploiting what he knows about me to scare me, so I guess that’s yet another backfire in my attempts to open up. Beyond my inability to have a lasting healthy relationship, there isn’t much else to report on — no landmark achievements. No triumph over obstacles. I’m thirty years old and running from my problems. I may or may not be killing it in my career — it all hangs in the balance for now until I meet with Katya. I just don’t know anything. So much for the soul searching I’ve been meaning to do. I’m just as lost as I was before. “And what else brought you up here, besides the job? And the alpaca?” he asks. The questions sound loaded. “Nothing,” I shake my head, swirling my ice cubes around. “Want me to get the next round? What do you want? Another beer? Another type?” “Sure, I guess.” He slides his bottle over. “Just this again.” I hustle over to the bar and order for us, asking for the same thing again. I feel queasy with nerves, like I can’t back out of this conversation. I make a little small talk with the bartender to the time until I can’t anymore. “You’re avoiding my questions. Why?” he asks the second I return. He doesn’t

seem mad, but his voice has a command behind it. I put down our drinks and sit down across from him. “What’s with the grilling, Jay?” I shoot back. “I’m just… I don’t know.” “I’m just curious as to why you were so freaked out earlier. You’re normally pretty calm and collected. I thought starting with easy questions and graduating to the one I really wanted to ask could maybe work. I swear to you, I won’t judge you. I’ve been to prison, for fuck’s sake. I doubt anything you’ve done is worse than some of the shit I’ve seen with my own two eyes.” His presence, with us in the corner and his huge form as a barrier to the rest of the bar, makes me feel trapped. Did he do this on purpose? “Jay.” I can’t think of what else to say, even though I believe him when he says he won’t judge me. “Please.” “From a practical standpoint, is there anything I need to worry about? Like about my property or my physical being that’s at risk?” he asks. Damn it. “Um, maybe,” I it. “Shit, Moni.” He leans forward a little. “Are you in danger? Seriously, tell me. I’m the last person to judge you for any fuck ups you might have had or who you might be tangled up with.” I shake my head slowly in response to his question. He accepts that answer, even though I’m not sure if I’m correct. That alone terrifies me. I know he could help me, but that’s the scary thing. I don’t want to be this person who needs protection or be in this stupid situation that could last for ages, for all I know. I just want to do well at work, go back home to the city, and resume hanging out with my friends. I want to start my own line, and eventually have a family. Running away from a crazy ex-boyfriend is not a part of my five-year plan. “It’s just… A bad relationship. Had a bad breakup a little while ago,” I mumble, staring down at my drink. The world doesn’t end around me for telling him a partial truth, but my heart’s still racing. The look of sympathy in his eyes brings my heart rate down a little.

“I’m sorry. That sucks.” He lets his knee brush mine. “If it makes you feel any better, I went through one recently, too. Well, last year. And I’m pretty sure she’s on the other side of the bar with her friends, who aren’t fans of me.” “Seriously?” I resist the urge to looking around over his broad shoulders. “Yeah.” He smiles, and it warms me up inside. “And I can tell you’re dying to know who I’m talking about. She’s the blonde to your left, with the other blonde who’s a little shorter and the girl with the curly brown hair.” I pretend I’m stretching and look over his shoulder. The women are facing away from us, but I can see who he’s talking about. She’s very pretty, in a girl-nextdoor sort of way, at least from the side, and I can tell she’s tall even though she’s sitting. Thankfully, they don’t notice us. “You’re the least smooth person ever. Jesus…” Jay laughs. “What am I supposed to do? Just stand up and look?” I reply, catching his laughter. “I don’t know, but you’re the last person on my list for any sort of espionage mission.” “Hey!” I step on his foot, without malice. “You’re so small,” he mocks, smirking. “What was that little foot tap supposed to accomplish?” I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him, the enormous jerk. My play annoyance aside, I appreciate that he’s lightened the mood. I want to keep it going. I throw back more of my drink, starting to feel nice and warm. I look back to Jay. He’s looking at me with clear amusement, the corners of his mouth turned up just a tiny bit. “You used to look at me like that all the time,” I comment, feeling the nostalgia wash over me. “Like what?” “Like you’re…” I bite my bottom lip. The liquor is loosening my tongue just a

tiny bit, at least when it comes to happy things. “Like you’re amused at my happiness.” He shrugs. “I am. It’s nice to see you smile, even if you’re unhappy about something you won’t tell me about. And it’s nice reconnecting to someone who knew me before my stupid life blew up. You’re different, obviously, but just enough like you were back then for me to feel like I can talk to you about stuff.” And then, he smiles in this cute way he did all the time back then, where he looks down at his lap for a brief second before looking back up and over my shoulder out of embarrassment. He only used to do that around me, if he told me something sweet. Everyone else got the hardened goth facade. I freaking melt, like I’m my teenaged self again, wearing a My Chemical Romance T-shirt and jeans that I’ve jazzed up with patches and neon stitching, love-drunk and stupidly happy. Just like that, my soft spot for him is exposed and open for business. Goddamn it. Also, how dare such a huge hulk of a man ever be cute. Honestly, it’s absurd. “Come on now, Jay. You can’t go around being all…” I wave my hand in between us. “Shots on the house!” A woman yells before I can finish my sentence. She’s clearly wrecked, but she’s happy about it. Maybe she got a raise. Maybe she’s stolen someone’s credit card for revenge. I don’t particularly care, but I’m way too excited about getting more drunk and forgetting my problems. A round of cheering erupts, even though no one has gotten their shots yet. The woman slides by our table first, plopping down two shots of clear alcohol and giving Jay a flirtatious look. “Cheers,” she slurs, only to him. Like I don’t exist. I ire how bold she is, even if I’m slightly offended. Jay looks at me past the woman’s shot-filled hand. “Cheers.” Both Jay and the woman down the shot with ease, but I sputter on it elegantly. I still get it all down, though. The woman moves on, trying to flirt with the guys one table over. I go from buzzed to drunk in about thirty seconds. “Wow, I need some food.” I push back from the table, and hoo-boy. I need some

food to soak up this booze. I’m such a lightweight. “And I need to stop drinking here because they make their drinks strong as hell.” Jay laughs. “You want to head out already? We can pick up some pizza on the way home.” “Is it shitty pizza? Because I only want shitty pizza,” I beg, and he looks confused. “Like, Domino’s or something, none of that fancy stuff. Needs to be at least forty-five percent grease.” “You know we’re up in the damn mountains, right? We only have one pizza place, and I’m pretty sure the pizzas just come frozen. They’re pretty good though.” He stands. “I’m sure it’ll suck enough for you.” “Thanks.” “Why do you like pizza that sucks?” he asks as we walk outside. “It’s just a drunk food thing.” I shrug. “Do you not have a favorite drunk food?” “Steak, cooked by someone else.” “That’s such a man answer. Also, how often are you drunk with a steak ready to be cooked by someone else?” I ask, taking a huge step over a crack. One of his normal steps clears it perfectly. “Right now.” He grins at me. “Oh, come on.” “What? We never cooked that steak last night,” he protests. An awkward silence es between us, with the realization that Jay did get something to eat last night. My face goes burning hot, both at the memory and at my stupid joke inside my head. “I can’t cook you a steak while I’m drunk unless you want me to burn your beautiful home down.” I spot the pizza place. “Okay, fine. Maybe not tonight.” He holds the door open for me.

My stomach growls the moment the smell of grease and pizza hits me. We order a large pepperoni and a large cheese pizza and head back out to his car. With his size, his two beers and that one shot hardly make a dent. Me, on the hand? I’m feeling great. I’m just drunk enough to be in control of myself and yet still be the best dancer on earth. I crank up the music on his radio. It’s some electro-rap song I’ve heard at work parties over and over again. I kind of hate it when I’m sober, but right now, I love it. Jay’s clearly amused, but he doesn’t say anything. Once we get back to the house, everything is quiet. I put the pizzas on the counter and yank open the freezer. “Aha!” I spot his vodka. “More drinks?” “Mm, I think you need to eat a little more before you wreck yourself, Moni.” He takes the vodka and pulls it out of my reach. “If you just want someone as drunk as you around, I’ll gladly take a drink.” “Fine, fine.” I grab plates for us and put them on the kitchen island. “I’m not that drunk. I have my wits about me.” “You’re drunk enough to enjoy whatever electronic demon screaming you played in the car.” He goes to get a tumbler for his drink. “So I’d say I have a little catching up to do.” I roll my eyes and give myself two slices of pizza. “You want cheese or pepperoni?” He looks around inside the fridge. “You sure you’re not sober enough for this steak? You seem pretty good if you stop now, questionable music taste aside.” “Nope. I can hardly cook when I’m completely on my A-game and right now I’m on my B-game, maybe. You should have asked me to cook it last night when I felt all guilty about u your time,” I say without thinking. “Mmhm.” “Not that I’m not grateful or anything!” I continue. “For the, um, snacks and all that —”

“Listen,” Jay cuts me off, immediately capturing all of my attention. He pours some vodka into the tumbler and mixes it with a touch of ginger beer. “Are we going to talk about the fact that I ate you out yesterday or are we going to keep dancing around it like the subject is on fire? Are you just going to call it ‘snacks and all that’ forever?” I stand there, my mouth gaping like a fish, unsure of what to say. I watch him knock back his drink of choice — a half-assed Moscow mule — like it’s water, his eyes not leaving mine. There’s a challenge in them, and I don’t know if I can take it on, or if I even should. While my brain is thinking about it, I feel myself being pulled toward him. Or maybe he’s getting closer to me. I can’t tell. I can tell that the air around us is completely different now. “We can talk about it,” I finally respond. My mouth feels dry all of a sudden. “What’s up? What are you thinking?” “I’m thinking I’d like to do it again.” He puts down his glass. I’m acutely aware that my breathing has picked up, and that he’s so huge that he could break me. But I know he won’t. I feel right on the edge of danger and safety, and it’s disorienting. “How do you feel about that?” “Yes,” I murmur. He slides a little closer to me, resting his hand on mine on the counter. “I want to do more than that.” “I know.” I look up at him. He’s looking down at me with such intense desire that it pushes me over the edge. I loop my hand around the back of his neck and pull him down to kiss me. He feels just as good as I , his lips warm and perfectly soft. But unlike before, he picks me up right away like I’m made of air and plops me down on the counter, taking my mouth with ion. He engulfs me entirely, his big, long arm around my waist and threaded into my hair so I’m as close to him as possible. We’re chest to chest, and with my legs spread apart, my hot core is pressed against him. Our kisses grow feverish and sloppy, all ion and no sweetness. His hands practically go around my entire waist with ease, and the thought makes me feel so damn feminine that I can hardly stand it.

I feel strangely powerful in a way I’ve never felt before, and more alive. I need to touch him to take in his whole body and his T-shirt is in the way. “Off,” I demand, tugging on the hem of his T-shirt. He does as I say, pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth movement and tossing it to the side. I think it lands in the sink, but he doesn’t care. This is the first time I’m seeing his tattoos up close, and they’re beautiful. A huge blue whale is painted along his side, nestled between crashing waves. He’s got his eyes on my shirt now, too. “How can you make jeans and a T-shirt look so fucking sexy?” he whispers, running his hands between my waist and my hips. “If I wasn’t so excited to see you naked, I’d just pull your pants down and fuck you like that.” I moan, sliding my hands over his muscular chest. The idea of him bending me over and taking me, with my jeans around my knees so I can’t get away, makes me want to hop off the counter and yank my pants down myself. But he’s still hellbent on getting me naked, which isn’t a bad alternative. He breaks my stare as he pulls my T-shirt over my head, then unhooks my bra in two swift movements. Once my shirt and bra are off, he just gazes at me. Well, my breasts specifically, his hands still on my waist. He cups one and gives it a little squeeze, smiling. “Did you know your breasts were the first ones I’d ever touched or seen in real life?” he asks, still seemingly mesmerized. “Damn, I jacked off to that moment so much.” “Sometimes I’d…” I flush, feeling dampness pool between my thighs. It’s totally normal for guys to talk about masturbating, but for some reason, despite being half naked in front of him, I balk. “Tell me, Simone,” he says. How does he manage to speak in a way that makes me want to do anything he wants? The deep rumble of his voice when he says my name might as well be an electric shock to my system. “I kept a lot of our make out sessions in my lady spank bank for a long time, like in college,” I it, sucking in a breath as he pinches my nipple. I forget what else I wanted to say. I think I stopped thinking about them in college. Or maybe

a few years after that… “That’s so fucking hot.” He kisses me again, hard, one hand fondling my nipples to hardened peaks. “Wait, come on. I need more space.” He picks me up again and starts walking down the hall, his chin on my shoulder. He kicks open the door to his bedroom. It’s my first time seeing it, and it’s surprisingly more grown up than I thought it would be. His bed is minimalist, with a tidily made up dark gray bed spread. He has one side table that matches the bed frame, and an armchair with an ottoman. I can’t take in more details before he tosses me on the bed. Before I know it, his huge body is over mine, like a blanket. I throw my leg over his hip and grind up against him, making him suck in a breath. He returns the favor, our hips winding against each other. He moves his attention from my lips to the side of my neck, all the way down to my breasts. Jay’s mouth is just as skilled on my nipples as it was in between my legs, sucking and nipping until I’m wriggling underneath him, trying to get some kind of friction against the hard bulge pressing against my legs. It’s a waste of energy, because I’m not going anywhere under his weight. I’m entirely at his mercy, even though my arms and legs are able to move. Finally, he sits up to give me space to actually get my hands to where I want them, but he’s standing, finally pulling my jeans off. I look way up at him, biting my lower lip. “These fucking panties.” He tosses my jeans on his armchair. Or at least he tries to, but his aim is off from staring at me like he’s just found gold. “Goddamn.” I open my legs and run my hands up my inner thighs and over my hip bones. Surely, he can see where I’ve soaked through the fabric. I’ve never been so glad for my over-the-top lingerie collection before. The more he expresses his appreciation for my fashion choices, the more my credit card weeps from its place in my wallet — I want to buy so many different pieces that he’ll always be surprised at what I’ve got on when he takes off my clothes. He grabs me by both ankles with one of his huge hands and lifts my butt off the bed. He slaps my ass with a loud crack, making me squeal in surprise. It stings a little, but it’s a good sting that tingles all the way to my clit and back. He tosses

my legs to the side so I flip over onto my stomach, and it’s only the size of the bed that keeps me from rolling off the edge. For a guy so big, he can move fast. He s me on the bed again and pulls me over his lap. He’s hard as steel through his jeans. “Are you going to spank me some more?” I grin. I’ve never been spanked before now and the thought is pretty thrilling. “Maybe. I just want to look at your pretty little ass.” He gives one cheek a firm squeeze, followed by a rub. He drags my panties toward my crack. “You want me to?” “I think so. I’ve never really been properly spanked.” Or done anything remotely kinky. I’ve never really been interested until this moment. Maybe it’s the booze — just enough to make me carefree. He lets out a frustrated groan. “You’re going to fucking kill me by the end of this.” He pauses for a second, exposing my skin by gathering the fabric of my underwear in one fist, before his huge hand comes down on my butt. The pain startles me, and he doesn’t slow down — he gets each cheek four times before my brain is so overwhelmed with feeling that I can’t even manage to count in my head. “Is this okay?” he murmurs. I gather my breath and nod. “Mhm.” I clutch his comforter, whimpering and pushing my ass up. He rears his hand back up and brings it down again, just as fast as before. It hurts just enough for me to really feel alive, but not so much that I want him to stop. Every time his hand comes down, I feel myself growing wetter, my clit swelling. I start grinding against his cock, half to ease my complete desperation for him to get me off and half in revenge. He grunts and pins my hips down with one arm. His other hand finally goes between my thighs, wet with arousal, and I spread them eagerly for him. He plunges two fingers inside of my pussy and I nearly shriek. His fingers are huge and stretch me more than I was anticipating. But God, it feels so good.

“You’re fucking tight,” he gasps. His voice is raspy, like it’s hard for him to talk, and it makes me clench around his fingers. “I can’t imagine how tight you’ll be around my cock.” His fingers work in and out of my pussy, and he lets me move just enough to grind my clit against his hardness. I manage to say, “I think I’m gonna —” before I come on his hand so hard that tears come to my eyes. Jay doesn’t let up. He keeps fingering me, his thumb spreading a little wetness over my tight back hole. He doesn’t penetrate me, but the light pressure is enough to send me over again and make a new surge of arousal spill from me. Jay groans with pleasure and sucks in a breath. “I can’t take it anymore. I’m going to take you, Simone. Not just fuck you — take you.” He picks me up and puts me face down. “If it gets too much, just say so. I’ll slow down.” I nod, because if he doesn’t put his cock inside me, I’m sure I’ll die. He unbuckles his belt and in one motion, drops his jeans and his boxers. His cock is even bigger than I it being, so thick that his fingers pale in comparison. He straddles my thighs so I can’t get on my hands and knees, which I think is what I usually expect in this position. He leans over my head and grabs a pillow, then puts it under my hips. It lifts me up ever so slightly, cocking my pussy up ever so slightly. I wiggle my hips in anticipation, which makes him position my legs straight out, pressing as if to say, ‘stay still.’ I feel the head of his thick cock at my entrance, running up and down my slit once before he pushes in. Both of us moan, the room going quiet when he’s all the way in. He’s breathing like he’s trying to control himself. Then I understand what he meant by ‘taking’ me, because he pulls out and slams back into me so hard that I gasp. Seeing his cock didn’t do its size justice, because its girth is stretching me to my limit. At least in this position he can’t get too deep, or I’d feel like I’m being split in two. But God, now that I’ve had a cock this size, I’m not sure if I can ever put up with anything less. He bends over me on his forearms, his broad, warm chest to my back, and keeps nailing me hard and fast. His power scoots me up farther and farther on the bed until he grabs a fist full of my hair to hold me still. He turns my head, so it’s no longer buried in his other pillows, and my moaning fills the room. I never sound

like this during sex, or even make that much noise. But it’s like every thrust removes more and more of my restraint. He’s rutting into me like an animal and it opens up a whole side of me I’ve never seen before. “Fuck, your pussy’s even better than I imagined it would be,” he growls in my ear. He bites down on my shoulder just enough for it to hurt. “Do you know how many times I had to jack off after I made you come with my mouth?” If he wants an answer, he’s shit out of luck. I only gasp in response, when his cock hits me in just the right spot. I’ve never come from just penetration before, but I think I’m going to. His weight is putting just enough pressure on my clit without me having to grind against him. Every single nerve ending in my body is on fire, screaming for more and more of him. “I’m coming,” I manage to say in between gasps of air. “Do it,” he orders. I want to say more, but my dam bursts and I’m gone. My orgasm makes me wail, the sound of my voice echoing off the walls of the room. I’m shaking from head to toe, breathing so hard and fast that I’m getting lightheaded. “Yes, Simone, yes,” he grins, pleased. “You come beautifully.” He pulls out and gently turns me over, moving between my legs. He hitches my legs around his hips and pushes into me again, a little gentler this time. He’s put his hands on either side of my head so he can look down at me as he fucks me. His hair frames his face, which looks just as blissed out as I feel, even though he hasn’t come yet. “Harder,” I demand, even though I definitely need to slow down. I haven’t had sex in a while and here I am, asking him to basically break me in half. “Easy, now.” He smiles, and it makes my already rapidly beating heart flip-flop. “How about this instead?” He reaches in between us and gently presses his thumb to my clit, making a circle. I claw at his shoulders, arching into his touch. His eyes burn into mine as he keeps playing with my clit and fucking me. My eyes close and I feel myself tensing again for another climax.

“Come for me again. I want to see your face,” he whispers, pressing on my clit just a little bit harder. I can’t stop myself and I go over the edge again, my eyes squeezing shut even more and a moan spilling out of my mouth. I open my eyes again and holy shit, I’ve never seen him look so intense before. So intense, but clearly elated, like I’ve given him the best gift in the world. Then the tables turn, and I see him get closer to the edge. He’s gorgeous all over, but the way the muscles of his shoulders and neck tense, flushed red, and the tension in his face make my view of him even better. He comes with a guttural groan, thrusting a few more times before slowing. His chest is heaving, and a light sheen of sweat is on his skin. He pulls out, and I feel his seed drip out of me. It’s a weird sensation, since I’ve only had sex without a condom a handful of times, but this time, I like it. “Shit, let me get a cloth or something.” He hops off the bed, his legs wobbling a little as his feet hit the floor. He returns a few moments later with a damp washcloth and cleans me off. I’m thankful he does, because I’m literally a pile of goo right now. This must be what people are chasing when they do drugs. “Thanks,” I finally manage. “I should have asked before I came in you. I’m sorry,” he says. His weight makes the bed dip when he sits back down. “We can go to the drug store to get the morning after pill.” “Mm, don’t worry about it. I’m on birth control.” I close my eyes, feeling the post-fuck, post-drinking sleepiness catch up with me. Man, his bed is cozy. His sheets are smooth and soft, fancier than the ones in my little guest house. A flicker of anxiety pops up in my head. Am I okay? Why did I just let him fling me around and fuck me like I’m a doll? I’m usually not so submissive, and I’m not sure how to feel about myself. But I do know I’m feeling those tingly, butterfly-in-the-stomach vibes against despite every effort to not feel anything. Yet again, my hormones have driven me into a ditch and left me there. Just like a computer entering safe mode, I fall asleep before I can think too much about what we’ve just done. I don’t wake until morning.

Chapter Eight

Jay

I sleep like the dead, and so does Simone. She’s still ed out when I wake up big spooned up to her back on one side of my massive king-sized bed. I’m somehow hard as fuck, even though I thought I’d exhausted my ability to get a boner after last night’s intense orgasm. I sigh into her hair, but she doesn’t even move. My arm is acting as her pillow, and my other hand is cupping one of her breasts. Based on the light in the room, it’s probably around eight. She must feel me stirring because she stirs as well, sighing softly. I don’t want this moment to end, so I pull her a little closer. Her hair smells good. All of her smells good, really. All those bottles in my shower are worth it. I run my hand up and down her stomach a bit. She wakes up a little more, I think, and immediately starts pressing her bare ass back onto my cock. “Good morning,” she murmurs, her voice raw from sleep. “Good morning.” I gently kiss her shoulder. She takes my hand from its resting spot on her stomach and pushes it downward until it’s cupping her sex. My cock twitches. A nice morning fuck is just what I need. I slide a finger up her slit, which is already soaking, and rub myself against her in time with my rubbing on her clit. “How are you already so wet and ready for me?” I ask into her hair. “How are you already so hard and ready for me?” she shoots back, giggling. Her voice is already sexy when she’s wide awake, so this husky, sleepy, unguarded

version of her is like electricity through my body. “You want this cock?” I lift her thigh and pull it back so it’s resting on mine. She nods, pressing her face into the pillow. “In my pussy.” “I don’t think waking up to anal will ever be in the cards,” I say with a laugh. I take that moment to slide down low enough for my cock to touch her entrance, pausing. She lets out a tiny whimper, like she’s begging, and I give it to her. She gasps. She feels like heaven. Her tight slickness is real and not a dream. Since it’s early and I’m half awake (despite my very awake dick), I fuck her slowly, like we have all the time in the world. She’s not loud this morning, but her little mewls into the sheets are almost as sexy. I put one hand on her hip to steady her, and she takes over on her clit. She works herself fast, trying to rock back against my movements, but I hold her still. Despite having let loose last night, my self-control is still limited. I thrust faster, feeling her tighten around me in three quick squeezes before going over the edge. She’s too tight, wonderfully tight, and I follow suit with a moan. She sighs, sated, and so do I. She sits there for a few moments, my come leaking onto her inner thighs, before she hops up to go to the bathroom. I stare at her ass as it sways from side to side on her walk over, grinning. She has great hips, with those little indentations that are like nature’s hand holds, just wide enough to provide the perfect contrast to her little waist. Once she’s out of my sight, I flop backward in the bed, smiling. Simone’s set a new record for best sex I’ve ever had. It’s funny — I always imagined what sex with her would be like (since I was a horny teenager who thought about that shit all the time), but what happened last night blew past my wildest dreams. I hope she comes back to bed, so we can blow off our responsibilities and fuck all day long.

I slam my hammer down a little harder than necessary. It’s been a few weeks since Simone and I hooked up, and despite living within shouting distance of each other, we’ve hardly spoken three sentences to each other. It’s not my fault, though. Simone went from a sexy, warm, maybe fuck buddy or maybe even pregirlfriend, to practically a stranger. After she went to the bathroom the morning after, she disappeared into the kitchen and made some terrible coffee. She turned shy, as if we hadn’t broken through some kind of wall and told me she had work to do. She took some cold pizza and her coffee, then disappeared. That was the last time I spoke to her for a little while, and when I did, she acted like nothing had really happened. It’s pissing me off. Understatement — I’m pretty fucking furious. There’s no way she didn’t feel the intense chemistry during each of our hookups, or even our regular conversations. I get that she had a bad breakup, but it’s not like I’m a stranger. She doesn’t trust me as far as she can throw me for reasons I can’t figure out. I wish she would tell me more about this ex-boyfriend so I can understand her more, but that’s definitely a sore spot. Even with the drinks that I’d hoped would lower her guard a tiny bit so she’d let me in, I had to drag it out of her. Maybe she’s afraid of being judged. No matter how much I tell her that I won’t judge her, she won't believe me. But again, I don’t think I’ve given her a reason to not trust me. What could have made her heart like a fortress? I can see something in the cracks of her façade, but she’s not going to let me in. And yet, despite my irritation, I still find myself wanting to talk to her or do something for her about a hundred times a day. I have a fucking crush, don’t I? I’ve gone years and years with two friends and zero family without any problem. And suddenly, my first girlfriend strolls back into my life and I feel fucking lonely. Maybe I should get a dog. I kind of liked having Curtis around for a day, even though he’s pretty useless beyond being a cuddle buddy. It would be nice to have a dog that could protect my property and sleep on the couch with me.

I examine my work with a heavy sigh. It’s not bad, but it could be better with a few adjustments. The only upside to this situation is that I really want to have something to focus on, so I don’t think about her or about sex. The latter is harder to cope with, because Simone’s the best fuck I’ve ever had in my life, hands down. I have to take a long, deep breath to stop myself from getting a boner. I’d come inside her so hard that my ears rang for a solid fifteen minutes. I think the force of it took minutes off my life. I’m glad I turned her over and made her come one last time, because I’ve been using that mental image to get off since then. But still, it’s like going from Disney World to a shitty county fair. I don’t think I could jack it enough to make up for how nice and tight she felt. Maybe I could fuck someone else. Alice, my ex, comes to mind immediately, even though it’s a terrible idea to even think about texting her. Yeah, I dumped her, but I know she’d be open to a quick hookup. When we fucked one last time before we officially split up, she started crying, saying I’d ruined her for all other men. It’s awkward to even it, despite the ego-boosting knowledge that I blew her mind. If she’s as sex-starved as I am, she’d leap into bed with me if I asked. Even though I’m about to go insane from this dry spell, the thought makes me a little uneasy. Simone’s not my girlfriend, so I’m not sure why I feel weird. I wouldn’t be cheating on her if I ended up sleeping with Alice. But still. I can’t let go of that little nugget of something there. I pick up my hammer again and try to beat frustration out without destroying what I’m making. Why should I bother taking her feelings into if she won’t even speak to me? If she wants to pretend she’s a cyborg with no feelings, despite the overwhelming evidence that she’s not, that’s her problem. The irony burns. Alice had told me I was too walled off when we broke up, and now I’m bitching about how Simone won’t open up to me as much as I’ve opened up to her. Fucking karma. I get to a good stopping place on my project and pull out my phone. Before I can stop myself, I text Alice a simple hey. Seconds later, she responds with a hey. Plus her favorite salsa dancer lady emoji, so she’s probably not mad at me anymore.

Want to grab a drink or something tonight? I ask. This time, her response bubbles pop up and disappear a couple times. Sure, when? pops up on my screen. I tell her to meet me at the Tavern at seven thirty, and she agrees. I put my phone back in my pocket, feeling just as uneasy as I did before. The feeling doesn’t go away through the rest of the afternoon, or even as I get dressed for going out. I wear what I almost always wear, but spray on a tiny bit of cologne from a sample I had lying around. I can’t even bring myself to listen to music on the way over, because it all reminds me of Simone. What level of asshole would I be if I mentally prepared for a possible hookup with the memories of a woman I’m trying to forget?

I spot Alice outside, smoking, and when she sees me, she puts it out. I guess she started after we broke up, because I wouldn’t have dreamed of her smoking before. It’s a little worrying. The narcissist in me wonders if she started because she was torn up over me. I doubt it, though. Everyone knows smoking’s bad, but up here, it’s still pretty common. “Hey,” she says, smiling. She has a great smile, perfectly straight, even teeth. A great face and body in general. She’s tall, probably around six feet, and athletic in a sturdy way. She’s nice and curvy too, with a great set of legs. She grew up in Gray’s Point and lettered in just about every sport she played in. Now she’s the volleyball coach and English teacher at the high school she graduated from. I can’t tell if she’s dres or not. Alice has a vaguely tomboyish vibe — lots of jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers. Today she’s wearing a T-shirt and some denim shorts that show off her long, muscular legs. Her hair’s down and straightened, which she would do when we were going somewhere fancy. My gut clenches a little in anxiety. I hope she doesn’t think this is a date. But then again, I didn’t just text her a hey, you up? at three in the morning. Maybe I should have just booty-called her so there wouldn’t be any confusion. But I’m not even sure if that’s what I want. I just texted her because… I’m a dick who needs distractions. Whatever, it’s too late now. “Hey.” I give her a polite hug, then hold the door for her. The sight of her walking into the tavern is like deja vu. We met here, over a year ago. We were both tipsy, she started flirting with me, and I went home with her. From there, we stumbled into a relationship. It’s weird to think about, in retrospect. I hadn’t had a serious girlfriend for a long time before I met her, and somehow, she pulled me in. She’s very friendly in a gentle way, like Andrew and Holly. Maybe that’s what I needed a year ago. I always knew we were a bit of a mismatched pair from the outside — she’s a teacher and I’m a former criminal — so I assumed that our attraction to each other was to balance our personalities out. Am I that different today than I am now? “What do you want to drink?” I ask. “Your usual?” “Yes, please.”

She likes daiquiris, so I get her one and get a beer for myself, then head over to the table she chose. It’s the exact same one where I sat with Simone the night we fucked. Why, universe? I pick a seat that’s not the same one that I sat in before. “It’s so nice to see you,” Alice says, eyeing me over the rim of her drink. She’s wearing makeup today, lots of eyeshadow and mascara. It’s not subtle, but it looks nice. That’s another thing that’s new — she would wear makeup, but not a ton. That’s why I was so shocked by Simone’s small suitcase filled with stuff. Alice had maybe a quarter, not even, of what Simone has. I’m not sure who’s closer to the norm. “Yeah, same.” I sip my beer. “What made you reach out to me? We haven’t spoken in a long time.” She finally takes a drink. Oh, y’know, just trying to get over someone else. “Just missed you. Talking to you, I mean. I think I saw you a couple weeks back.” “Really? Where?” She blinks, which she always does when she’s pretending she doesn’t know something. She must have seen me and Simone. She’s terrible at lying, which is somewhat comforting, because she can’t hide shit from me. At least that hasn’t changed. “In here,” I say. “Oh, yeah. I came here with my sister and my friend for a few drinks.” She shrugs. “I got an award at work.” “Congrats.” “Thanks.” She plays with her hair. Is it just me, or does she look extra blonde? She’s one of the handful of blondes I’ve ever been with. I’m not sure why it’s standing out to me a lot today, but it is. “What’s up with you? How’s business?” “It’s good. I’ve been working on a lot of more artsy projects,” I reply. “Like some fences, some decorative swords.”

“That’s cool.” She nods. “ that time you made that decorative axe and your client accidentally threw it through the wall of your warehouse when he was testing it out?” “Yep.” That guy’s an idiot. “That was pretty crazy.” “Yeah.” She’s still giving me that look, that one of hopeful nostalgia. It feels like she’s looking at the past me, the strong and silent type who was just dangerous enough. The guy who would listen to her, not the guy who dumped her out of boredom. “Oh, that reminds me! that guy who started teaching social studies? The weird one?” “Yeah.” “He got fired.” Her eyes twinkle. She loves gossip, but thankfully isn’t the type to bring drama everywhere. “Wow.” “Yeah. He got caught with a student.” “Jeez. That’s terrible.” “I know, right?” She sighs heavily, then launches into another story about the guy. I resist the urge to look around. Why did I do this? But also, why do I feel so terrible? It’s not like she’s yelling at me or anything. But I’m also not doing much, just nodding my head along with her story. I might as well be a wall, for fuck’s sake. A sinking feeling in my gut tells me that this was how our whole relationship was. I’d say a few things, then she would launch into some stories. I’d listen, and chime in with, “Damn, that sucks,” or “I’m sorry, babe” at the right times. I was friendly throughout our relationship, but that’s not something that makes an actual connection. How am I just realizing that I was the boring one? The boring one who’s also an asshole? Trying to engage in a conversation where both of us are talking about things beyond friendly chit-chat shouldn’t be this hard. It isn’t that hard to talk to

people. At least, not with Andrew or Holly. Or Simone. Having been with Simone somewhat recently, the contrast between how I feel with her and Alice is stark. I feel more comfortable around Alice than most people, but I don’t feel that same ability to let myself just be, no pretenses or expectations. There isn’t that chemistry, both physical and non-physical. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but I can sense it’s not here. I shouldn’t have texted Alice. It isn’t fair to her to string her along. A rare wash of self-loathing comes over me. There’s a lot of shit I’ve fucked-up in life, but I never realized that I was a cardboard cut-out of a boyfriend. She could have literally gotten a cardboard cut-out, cut a hole in the dick area, and put a dildo through it, and gotten a similar experience. “Are you okay?” she asks, cocking her head to the side. “Yeah.” I look back at her and smile a little. I don’t feel it reach my eyes. “You just look a little sad.” She looks genuinely upset on my behalf. Damn it, she’s a nice person. She deserved a lot better than what I gave her. “Listen, Alice.” I run my hand over my face. “Can I be straight with you?” “Of course.” “I’m sorry. I wasn’t a good boyfriend,” I start. “I should have tried harder to actually talk to you.” Her eyes soften a little bit. “We talked all the time.” “Not in the way you deserve.” I know I have to cut whatever hope she has at the knee, because I know this sounds way different to her than it does to me. “I think — I mean, I have moved on. I just wanted to apologize, I guess. For just being a little closed off. You’re a great person.” “Oh.” She deflates a little. “So why did you ask me to come here? Just to apologize? We didn’t really leave on a bad note or anything…”

“I’m not totally sure, if I’m being honest.” I’m digging myself deeper and deeper into the hole. “Is it that girl you were with?” she asks. “The one you were here with? The pretty one? I’m sorry I lied, but I did see you guys.” “I know. And I think it might be.” I swallow. “I’m sorry.” She doesn’t say anything for a bit. She just looks at her hands around her drink, which is sweating condensation onto the table. “That’s… Uh, nice of you, I guess? In a fucked-up way. I thought you were asking me here to get back with me.” “I know.” “So is this a weird booty call? Or is this literally it?” An edge of irritation lines her words. “I just wanted to talk to you.” I shrug, feeling like an idiot. “This was a bad idea.” “It’s not an awful idea. I’m just really confused.” The irritation’s gone, replaced with the look she probably gives her fuck-up students. I recognize it from my own youth. “Are you okay? You were more open about your feelings in the past five minutes than you were in our whole relationship.” I snort. “I’m not sure if I’m okay.” She sits back in her seat, resigned. “Well, if you’re friend-zoning me, can I give you some advice?” “I guess.” “That girl, the one you were with. She must be special if she made you realize all of this stuff about what we were.” Alice drains half her drink. “So just go into your relationship with that in mind. Just be open. I’m sure she’ll be accepting.” “I hope so.” I jiggle my leg under the table, unable to handle my nervous energy anymore. “This is really weird to say, but thanks for being a friend.”

“You’re welcome. And thanks for being honest, even though it kind of sucks.” Alice gives me a gentle smile, and relief washes over me. She’s a damn good person for not flipping over the table onto my lap or slapping me for leading her on. “Oh, someone’s trying to get your attention.” “Hm?” I follow her eyes. Harrison’s sitting at a table with a few equally scruffy young guys. If I have to guess, they work on farms around here. Harrison looks angry, as usual, but tired. I wave at him, and he comes over. “Hey,” he calls over, trying to smile a little. It’s weird on his face, like he’s not used to doing it. “Mind if I sit? I don’t want to interrupt your date for too long, but it’s important.” “It’s not a date, so you’re fine,” Alice says, matter of fact. “Let me get us another round.” She gets up and goes to the bar, leaving the uncomfortable air Harrison carries around me. “What’s up?” I ask. I wish I had my new beer now. I have no idea what to do with my hands. “That couple, the elderly ones? They sold some of their land to Edgar.” Harrison sounds defeated. “Shit, that’s a bummer,” I reply. “It’s more than a bummer.” He looks up at me, his eyes blazing. “He ripped them the fuck off, the piece of shit. He bought it for under market value in exchange for giving them a timeshare when the resort is ready.” “Oof.” I sigh. “For free?” “Not even. Just at a discount for the rest of their lives.” Harrison’s fist clenches on the table. “And their property includes all that forest. Edgar’s going to take down a solid chunk of those trees, and all those animals will be pushed into town.” “I nearly hit a deer a couple weeks back. It’ll only get worse the more land is taken over.” I run my hands through my hair. That incident scared the shit out of

me, and I only survived unscathed because I’m a decent driver. A lot of the people in the town aren’t. “Edgar’s a piece of shit,” Harrison spits. “He’s hardly worth existence.” “Whoa now,” I say, because that fucking escalated. “He’s just slimy. Maybe we can figure something out with the couple to help them out. I don’t know with what, but it’s worth a shot.” Harrison nods slowly, realizing he took it way crazy. “We need to stop their sale from making everyone else sell.” “Right.” I nod along with him. “We can talk to them.” “Talk. Yes.” His fists on the table slowly relax. I suddenly feel wildly uncomfortable. I don’t want to be there. I’m just as committed to the town not being sold off to someone who’ll exploit everyone in the county and destroy the landscape. But I don’t want Edgar to get hurt. Harrison doesn’t seem to feel the same way. I look him over, noticing his threadbare shirt and old watch. I get being principled, but it seems like he needs the money. What else is keeping him in this battle?

Chapter Nine

Simone

I can’t believe I’m excited to be back in Grand Central Station. Sure, it’s beautiful and all, but the chaos inside plus midtown Manhattan outside makes it stressful. I’m just glad to be back in the city, surrounded by bustling activity. So different from Gray’s Point. I feel anonymous again in the crowd of tourists and commuters. It feels like a reverse break. I need something to shake me up. I didn’t drive all the way down, since the very thought exhausts me, so I drove to the nearest train station and took it down. I adjust my weekend bag on my shoulder and glance over my shoulder at my rolling bag to make sure it’s still in one piece. I’m only going to be here for two nights, but everything is heavy. I’ve got my party clothes and makeup for Gigi’s birthday tonight, and some samples of the collection I’ve been working on for Katya. I’m meeting with her on Monday to give her an update on the collection before I head back up to Gray’s Point. I grab a cab outside and give him the address for my Airbnb, which hopefully hasn’t collapsed or exploded. It’s in Brooklyn, not too far from Katya’s offices in Manhattan or the bar where Gigi’s having her party. And Max hardly ever goes into Brooklyn on a regular basis, which is another reason why I chose this place. Or at least I hope he hasn’t suddenly decided to go there often. The ride from Grand Central to my apartment for the weekend is long with the evening traffic, long enough for me to feel uncomfortable with my own thoughts. I scroll through Instagram instead, checking out what my friends are up to. I’ve missed everyone. It looks like things are pretty normal — parties, vacations, pets, some babies. Gigi’s already posted about her boyfriend, Jack,

bringing her breakfast in bed. They’re adorable and perfect together, so perfect that they haven’t murdered each other despite living in a tiny studio apartment for years. I can’t imagine having next to no privacy, even if I was in love with someone. The cab driver pulls up and stops in front of a lovely apartment building in Brooklyn Heights. I have a whole apartment to myself for the next few days. Thankfully it looks like the pictures. It’s a one bedroom, with a nice bathroom and a view of a tiny backyard. I hang up my clothing samples and leave my weekend bag open in the corner of the bedroom. Gigi is coming in while to pregame and get dressed up, so I don’t get too cozy. I text her that I’m in, and she says she’ll be right over. I open up the kitchen cabinets to see what I can use to mix drinks and find a cocktail shaker. There are some lemons and limes set out on the counter too. Perfect. I pull up Spotify so Gigi can find something that fits the party vibe she’s going for. Our music tastes are very different for the most part, but I have to it that her party playlists are always the best. I turn on some Fleetwood Mac in the meantime. A buzz rings through the apartment twenty minutes later and I press the intercom. It’s Gigi. A few moments later, she’s at the door, a big-ass bag on her shoulder. “Simone! I’ve missed you so much. It’s so good to see your actual face in person!” She flings herself at me, all long and slender limbs. She gives good hugs and I feel better right away. The familiarity of her perfume makes me warm inside, too. “Happy birthday!” I step back to let her in. “I missed you, too.” “Are you pumped to party?” She puts her bag down on the coffee table in the middle of the room and opens it. “I’ve got all of my makeup stuff, plus some gin and tonic water if you want something to get us going.” “Perfect. I’ve brought some outfits. I’m not sure what to wear.” I go into the bedroom and lay out three options I brought. I’ve spent most of my days in leggings and sweaters, or stretchy jeans and T-shirts for the past two months. My going out outfits, all body-hugging dresses and blouses with deep, deep necklines, look foreign to me now. Will they even fit? I’m a little softer, but

hopefully not by much. “Let’s start with makeup, since I want to have you in one place to interrogate you. Tell me all of the things you haven’t told me already.” She grins, making her dimples pop. “You know I’ve told you basically everything, especially about work.” I tug a bar stool over to the big floor to ceiling window. Gigi’s been looking at some of my pieces as I’ve worked on them, giving solid from a consumer standpoint. “Does the window have nice enough light?” “Mm, I think so, yeah.” She puts her makeup kit down on the coffee table. It’s huge, and I know it’s not everything she has. Between her job at a makeup company and her hobby of trying every new product out there, she has enough stuff to give a whole fleet of models a makeover. “Let me get the vibes and drinks going before I start touching your skin.” I sit down and watch her flutter around the room like a modern fairy with her halo of big curly hair, like I have time and time again over my life. After high school, we went to the same college and were roommates from sophomore year and on. She puts on some music that I haven’t heard before and mixes us some gin and tonics. She hands me one and clinks her glass against mine. Once we’ve both had a few sips, she starts in on my face. “You look so damn rested.” She takes my chin in her hand and tilts my head from side to side. “Do I need to get up into the mountains to rejuvenate?” I snort. “I mean, maybe. It’s really nice and calm up there. The air is clean, which is probably half of it.” “I need some calm.” She sighs and grabs a cotton round. “I swear, I’d rather wrestle a greased-up pig for a whole day than find a new apartment.” “No luck?” “Nope. We want to find a place that’s in between our two offices that also has two bedrooms.” She squirts some liquid onto the round a little aggressively. “This studio apartment shit has outworn its welcome.” “I knew you two weren’t that chill.” I snicker. “You guys have been living

together in that tiny space for way too long.” “God, I know. At least we have more money now, so the search is a little broader.” She swipes the cotton round over my face and looks surprised when it comes back clean. “No makeup?” “Too lazy.” I shrug, sipping my drink. I need to take it slow. Then again, there’s no one here for me to throw myself at vagina-first, so maybe I’ll be fine. “I ran out of tinted moisturizer up there and haven’t bothered to order any more.” “Mm.” She rummages through her case and pulls out something. “I think this might work for you. I haven’t tried the brand yet, but my coworker said it was good. It’s a little too dark for me anyway.” I take the bottle and examine it. It looks like it could work for my skin, but I already have a regular moisturizer. I spend so much time inside now that I’m not sure if I’ll use it. At least it’s free. “How’s it going with Jay?” she asks. I wonder if my face is going red or not. I can hardly think of Jay without a total maelstrom of feelings overwhelming me. Mostly, it is guilt, mixed with feeling like an emotionally stunted moron. I shouldn’t have just left him with that bullshit excuse about having to work the morning after, especially since it was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life. I know that if I’d stayed there, we’d have spent the whole day fucking and eating cold pizza. That sounds amazing, right? Except that would only make me fall for him harder. I take a moment to pound half of my drink. I know I’m just scared of all of this, but I don’t know why it’s making me act like a total ass. He told me to my face that he won’t judge me. Why can’t I just unclench? I’m not going to die if I do. I mean, probably. The last time I opened up was to Max, and he just nodded and said he was sorry. Then he went bonkers, and now I’m on edge whenever I step outside, so look how that turned out. Now it’s been too long for me to just casually roll up to Jay’s house and say something like, “Sorry I can’t just relax and fuck all day! Hope you don’t hate my guts!” “They’re going,” I say. It’s not a lie. Time’s moving forward. “You sure about that?” Gigi asks, her voice low under the sound of someone

leaning hard on their horn outside. She puts drops of something on my skin, then starts pressing it in with a little damp sponge. “I’m sure. I’m just not really talking to him.” I wish we had snacks so I could shove them into my mouth right about now. “Simone.” Gigi’s brown eyes narrow. “Come on, now.” “I know…” I groan. “Talk to him!” She pulls the makeup sponge away from my face. “You can’t ghost a guy when you share a bathroom with him.” “I didn’t ghost him! I just told him I had work to do —” I hold up my hand to stop Gigi from interjecting. “And that’s entirely true. I’m meeting with Katya soon. I’ve been locked away in my little cabin for days.” “You’re full of shit.” She rummages around her bag and comes out with two tubes of cream blush. “You have to tell him how you feel.” “I don’t know how I feel. I like him a lot, and the sex was fantastic, but I know that I’m a mess after breaking up with Max.” I eye the two shades she’s put on the back of her hand. Together they make a perfect shade of pink. “Hun, just tell him exactly what you just said to me,” she says, dotting the blush along my cheek. “I know I haven’t spoken to him since he moved, but it seems like he’s a good guy. He was a good boyfriend back in the day too, even if he was an anti-social dick to basically everyone outside of our circle. He was nuts about you.” “He has a criminal record,” I point out. “My parents hated him back in the day when he didn’t.” “Excuses. You don’t have to marry the guy to tell him how you feel. And from my extensive creeping on the internet, his last offense was almost ten years ago. I had to dig deep to find that, since he’s not on social media at all, so it wasn’t a newsworthy situation.” She steps back and studies my face. “Not that it’s a good thing. Also, your parents would hate anyone who wasn’t clean cut as hell.” “Okay, true. But I can’t, G.” I know I’m whining, but I can’t stop myself. “I’m

still not sure if I’m in the clear from Max’s craziness. I can’t dump that baggage on Jay.” “Fine. But I think you should at least tell him that it’s because of your baggage.” “I can do that,” I say with a sigh. “Good,” she says with a sigh that echoes my own. She knows me well enough to understand I’m done with the conversation. “Anyway, how’s everything else? How’s that girl you’re tutoring?” I finally let go of the tension talking about Jay brought into my shoulders. “Maya’s great. I’m teaching her about French seams and she’s tackling them well. We’re even doing a faux Project Runway thing where I give her challenges and she makes something.” “That’s sweet.” Gigi smiles and whips out some brow gel. “Yeah, we’re having fun. She makes me feel old as hell sometimes. I had to explain that Victoria Beckham was Posh Spice. She hardly knew who the Spice Girls were.” “You’re kidding.” She steps back, looking as horrified as I was when she told me. “I truly can’t believe that.” “I’m not joking. I nearly keeled over.” “She’s like the kid sister you’ve always wanted,” Gigi chuckles. “Yeah. I mean, maybe not sister level yet, but I’m glad we met.” I feel warm inside again. Maya’s so pure, for lack of a better term. The world hasn’t kicked her ass yet, and she’s excited about most things. She’s nervous about her future — she graduated early, but wasn’t sure about college — but who isn’t at that age? “Perfect.” Gigi steps back to ire her handiwork, and I look at myself in the mirror. “You look hot, Simone.” I do look pretty good, not to toot my own horn or anything. But I look foreign to myself. Gigi’s great at makeup that doesn’t overwhelm a person’s features, so

it’s not that. She kept it natural — no intense contour or anything like that — with a bright red-orange lip and a slightly winged eyeliner. Nothing crazy. I guess I’m just not used to seeing myself all cleaned up anymore. I pick an outfit and get dressed while Gigi puts the finishing touches on her own makeup. It’s one of the super low-cut blouses in a deep green that looks nice against my skin, plus tight, faux-leather leggings that are hopefully just breathable enough for me to not sweat to death. I slip on my simple black heels that I wear with basically everything. As the final touch, Gigi slicks my hair back into a high ponytail. I call us a cab and we head off to the bar. I’m feeling nice and buzzed already, so the ride over is fun. At least for me and Gigi. The bar where we’re dropped off is way too cool, and we haven’t even gotten inside yet. Since it’s relatively early still, there’s no bouncer outside, but we can hear some music trickling out from its tucked-away door, illuminated by a single neon arrow. I don’t even the name of this place. I feel like that arrow is pointing at me, saying I don’t belong here, even though I guess I’m the primary demographic the owners were probably going for. It doesn’t look like a place for people in their early twenties — the drink prices are way too high, and the music isn’t deafeningly loud. The other bars in the area don’t look like the kinds of places that put up with drunken shenanigans. Gigi’s boyfriend Jack is waiting in the back, holding a table for us. He smiles at both of us, but mostly Gigi. Once we’re close, he gives her a kiss on the cheek and whispers something in her ear that makes her grin and wave him away. After he’s greeted Gigi, Jack gives me a hug. “Long time, no see,” he says, stepping back. “You look rested.” “That’s what Gigi said. Is that code for something else?” I laugh. “No, I swear.” He looks at Gigi. “We just mind-meld sometimes.” They grin at each other like maniacs. They’re so cute together that it’s almost a little weird, especially in moments like this. “Are we the first ones here?” I ask. “Mmhm.” Jack nods. “So you just got in?”

“Yep, a couple hours ago.” I find myself feeling the music, gently swaying. My feet ache a tiny bit, but it’s not too bad yet. “How’s life upstate?” he asks. I’m not sure how much Gigi tells him about what I tell her (which is fine with me — Jack is good at keeping secrets, or at least, good at pretending that he doesn’t know anything). “It’s fine,” I say, hoping he wants to leave it at that. “How are things here?” “Pretty good. Business as usual.” Jack shrugs in his laid-back way. Gigi catches a waiter’s eye, and he stops by to take our drink orders since we’ve reserved an area. Nice — we don’t have to fight our way to the bar for refills. I glance at the menu he’s put in front of me. The drinks have unusual names like, “Scout’s Honor” with a bunch of different ingredients in them, half of which I have to look up. They’re a whopping twenty dollars each. Not that I can’t afford that for a night, but seriously? Another thing about living in Gray’s Point — I’ve started to that things don’t always have to be so pricey. I get that people have to turn a profit but come on. I pick something with rum and pineapple, and the waiter leaves. More of our friends arrive just as he leaves. I hug everyone and give everyone the same line — things upstate are good, I’m good, everything’s fine. Everyone gives me a rundown of what they’re up to, and everything sounds completely new and unusual to me. Olga, an artist, is collecting shoelaces from old men (specifically men who are sixty-seven and up) for a new piece. Miguel, a photographer who Jack works with, is shooting a campaign for a celebrity brand that makes ugly sneakers that I loathe, which sell for twelve hundred dollars a pair. Fatima and her husband are launching a capsule collection of vegan clothing for children. These are all things I wouldn’t have batted an eye at before. God, maybe I need to come back here more often. I’ve been shut in my little work cabin, listening to music and sewing ninety percent of the time, only coming out to use the bathroom or kitchen. I’m extremely content there, sure — when have I ever had this much time to myself to decompress and create? — but my social muscles have definitely atrophied some.

I shift my weight between my two feet, which have rapidly started aching in the heels. Miguel offers me his seat, which I take, which only makes things worse in a different way. It’s hardly past midnight and I’m genuinely sleepy. I when we used to get to the bar at midnight, barely getting started. Maybe I should have picked a cocktail with caffeine in it. I’m feeling drunk, but that’s only making me feel worse. “You okay?” Gigi asks me, bumping her shoulder with mine. “This is going to sound lame, but I’m super sleepy,” I say with a laugh. “Maybe because you’re actually being healthy and getting eight hours a night,” she replies. “Do you want to go home? We can get brunch tomorrow or something so we can hang more.” “That would be perfect. I think I should head back.” I slide off the stool. “Okay, text me when you get home.” Gigi gives me another bone crushing hug. “See you tomorrow.” “See you.” I say goodbye to everyone, promising to grab drinks when I’m back for good, and call a cab from my phone. I’m glad I did it before I closed out my tab — the guy’s going to be here in almost ten minutes. By the time I make it out front, he’s still ten minutes away. The night is cool, but not quite cool enough for me to be happy with my faux-leather leggings choice. What was I thinking? Faux leather leggings can be comfortably worn in a three-day span of time each year — cool enough to not be hot outside, but warm enough for the heat inside to not toast your legs. I sit on the edge of a concrete planter near the bouncer and sigh. I feel like a loser, even though I know I shouldn’t. We’re in our thirties — it’s not weird to not party as hard. But, at the same time, I’m thrilled to go to bed. I the time on my phone, playing some silly game, when I sense a presence in front of me. I look up and literally jump when I realize it’s Max. He’s invading my bubble, and I can’t get far enough away from my spot on the planter.

I hate that I’m still attracted to him physically. The contrast between his inkblack hair and pale blue eyes is striking. He must have figured out this is where her party was going to be since we have so many mutual friends. I can’t extract him from my life. He’s like a random cord stuck in a jumble of them that doesn’t even charge anything. “You’re here,” he says. He’s not smiling, but he doesn’t look angry either. Regardless, the way he’s puncturing my personal bubble is intimidating. “I am,” I say, keeping my voice steady. He’s much taller than me, lean like a panther. “Where have you been?” he asks. “Why does that matter? We aren’t together anymore.” I swallow and try to keep eye with him so I don’t look weak. “C’mon, love.” He puts one hand on the planter, boxing me in, and I finally flinch. “Exes can be friends.” “Not when one person grabbed the other so hard that it left bruises. And pushed them against a wall.” Even though the bruises have long faded, the proximity of his hand to my wrist is making it throb with phantom pain. “If you had just calmed down, I wouldn’t have had to do that to you. You made me do it even though I didn’t want to,” he says, as if that’s a valid excuse for hurting someone. It sends my heart racing. If he can justify something like that, who knows what he’d do… “Please leave, Max,” I say. “Can’t we just talk?” He tries to box me in on the other side, but I manage to stand up, stumbling from a combination of my drunkenness and these heels that I used to be able to walk in. “You okay?” The bouncer calls from a few feet away, taking some steps down the stairs. That alone makes Max take a step back. “Basically!” I call back. I see the bouncer settle a few feet away out of the corner

of my eye. My phone buzzes with an alert, and a car flashes its lights across the street. It’s my cab driver, right on time. I step on Max’s foot with my heel unintentionally, but it makes him stumble back. I dart out toward the car, narrowly missing traffic, and hop in without even double checking if this is the right guy. I lock my door right away, and the driver pulls off. My stomach is churning, but I don’t want to throw up in the car. Instead I rest my elbows on my thighs and my forehead on my hands, breathing in slowly. I shouldn’t have told so many of my friends where I’m living, which is a completely fucked-up thing to even have to do. There are so many of them that I can’t control who says what. It’s been months, and yet Max still finds it necessary to show up where I’m going? He hasn’t directly threatened me, besides the wrist situation, so I don’t even think I can call the cops. I want to go to bed. I want to forget that Max even exists. Any blip of happiness that I had gathered since I came back is gone in an instant.

When I finally fall asleep, I sleep listlessly. The whole Max thing aside, it’s so loud, even though the area is relatively quiet. It’s just the little things, like the creaking of the floor upstairs, sirens in the distance, the occasional drunk person talking loudly on the phone as they walk past. I didn’t think to bring ear plugs, and now I’m regretting it. I wake up the next day with a very mild headache and a dry mouth, stumbling through the day. I nap, eat greasy hangover food with Gigi, and nap some more. Eventually I’m feeling somewhat human again, so I hop up and dig through my bag for my sketchbook. I don’t want to work on Katya’s stuff since I know I’ll get myself too revved up. I’ve held off on working on my own stuff since this meeting with Katya is coming up, so it’s been a while since I’ve looked at everything. I sit on the fluffy rug and open it up to my newest work. I love sketching, but it’s always a little hard for me to imagine what something will look like when I’ve actually made it. The pieces for my own collection are very different than Katya’s. Katya’s ideal customer is super wealthy with modern taste and an eye for quality. I want my line to be more for the everyday woman who wants to invest in a nice piece they can keep forever. Everything is classic, but not outdated. Or at least I think so. I glance at the clock. Even though I’ve been asleep half the day, I’m somehow still tired. Maybe it’s hunger and nerves. I order some food and eat it on the fancy leather couch while watching Netflix. Something’s off with me. I ate pizza and watched Netflix all the time back in Gray’s Point, but I didn’t feel this edge inside of me. Maybe it’s because of all the activity. The Airbnb listing said it was a quiet street, which it is — for Brooklyn. I miss the quiet upstate, and the clean air. I’ve wanted to live in New York City and work in fashion ever since I was a kid, but now that I’ve gotten a taste of life outside of that, I’m less sure of myself. Maybe I just need to invest in an air purifier and heavy-duty ear plugs. Once I’m done eating, I decide to go to bed early, even though I’ve napped basically all day. I’m too nervous to face Katya tomorrow without being on my absolute A game.

Thankfully, Katya wanted to have our meeting at her apartment, so I don’t have to face my coworkers in my nervous state. I take my time getting dressed, mixing pieces of her line with some other designers, which she always likes to see. I take the subway to Tribeca and head over to her building. Even just being outside is intimidating. The doormen are wearing suits, and the building’s all glass and steel. I don’t even want to think about how much the rent is. Once I’m let in, I wait in the elevator, feeling the inner crook of my arm sweat from where my garment bag is laying over it. It should open directly into her apartment. Apartment doesn’t feel like the right word for it. It’s a penthouse with perfect views in every direction. There’s hardly any furniture, but what’s there is bright, modern and clean. It’s so spotless that it looks like no one lives here. My nerves shoot up ninety thousand feet into the air, even though honestly, this is kind of what I expected her home to look like. “Simone?” Katya calls, sweeping into view. She’s wearing one of her own designs, a floor length white maxi dress that looks perfect on her. “Hi,” I say, sounding shy, like I’ve never met her before. I’ve forgotten how beautiful and intimidating she can be. She’s seventy, but you wouldn’t guess it. She’s had work done, but not so much that she looks plastic. “It’s so wonderful to see you.” She glances to my garment bag. “You look so rested. I love this outfit you’ve put together, too. Remove your shoes, please.” I swallow hard and thank her, stepping all the way into the room. I step out of my oxfords, only wobbling a little bit. “Let’s get straight to business, since I know you have a train to catch,” she continues. “Would you like some tea?” “Yes, please.” I follow Katya to her living room, where she sets me before she goes to the kitchen. This space has a little bit more color than the others — her couch is dark blue, and there’s a massive painting of a naked woman sitting on a beach behind

it. She’s pulled a freestanding clothing rack into the space for me to put the clothes on. I pull the pieces out one by one — some pants that are basic but will hopefully be in the customer’s closet for a long time, a feminine silk blouse made from the dark green color I loved when I first arrived in Gray’s Point, a dress, and a knit sweater. I hand-dyed the yarn at Maya’s family’s farm for the sample, but we can scale the production up. Or at least I hope my research is correct. She returns with tea in a beautiful china teapot on a tray, then puts it on her coffee table. She pours us each a cup and hands me one. My hands are trembling. Why am I so nervous? I’ve done this before. But those times hadn’t been just my work without more hands deep in the design. Katya examines the pieces, not saying anything for a bit. She makes a little sound of approval when she touches the alpaca sweater. I plop down on the couch, wincing. It’s not exactly made for comfort. She’s taking ages, stepping back and touching and staring. She puts some on a dress form, then steps back again. I’m about to blackout on this couch. “It’s not quite right,” she finally says, looking at me. “Don’t get me wrong — they’re beautiful clothes. Very well-made. But they don’t scream ‘Katya’ to me. They looked a little more mature in your sketches that I approved.” I hold it together even though the disappointment’s a bit of a punch to the gut. “Oh.” “Like this sweater.” She picks up the sweater, my favorite. “It’s so soft, but the cut is for a younger woman, I think. And the color’s lovely, but a little bit too out there.” I scribble down the notes, my heart sinking. At least I can wear it, since I didn’t make it a sample size. “And I don’t think the blouses work at all, unfortunately. They feel a little too J. Crew, if you get me.” “Uh-huh.” I’m not sure if that’s a diss — does she mean old J. Crew when it had good basics, or new J. Crew, where you pay a bunch of money for subpar

quality? Katya’s too classy for disses, I think, but I’m a little raw right now. “I’m going to show these to our other designers, but I’m not sure this is the right direction.” She looks at the pants again, her head cocked to the side. “Actually, these pants are fine. But the rest aren’t quite it, I’m afraid.” If my heart was sinking before, it’s now on the floor. Sure, the clothes are nice, but I still failed at something I poured my heart into. This fucking sucks. It’s not the first time some of my work has been rejected, but this collection has a lot of me in it. “Okay, so what are the next steps?” I manage to ask without sounding like I’m as bummed as I am. “I think we’ll get a little more on these and pivot. We’ll email you, okay?” she says, patting my hand. “Please, keep doing what you’re doing up there. You seem so much more at peace.” “Jeez, did I look that exhausted?” I crack, trying to brighten the mood. “You’re the third person who’s said I look refreshed.” “No, Simone. You just look happier and less stressed.” She sips her tea. “I’ll have my assistant set up a conference call to chat about all of this.” I nod along as she fills me in on more office stuff, but I mostly feel a dull sadness. I need to pull myself back together, and soon.

Chapter Ten

Jay

Simone’s back, finally. Her little rental car is parked next to my truck, and she’s just gotten out. I’m annoyed as hell, but that’s until I notice that she looks pretty rough. She’s pale, and her hair’s a mess around her shoulders instead of in the bun she usually has it in. I can’t tell if her eyes are puffy from here, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they are. Goddamn it. Should I go talk to her? Or will she literally run from me? Seeing her, someone stubborn about maintaining the appearance of strength, wilted like this is a little worrying. Maybe it has to do with that ex of hers. I don’t have to wonder whether to go to her or not, because she grabs her purse and starts toward the house. I slip away from the window, so it doesn’t seem like I’m staring at her and head back to the kitchen. I’ve got some stew on the stove, since it’s basically the only thing I know how to make well on a consistent basis, so I give it a stir when the door opens. I hear Simone kick off her shoes and walk toward the kitchen. Even though I’m still facing away from her, I know that she’s standing in the doorway. “You’re back,” I finally say after a few moments, still facing the stove. “I am,” she says. She still doesn’t move. “That smells good.” “Thanks.” I look over my shoulder at her. She’s pressed her body up against the doorway, like she’s nervous to come in. Fine by me. It’s hard to process her clearly defeated attitude when I’m as annoyed with her as I am. On one hand, I’m

pissed, but on the other, I want to comfort her and protect her. Is that latter feeling based on who she used to be? It’s starting to feel like it is. “Can I come in?” she asks. “You’re already in.” I hear her small bare feet on the tile, and soon she’s next to me. I glance down at her. “I’m sorry,” she mutters. “For being weird after we slept together and avoiding you.” I stop stirring the stew. “Are you, now?” She nods, not meeting my gaze. It seems like it’s out of shame, not because she’s lying. “I’ve been really shitty. I know it’s not an excuse, but this whole thing with my ex has thrown me for a loop. I’m just not in a place to date or do anything like that. I’ve got a lot of shit to handle.” I sigh and turn to face her. Just looking at her chips away at my resolve. I know it’s been a long time, but since we’ve been in each other’s lives, I’ve seen how much more walled-in she is than she was back then. I’m mad at that, but I understand it. She’s probably been through some shit that made her not trust easily. I don’t think I’ll know exactly what any time soon, but an upfront apology, even if it’s late, is a good start. I know I’ve benefitted from a second chance in my life, so I might as well. “Thanks, Simone,” I nod. I almost rest my hand on hers, but I put it into my pocket instead. “Are we okay?” She finally looks up at me. Her eyes are puffy. “Or at least on the way to okay, or to being just friends?” “Mm, I think so. If you’ll open up to me a little bit,” I say. “Just as a friend, because it’s hard to be friends with someone who’s hiding shit all the time.” “I’m really sorry. I think I can do a little better about not holding it all in,” she nods. “I might suck at it at first, though. But I like hanging out with you, so I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask for. I’m not asking you to spill your deepest, darkest secrets. Just tell me if shit’s bad, because I can read it all over your face anyway. I don’t need all the dirty details, but don’t pretend you’re fine when you’re clearly not, because it just makes you look like a macho asshole. And you’re a tiny woman, so it just looks bad.” “Well, thanks,” she snorts. “And speaking of that, are you okay?” I ask. She looks at me for a moment before collapsing on herself a little bit. “Is it that obvious? I thought I’d cried it out on the drive back from the train station.” She pushes her hair out of her face with both hands. “Your poker face isn’t as good as you think it is.” I turn off the burner on my stew. “My meeting with Katya was a bit of a mess.” She fiddles with the ends of her hair. “She was not into any of the work I did, besides a pair of plain pants, so now I have to start over.” “Shit, that really sucks.” “I know. I mean, rejection’s a part of the business, but that doesn’t make it suck any less.” She bites her bottom lip. “She said it was too ‘young’ for her consumers, which I’m now totally seeing. I took the upstate inspiration too far since I looked at a lot of the young people around here for inspiration.” “Is she pissed?” “No, no. Katya doesn’t get angry. Anger is stress, and stress is aging.” Simone rolls her eyes. “But her being disappointed in me is almost worse. I won’t be able to ask her for a little help on my line any time soon. I guess I need to slow my roll. And also, if she did love what I did, she might not want to help because I’d leave her.” “Maybe she’d see you as a baby bird flying away from the nest.” I taste a little stew. Needs more salt. “I don’t know.” She absently taps her fingers on the edge of the counter. “I just

feel like I’ve taken eighty steps backward.” “I don’t know shit about fashion, but I’ve seen you working hard in there.” I nod my head toward my guest house. “You can bounce back. What’d she say specifically about what you need to change in the collection?” “She wants it to be edgier. Something fresh but classic.” Tension comes across her forehead, annoyance. “So basically, she wants something safe that’s somehow not safe.” “So… that doesn’t make any sense.” I take another taste. It’s pretty good. “I know. I just need to decompress and regroup.” She sighs yet again. “And then I can start again. Somehow.” “I know how that feels. Starting over, I mean,” I say. “But it’s not the end of the world.” She nods, looking down at her feet. “It feels like it. I’m worried I’ll never get to where I want to be.” “You’re not the type of person to just give up. You’re too ambitious,” I point out. “Maybe you won’t have everything you want all at the same time, but you’ll make it.” “That’s really sweet of you to say.” “I call it like I see it.” I reach up in the cabinets to grab a bowl. “You want some? I’m not a chef or anything, but it might make you feel better.” “What is it? Stew?” She gets on her tiptoes to look into the pot. “Venison stew. There’s some tomato and spices and stuff, too. At this point, I just throw a bunch of stuff in and hope for the best.” I put some in a bowl and hold it out to her. “Is venison one of those meats that messes you up? The kind you can’t cook?” She takes it and eyes it warily. “Nope. I killed it and butchered it myself, so I know exactly where it came from.

I trust myself, but not the grocery store.” I give myself a larger portion and head over to the counter to sit. Simone follows. “Wow.” She looks into the bowl, a mixture of apprehension and hunger on her face. “I haven’t had venison before.” “It’s meaty.” I hand her a spoon. “Taste it.” She takes a healthy bite, chews, and nods. “This is really good.” I grin. “Yeah?” “Mmhm. I’m not even freaked out that I’m eating deer.” She smiles. “Oh come on.” I dig around my bowl for a piece of meat. “If I hadn’t told you it was deer, you’d be all over it.” “Fair.” She chews a little bit, her hand in front of her mouth so she can talk without showing me everything. “There’s beef here, too. But I’m just not used to eating anything that hasn’t come from a grocery store.” We eat in silence, side by side. The tension between us has melted away, and I feel happier than I have in a few weeks. It’s nice having her near me, even if we aren’t talking. She’s deep in thought about something. “Katya wanted to see something with leather and maybe even some metal. She said my clothes were a little too preppy, so I have to counterbalance that,” she finally says. “Can I shadow you for a day or two to see how it’s done or what’s possible? I won’t get in the way.” “Yeah, sure. It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone in the warehouse with me,” I say around a mouthful of food. “It’s loud, though.” “That’s fine. I just want to observe.” She digs back into her stew. “What kinds of things do you make?” “I make a lot of things out of deerskin leather, since I hunt and have to use it up somehow. And I can make pretty much anything out of metal.” I watch her poke at some chunks of carrot in her bowl, one of the few things left. I should have given her a bigger portion.

“That sounds great.” She finally looks a little bit better. “When are you going to be in the warehouse? I still need to unload my car and gather my notes. And I lied, this is really, really good.” “In a half hour or so, I think.” I check my watch, trying to hold in a smile. “Meet you in there?” “Yep!” She slams the rest of her food and hops up to put her bowl in the sink. “Thanks again, Jay.” “Don’t worry about it.” I take my time finishing up and putting the food away. I make some more coffee and head back out to the warehouse. It’s a mess today, lots of wood shavings and tools everywhere. I tidy up a little bit and look at my to-do list on my whiteboard. I’m making a gun holster from deerskin, but the client isn’t expecting it for another few weeks. I can swap some things around and work on it today for Simone’s sake. I need a break from carpentry for at least a few hours. I turn on some music and start in on my work. Before I get too deep into a flow, Simone arrives. She’s changed into a black T-shirt and black jeans, but with fancy boots on, a backpack on her back. The boots look like what a person who’s never had to have functional boots would get. They’re good enough for now, I guess. She looks like she’s copying me. “What’s with the twin thing?” I ask, gesturing at her outfit. She grins. “What, am I not allowed to dress like you? I thought you’d be flattered.” “I’m…” I study her boots, so I don’t give her a full once over. “I’m not not flattered.” “That’s good enough for me.” She puts her backpack down. “Teach me your ways, Obi Wan Kenobi.” I step aside to make space for her and start with the piece of leather I’ve tanned. She listens intently as I describe the process of getting from deer to what I have in front of us, taking notes like I’m an actual teacher. I show her a few finished pieces and she has a shit-ton of questions I wouldn’t have thought to ask as a

beginner. Most of my designs have been strictly for function for the most part — like knife sheaths or rugs — not fashion, but the way she thinks is opening up my eyes. I’ve never tried to combine leather with other fabrics or thought about how its color could change if someone wore it as clothing. “So this was a deer that you killed?” She asks later in the afternoon, fingering some of the hide we have in front of us. “Yep.” “Mm.” Her brow furrows a little bit. “So you saw him die? Doesn’t that freak you out?” “You’re wearing a leather belt and leather boots right now. You realize that, right?” I gesture toward each piece. “How are you still squeamish about the fact that I butchered the deer by hand? If anything, isn’t that more humane? I know he didn’t suffer.” She gives me a look, one of those where one of her eyebrows is slightly up. It’s probably supposed to be intimidating, but it just makes me laugh. “You know I’m right,” I insist. “Okay, fine.” She bites her lip to rein in her smile. “It’s just hard facing the truth.” It feels like she knows she’s talking about facing the truth in the universal sense, but I don’t want to press her on it. I just nod. “I never know the source of the leather I wear,” she continues. “I feel guilty.” “I can’t help you there.” I shrug. “But I can help you with shaping this sheath.” “Right.” She gives me another smile and turns back to the task at hand. The rest of the day goes well without any philosophical dives into her subconscious, and by the time I’m ready to leave, I feel strangely satisfied. I didn’t get anything done, at least in of my projects, but now Simone knows the basics of creating metal hooks and making things from deer hide.

“You’re a good teacher,” Simone comments on our walk back to the house for dinner. “Really?” “Yeah. You explain things well and don’t get impatient.” She adjusts her backpack on her back. “Why don’t you have classes here or something? I’m sure local people would want to learn how to do this kind of stuff. And tourists.” “Eh.” I dig into my pocket for my house keys. “I’ve never really thought about it. I’m just wary of people coming into the town and changing what it is.” “Why?” I shrug again. “It feels like a rare place. That’s why I’m so pissed off at that guy trying to buy up all the land around here. He doesn’t give a shit that there are families that go back generations up here, or people who managed to make a good living for their families by opening up a shop. He just wants people to come here to line his pockets, even if he has to destroy acres of trees to do it.” She takes that information in. “I get what you mean about the environment. But more people coming means more money going into the town and more jobs. Isn’t that a good thing?” “Yeah, of course.” I pause, knowing this is the one little blip in my continual argument against the town changing. “But the jobs Edgar wants to bring will exploit people. He’s done this time and time again, and I don’t think any protesting we do about the ecosystem will have an effect on him. Sure, people will have jobs, but they’ll be working for hours and hours with low pay. And it’s not like other people trying to buy things up in the town are.” Simone nods. “Okay, I get that. So why can’t you expand your little operation? You can create jobs that don’t suck for all the young people. And since it’s already a warehouse and you have some extra space, you won’t have to cut down any trees or whatever.” I unlock the door and hold it open for her to walk through. “I mean… I guess.” I shrug and throw my keys in the bowl I keep them in. “I’ve just never thought about it. I’m a pretty solitary person.”

She walks past me toward the bathroom. “It’s worth a thought. It might be a good change. Those exist.” She’s not wrong. I know people would be interested in learning how to make things, but I have no idea how to handle a business or even people, honestly. I can handle Simone, Holly, and Andrew. I’m not even sure if Justin counts, because he’s a baby and can’t string a complex sentence together. Everyone else? I don’t know. I’m introverted as hell. Would I lose the sense of peace that keeps me from being a complete fucking asshole? And I doubt I could make a positive change in the community without any repercussions. I do have the money for it, but if I suddenly bought up a ton of land, people would know, and suddenly I’d have a lot of new ‘friends.’ But still, the idea isn’t that awful. I grab a little notebook from my junk drawer and write it down. I might come back to it someday.

Chapter Eleven

Simone

I wouldn’t have thought I’d be the type of person to be excited about going to a farm. But here I am, with bits of hay in my shoes and hair, petting an alpaca named Daisy, who’s stretched out on the ground, sunbathing. It’s the highlight of my day, and my day is already good. Since I came back from the city, Jay and I have settled into a peaceful friend zone, working together in the warehouse and talking a little bit. It’s nice. “Daisy’s pregnant, by the way,” Maya calls from her spot on the fence. One of the big white alpacas, Woody, is resting his head on her chest. “No way?” I run my hand along her side. She and the rest of the herd look pretty naked right now, since they were shorn a few weeks ago. Her chocolate brown fleece is still soft, though. “Yeah.” Today she’s wearing a vintage T-shirt tied into a knot at the waist, jean shorts, and hiking boots, looking comfortable and happy. “The vet just confirmed it the other week.” “So when’s she due?” I ask. “In ten months or so.” “Wow.” I look at her belly, which still looks pretty normal to me. “That sucks. I won’t be here to see the baby.” “Oh, that does suck.” Maya sounds gutted. “But maybe you can come back to visit.” “Yeah, I might.” I focus on petting Daisy, so I don’t have to think about leaving.

I wish there were mini alpacas that are dog-sized, so I could cuddle one all the time. “Do you like it up here?” Maya asks. “Yeah, I really do,” I answer, standing up. Daisy stays put. “I doubt I’ll move up here permanently, but I’ve loved my time here. It’s very peaceful.” When I came back after my trip to the city, I took a long look at myself. I did look more rested. More alive. I hopped on my scale and I’ve gained a couple pounds, but that’s not it. Hell, maybe I should stay. But how would I get a job that pays as well as mine does? It’s a rarity, even within fashion. Katya’s husband is a big-time entrepreneur whose business philosophy emphasizes paying employees well. Katya does the same. If I moved somewhere like Gray’s Point, I wouldn’t even be able to find a job doing what I’m good at. “Eh, it’s okay.” Maya watches Woody trot away. “It’s pretty boring most of the time.” “You grew up here — that’s why,” I point out. “I thought the town I grew up in was boring. And even New York City is boring sometimes.” “But there’s always so much stuff you can do.” She’s starry eyed and looks so excited that I can’t burst her bubble. “But I get that it’s probably a lot, since it’s so busy. My parents moved here because they like the peace.” “Yeah, that seems like the case for a lot of people.” Jay instantly pops into my head, and that weird mix of emotions crops up all over again. We’re friends. Friends. “Like Jay?” She asks, a mischievous twinkle coming into her eyes. Jeez, did she read my mind? “How do you know about Jay?” I ask, worrying that I sound panicked. “Small town gossip.” She stretches and hops off the fence. “I’ve babysat for Andrew and Holly, and so I heard about their guest house imploding or whatever happened. Holly mentioned that you were staying on Jay’s property. And everyone knows Jay as the big, scary guy who keeps to himself.”

“If he keeps to himself, then how do people know him?” I point out. “I mean, he’s like a giant. Like…” She looks up at the sky for a second. “Like hot, sexy Hagrid.” I burst out laughing. “A hot, sexy Hagrid?” “Okay, that sounds so bad but like, he’s so big,” she giggles. “And human, obvi. He’s hard to miss, especially since I’ve seen him off and on my whole life with the store being on the main drag and all. But yeah, all I know is that he moved here from somewhere else, which is why I brought him up. Holly said she was worried about invading his private space by sending you over to stay with him, but you guys knew each other already?” I can practically feel her curiosity beams laser into my skull. I get the feeling that she’s wanted to ask about this for a while. Is the rumor mill that strong in this town? We’ve hardly been seen in town together, at least not that I know of. I know Holly’s only making chit chat with everyone, but that’s turned into something else. “Yeah, I knew him from high school,” I explain. “He was my boyfriend, but then he moved. We’re just friends now.” “Oh.” She seems disappointed in the lack of juicy details, and then she flushes. “You won’t tell him I said he was a hot, sexy Hagrid, right?” “I won’t. I promise.” I laugh. I bet he’d find it a little amusing, though. “Especially the hot and sexy part?” Her face is bright pink. “I feel so stupid. I get crushes on guys I see like, once. Not that I have a crush on him. But I can’t not notice him.” “Don’t feel stupid,” I say, standing up and brushing the hay off of my pants. I can’t tell her that I also agree on his hotness. There are some things she doesn’t need to know. “I should feel stupid.” She leans against the fence and stares off into the distance. “This is super embarrassing, but I’ve never even kissed a guy. And the guy I kind of have a crush on never pays attention to me.”

“Maya, that’s not embarrassing. You’re eighteen. There’s no rush.” I let another alpaca, Joey, sniff around my pockets. I had some baby carrots in there earlier, but he’s too late. “Can I give you some advice I wish I’d had when I was your age?” “Sure.” “Don’t date anyone just because they look good on paper,” I explain, feeling super old and jaded. “Like if they’re a big-name designer or have a cool job, that doesn’t mean you should stay with them if they suck.” She nods slowly. “Okay. I mean, I have to get to the guys noticing me part first, but I’ll try to that.” “They’ll notice you, Maya. Just give it time.” I feel a deep tug of sadness in my gut, both for her and my past self. Maybe someone did give me this advice and I just ignored it. I hope she takes it to heart. “C’mon, let’s go into town and get some ice cream or something. There are only so many alpacas I can pet,” she grins. “That sounds good.” The sugar sounds perfect for my low mood. I can’t keep going back to my little house by myself. Maya’s a lot younger than me, but it’s nice to have someone to hang out with. I drive us into town to the diner, which is the only place to get ice cream. Well, diner’s not the right term. It looks like the owners couldn’t decide between a fifties diner, a regular restaurant, and a bar. There’s a patio out front, so we sit there since the weather’s nice. She orders a sundae and I order a milkshake. We sit in comfortable silence for a bit, soaking up the sun. “Do you think I could make it in the city? Like if I decide to go to fashion school?” Maya asks. Her pale cheeks go a little pink. “Assuming I get in. And if I get better at the actual deg part.” “I think your sewing skills are really getting there. And I’m sure you could make it. It’s not as scary as people make it out to be for the most part.” I shrug and stretch my legs out. “But what if I suck at it?” She plays with the end of her braid.

“You can’t think like that.” The sadness of her tone makes some big sister vibe inside of me suddenly appear. “Everyone, even the best designers, have had sucky designs.” “Yeah. I guess.” She looks up when the waiter brings our desserts. “Ooh, extra cherry. You want it?” “Nah, I’m good.” I poke my straw into my shake and start drinking. Damn, that’s delicious. That’s another thing about being up here — I feel less pressure to look a certain way. I can slam a milkshake if I want to without anyone commenting on it. Maya digs into her sundae, hardly coming up for air, while I people watch. There are quite a few tourists, or at least they look like tourists. They’re outdoorsy types, but I see a hint of city folk in them from the newness of their gear and the sophistication of their haircuts. I grab snippets of their conversations as they walk past. Nothing’s particularly interesting — they’re all hikers or locals, just catching up with each other for the most part. But then I hear something that piques my interest in a bad way. “He’s going to have to pay,” a man says as he walks by slowly. “We can’t let him build this shitty resort, okay?” He’s out of earshot before I can hear the rest, but the tone sticks with me. I watch his back get smaller and smaller as he walks away. “Hey, do you know who that guy might have been?” I point toward the man. He looks local, based on his clothes. Nothing fancy — it’s all just functional. “Hm? Yeah, I think his name is Harrison. He’s always around town. He’s a day worker on some of the farms but he sometimes picks up shifts at the hardware store, I think. The benefits of working around here all the time.” She raises her eyebrows, then rolls her eyes. “Yeah…” I keep watching him, even as he disappears. The resort seems to be on everyone’s minds, but Harrison sticks out. I wonder if I should tell Jay or if I’m just being paranoid. A couple walks past, arguing about something so intensely that I nearly forget

about Harrison immediately. I guess I’m just worrying for no reason. I try to tuck the memory of Harrison’s harsh words in the back of my mind and focus on my milkshake again. Maya starts talking about boys again, and I nod along where appropriate. I can’t just shake her and tell her that she’s adorable and she’s going to meet a guy eventually — she has to figure all of that stuff out for herself. But Harrison’s sticking with me. I think back to the fires, and to a news report I saw about some assaults in the area. They described the man as a guy with an average build and brown hair, which he has. It seems like an angry dude who isn’t hiding his anger would be behind that kind of crime. I’m just being paranoid. Maybe he’s just fired up. Maya and I finish up our ice cream and part ways — she has a shift at the store, and Jay promised to help me make some oversized hooks for something I’ve been playing around with. I head home, still feeling a little unsettled, but feel better the moment I see Jay in his workshop. I love watching him work. His masculine brow furrowed in concentration, his hands nimbly working on whatever he had in front of him. I always ed how he looked when he decorated covers of all the CDs he made for me, hunched over our corner table in the lunch room with his headphones on. He’d look up at me and smile… …Just like he did now. He puts down what he’s working on and gives me a smile that makes me warm inside. The little TV he has set up in the corner is playing the local news, but besides that, it’s serene. “Hey. Nice day out at the farm?” he asks. “Yep. One of the alpacas is pregnant. Had some ice cream. All in all, a very solid day so far.” I step up next to him. “What are you working on?” “A carving.” He holds it up to me. “It’s just the initials of a client. It’s going in as a piece of his desk.” “Wow.” I take it and look it over. It’s meticulously made. “Can you teach me how to do this?”

“Yeah, sure. He takes the carving back and brushes it off. “And congrats on the alpaca.” “Thanks. I mean, I didn’t have any hand in the situation, but I did pet her a bunch.” “Doing the work of a hero.” He gives me a smirk that’s closer to a grin than anything else. “Just your friendly, neighborhood Simone.” I push one of his tools back and forth, then pick it up. “Ooh, what’s this?” “I thought you wanted to make those hooks?” He takes the tool away from me. “You’re like a little squirrel, jumping from thing to thing.” “Hey, excuse me for being curious.” I drum my fingers on the table. “Carving, then hooks. Carving sounds more fun.” “All of it is fun.” He shrugs his massive shoulders. “But whatever floats your boat. Hand me that piece of wood over there.” I turn around and look for a chunk of wood. I find two good sized ones, one for me and one for him. “Okay, wood.” I put the wood down. “Great.” He picks up one chunk and his tool. “Here, let’s start with this.” He shows me how to make indentations without stabbing myself, and I start stripping away little pieces of wood. Once I get the hang of it, I make a circle, then a heart. They look childish and silly compared to his. “Nice job.” He sounds genuine. “Thanks. It’s not nearly as good as yours.” I hold up the hunk of wood in the light. “Well, you literally just started doing this a half hour ago. Don’t beat yourself up for not being perfect.” The TV catches his eye over my shoulder. “Oh wow, look.”

He reaches around me, brushing my butt, and grabs the remote. He doesn’t seem to notice that he did. He turns up the TV so I can hear it. “Breaking news — a man has been arrested in connection with the recent rash of muggings in Gray’s Point,” the news anchor says. “That’s great.” Jay shakes his head and turns down the TV again now that we have the meat of the story. “I swear, this town didn’t used to be like this. Not that one guy mugging people is anything in comparison to what goes on in the city, but still.” A picture of the man goes up on the screen. It’s not Harrison, though they do look pretty similar. He’s got the same brown hair and brown eyes and wears the same flannel and work pants that Harrison was wearing. But at least it’s not him. I’m not sure why that’s a relief, but it is. It’s nice to know when I’m wrong about someone, or when I’m just being paranoid. I can cross him off my list of people to worry about.

Chapter Twelve

Jay

When I was in prison, there was this one small and scrawny guy who everyone was terrified of, including me. He just had an aura of chaos about him, and he was always scribbling in a notebook. Harrison’s hunched form over a notebook sitting in the window seat brings me right back there. It makes me uneasy, even from where I’m standing outside of the coffee shop. What’s his problem? Maybe he’s just like this all the time, regardless of whether he’s dealing with the resort issue or not. But that energy isn’t just a day to day thing. Not much has changed on the resort front. Edgar hasn’t held any more meetings, and from what I know, no one else has sold their land. Maybe he’s laying low on purpose. Harrison looks slightly better than the last time I saw him, at least on the outside. He’s grown a beard, which looks well-groomed, and he’s gotten a haircut. His shirt looks new, also. He notices me almost right away and closes his notebook, like I’m a teacher and I’ve just caught him writing notes. “Hey, what’s up?” Harrison asks. He looks healthier, too. “Not much. Just grabbing some coffee and some beans.” I gesture toward the bags of grounds and beans set up on the counter. They’re nothing fancy, but I can make a good cup from it. “What’s up with you?” He shrugs, looking shifty-eyed again. “Just gettin’ some caffeine.” “And writing?” I nod toward his notebook, my curiosity taking over. “Not really.”

I narrow my eyes a little bit. He sucks at lying. “Not from what I saw outside.” “I’m just making some notes.” His annoyance is clear, but I don’t give a shit. “What do you want?” “I’ve just been curious about you. It’s been a while since we’ve heard from Edgar, so I was wondering how you’re holding up.” I lean against the window table an inch or two into his personal bubble. It’s an intimidation tactic, sure, but his edginess has bugged me for a while. “What do you mean?” He looks up at me. “I get why you’re not down to sell your land, but it seems like you really hate Edgar,” I explain, trying to sound light. “Why wouldn’t I? He’s an asshole.” Harrison doesn’t meet my eye. I nod and stay silent on purpose. I’ve found it works when I want someone to give me information. Whether they realize it or not, I make a lot of people nervous just because of how I look and my size. Nervous people can’t handle silences. “He’s just…” Harrison runs his hands through his hair, thankfully taking the bait. “He fucked over my cousin, who lives a couple counties over. He put one of those shitty hotels up, then hired a bunch of folks to finish up some construction. He did some legal bullshit, so he ended up not paying him and a bunch of other guys. On top of that, my cousin ended up getting hurt and didn’t have the money to get treatment. He lost his house and everything.” “Shit.” I blink, truly surprised. I didn’t know Edgar had fucked over people so close by. “That’s awful.” “I know.” He takes a long drink of his coffee. “I can’t let that happen to me. There are so few jobs for farm hands and other physical jobs, even for people like me with some experience. If he builds that bullshit, I’m probably going to have to take a job there whether I want to or not. I need the money, but I can’t give up my land to a guy like that. It’s been in my family since the late 1800s.” He looks away from me again, out the window. Something else seems to be on his mind for a moment, like he’s seeing something or someone in the distance,

but brings his attention back to me. “So the only thing I can do is fight it. I’m trying to go back to school and shit, even though I hate it and I suck at it,” he continues, looking a little embarrassed. “My girl suggested it, since she wants to get married and wants me to make more money for both of us. She does hair, but it doesn’t pay a lot. Maybe we can hold him off until I can pull my shit together. If I get a job that pays decently on a consistent basis, then that pressure’ll be off of us.” I nod again, but this time it’s because I don’t know what to say. I feel like an asshole for trying to drill him. He’s not crazy — he’s just desperate. Even though I live pretty modestly considering my fortune, I forget about how touch and go finances can be for everyone else. I need to relate to people more, for fuck’s sake. I nearly jumped down this dude’s throat over something reasonable. Of course he’d hate a guy who ruined a family member’s life and might ruin his own. I’d do the same. “Ah, is the notebook a school thing, then?” I ask, the pieces falling together. “Yep.” He nods, still looking sheepish. “Well, we’ll stop him. He can’t build all of what he wants to build with just a couple plots of land.” I step back a little and clap him on the shoulder, trying to make things friendly again. “Yeah. We will.” He finally looks a tiny bit hopeful. “It was nice running into you,” I say, heading toward the counter. “I’ll see you around.” He nods, looking serious again. “Yeah. I’ll see you.” I buy a bag of beans and get the free cup of coffee that comes with the purchase, then head to the grocery store. I pick up some food for dinner, since Simone and I have gotten into the habit of cooking dinner for each other. I cook one day, then she cooks the next, and so on. She’s taught me a few recipes and how to not poison myself when I cook meat from the grocery store. It’s pretty fun, surprisingly. We’ve finally managed to hang out as friends, like she wanted. I’ve finally managed to tuck her into my mental friend zone, at least most of the time. It helps that she’s been wearing baggy clothes around me.

I’m in the produce section picking up some apples when my phone rings. It’s Simone. “Hey, what’s up?” I say, confused. Simone usually texts me if she needs something, like groceries or coffee. Maybe it’s a butt dial, or maybe she’s decided to come into town for a bite to eat. She’s been a little shut in recently. I have to prod her to take a break or she’d work all night and day. “Can you come home?” Simone whispers after a few moments, her voice wobbling. She’s clearly crying and has been for a while based on the hoarseness of her voice. “What happened?” I go through my pockets, trying to find my car keys. My heart is already racing a thousand miles an hour. “I’m coming. Are you in immediate danger right now?” “I’m not sure.” She sniffs, and I hear shuffling on her side of the line. “Stay on the line with me.” I yank my truck’s door open and hop in, putting my phone on speaker. I peel out of the parking lot. “What happened?” “All my shit is… It’s like someone just came in and flipped over all my stuff and…” She takes a heavy breath. “I don’t know.” I frown. I’ve never had a break-in on my property, ever, unless you count deer or lost animals. The house has a security system just in case, but I didn’t think to put one in the guest house. Goddamn it. “You still there?” I ask, coming to a rolling stop at a sign and zooming through when it’s clear. “Uh-huh.” I hear her close a drawer. “God, all of my good pens are gone. The asshole.” “So they stole — they didn’t just rummage around?” Once I’m out of town, I slam the accelerator. “No, he — they — stole some of my other stuff, too.” She sounds like she’s on the verge of a panic attack.

“I’ll be right there. I’m driving over now.” I hope I sound reassuring, instead of worried as fuck. “What kinds of things are gone? Besides the pens.” Instead of answering, she just starts crying again. The roads are winding. I can’t go any faster without sending the car careening off the side of a mountain. “I’m still here, Simone. I’m going to turn on some music, so you know I’m here. Keep talking to me. I’ll be there in five.” I turn up my radio, some generic rock. She starts babbling about her day so far — she went out to Maya’s family’s alpaca farm and hand dyed some yarn, then came back and found her cabin ransacked. By the time I pull up to the house, she’s pacing out in front in a loose dress, looking almost green with anxiety. I’m not sure who goes for the hug first — her or me — but we wrap our arms around each other and squeeze. She’s trembling all over. “Come on — let’s look inside and see if we can figure anything out.” I let her go, but she grabs my T-shirt. I take her hand instead and lead her in. “Did you call the police?” She shakes her head. “I figured you’d come faster.” I let out a slow breath. She’s not wrong, which is the messed-up thing. Since we don’t even have a proper force out here, they’d have to drive from the next town over. They’re trying their best, but they’re overextended. “We can call them later.” I step inside the cabin, and holy shit, it’s completely ransacked. The long tables along the window where she works have been flipped over, her fabric and yarn strewn all over the place. Her clothes are all over the place, too, and the mattress has been flipped. A lot of my finished pieces have been purposefully torn apart. “Shit,” is all I can manage to say. I run my hands through my hair and look at her, still clutching my forearm like it’s the only thing keeping her up. “This seems like someone did it on purpose.” “I know,” she mutters. “I think I know who did it.” “Who?”

“My ex, Max.” I pause. “How are you sure?” She opens her fist, revealing a blue slip of paper. I take it and unfold it. Just taking back what’s mine is all it says. “That’s not his handwriting, though, so he has to be working with someone. And, true to the note, he took all the things that he’s given me.” She goes over to her upturned clothing bin and starts to rifle through it. “A lot of the lingerie. My fur vest. Jewelry. Nothing else was taken.” “But why? I know you guys had a bad breakup but having someone trash your stuff and take some of it back seems a little extreme.” I put one of the tables right-side up again. She goes quiet, kneeling on the floor. Is she crying? I get down on my knees next to the overturned bed so I’m not looming over her. She’s not crying yet but she’s close. “Okay, you know all those times when you’ve asked me what’s wrong and I’ve said everything is fine? It’s been all because of Max.” She grabs some clothes and starts to fold them quickly. “I dumped him, and he hasn’t been able to accept it. So here I am, running away from him.” “Hold on.” I start to help her fold because I’m not sure what else to do with my hands. “What do you mean by ‘he hasn’t been able to accept it?’” “He’s been harassing me. Basically.” She slaps a T-shirt on top of another T-shirt I’ve folded. “Part of the reason why I came up here was to put a little distance between us so he’d cool off. I had to pack all my stuff in the middle of the night and get out before he could know where I was going.” “Damn.” I tidy her folded piles, since her movements are getting erratic. I can see that her hands are trembling, even though she’s moving them quickly. “That day I slipped and fell? It was because I got a text from Max, and I never gave him this number. He was asking where I was since I wasn’t at my old place.” The dam finally breaks, and she starts to cry. “So he was watching my old place and actively trying to get my number. And after we hooked up, he

texted me again that morning. And then when I went back to the city for Gigi’s birthday, he showed up at the bar and tried to talk to me.” “How’d he know you would be back in town?” She shrugs. “We have a ton of mutual friends, so someone must have told him Gigi’s party was that night. And he knows I wouldn’t miss that party. I thought he was going to hurt me but there was a bouncer there. Thank God.” “Has he hurt you in the past?” I look over her, as if he’s touched her. My blood’s boiling already. “Not really badly.” Her voice sounds so small. “But he still did?” I let go of the pair of jeans I have a stranglehold on. “He grabbed my wrist until it bruised and pushed me into a wall pretty hard.” She says it almost casually. “So nothing major. That happened the day I left for here.” “That’s still not fucking okay, even if it’s minor.” My blood’s more than boiling. Is that even possible? I want to punch something, but that would be the worst possible thing to do. I’d scare the shit out of her. I clench my knees instead. “It was bad enough for you to feel unsafe, and that’s all that matters.” “I just feel really dumb.” She hiccups and sniffs, full on crying without restraint. “I don’t know how I got myself into this situation. And I don’t know how to fix it.” I could beat the ever-living shit out of the guy, but that would only serve to release my anger. “It’s not your fault.” I run my hand up and down her back. “I mean, you can tell me that, but I still feel like it is. I opened up and he took advantage of all of my insecurities. My body, my career, everything.” She slides onto her hip so she’s closer to me. “He’s nuts. I don’t how I didn’t see it in a freaking year. For fuck’s sake, he told me to my face that he liked setting fires when he was like, eighteen, and didn’t think it was weird. That’s not normal. He might as well have waved a red flag in front of my face.”

“Ah, is that why the fire freaked you out?” I ask, frowning. “You think he’d burn down someone else’s house to scare you?” “It sounds absurd, but I have no idea what he’s capable of.” She wipes her eyes with the heels of her hands, like she’s trying to push tears back in. “Especially now that he’s done this. He knows where I’m living. What if he tries to hurt me?” “I won’t let that happen.” I gently squeeze her shoulder. “I promise. You can come stay in the house with me. I’ll start using the security system instead of just keeping the shotgun near the door. We can call the police, too, in the meantime. Even if they can’t get here right away, they can open an investigation. If he tries to touch you, I’ll break every last one of his fucking fingers.” That only makes her cry even harder, and rightfully. Goddamn it, I couldn’t even keep my rage under control for her. I’m an asshole. “It’s fine. It’s not all that, or what you said,” she says, reading my confusion and fear that I’d scared her. “It’s just… I’m really happy that I ended up here with you during all this.” She slides over to me and hugs me, burying her face in my chest. She’s warm and fits nicely against me. Since she started the hug, I wrap my arms around her, too, pulling her into my lap. We just sit there for a while, holding each other for a long time. Her crying eventually slows down as I rub her back. “Can we go inside the house?” Simone asks. Her breath is warm through my shirt. “I’m not sure if I can handle cleaning up today.” “Yeah, sure.” I put her hands around my neck and get up. She doesn’t complain about being carried. Once we’re in the house, I put her onto her feet. “What do you want to do?” I keep my hand on her shoulder. “TV?” “TV.” We head to the living room, and she sits on the couch. She wraps herself in a big alpaca blanket I keep on the back of the couch, like a little burrito with her head

poking out. I grab us some pretzels and seltzer, then her. “Can I ask you something? You can totally say no if you don’t feel comfortable doing it,” Simone asks, sliding her hand out from the blanket to grab a pretzel. “Shoot.” “Would you mind holding me like you did back there?” she asks. “I’ll stay wrapped up like this. It was really soothing.” “Yeah,” I say, before I stop myself. If I can’t keep myself under control when Simone’s under a blanket and having a breakdown over a (massive piece of shit) guy, then I deserve to go to hell. Now’s not the time for boners. I sit down next to her, put a pillow in my lap for an extra layer of protection, and pull her over into my lap, cradling her gently with one arm so she feels secure. She sighs, tension leaving her body. I slide down a little so I can rest the back of my head on the couch. It feels really nice — the couch is big enough for me to sleep on comfortably, so I don’t feel squished. “What do you want to watch?” I grab the remote. “Whatever you’d like. Anything’s fine.” I pick Kitchen Nightmares again, since I know we both like it. Unlike the first time we watched it together, we’re quiet. I rest my other arm across the back of the couch, and find myself getting tired. After an episode or two, we eat some leftover pizza and get back into position. After the pizza, I’m definitely tired. “Hey,” I say quietly, just in case she’s sleeping. “I’m going to bed.” “What?” She sits up, dazed, realizing she’s laying across my lap. “Oh.” “You want me to take the couch tonight while you take the bed?” “Which one’s safer, do you think?” She tugs the blanket around her even tighter. “Your bedroom has a lot of windows, but this is the front of the house.” “I have the security system on, which means all of the windows are locked and a really irritating alarm will blare if anyone tries to get in. Plus, I have more than

one shotgun around. And I can close the curtains, if that’ll make you feel better.” I stretch, my shirt coming up to expose my stomach. I yank it back down when I notice her eyes dart to that stretch of skin. “Do you have a sleeping bag or something? I just want to be in the same room as you.” She looks embarrassed. “I don’t know if I can fall asleep without you close.” “Oh.” “I know we’re trying to be just friends, so sharing a bed would be weird. But maybe I could sleep inside the sleeping bag on the bed as an extra layer of protection?” She’s going pink, and honestly, so am I. The last time we woke up in a bed next to each other, we fucked. But we weren’t where we are now — we both know we shouldn’t have done it for the sake of both of our sanities, and that she probably isn’t ready for any sort of intimacy, sexual or not. “We can use some pillows or something. I think I have one of those big body pillows somewhere. The sleeping bag will probably get too hot.” I get up. “We’ll be fine. We have self-control.” If I say it, it’ll force me to keep my word. We can’t fuck again. She’s as offlimits as a nun. “Right.” She gets up, too, finally shedding the blanket. “Let’s go then.” We take turns in the bathroom. While she’s doing her extended skincare routine, I put a big old T-shirt and some shorts that probably belong to Alice next to the door, then go to find the body pillow in the back of the closet. I don’t why I bought it, but I’m glad I have it now. I usually sleep right across the middle of the bed since I sleep alone, but now I have to pick a side. I put the pillow down the middle of the bed and pick the side closest to the door. Simone comes in wearing the T-shirt and presumably the shorts. The T-shirt hangs almost to her knees. It seems like she’s wearing a bra. I hate myself for looking at her boobs, but it feels like a reflex at this point. She doesn’t notice. She just gives me a shy smile and heads over to the other side of the bed. She slides under the covers and turns towards me.

“Goodnight?” She seems unsure if she should say it. “Night.” I roll over to turn off the light, then roll back over into my natural sleep position. It just happens to be facing her. “I’m sorry. I fall asleep facing this way, but I’ll probably end up rolling over in the night,” she stammers. “It’s fine. There’s the pillow. And I can hardly see you in the dark.” I close my eyes. I fall asleep pretty quickly, as usual, but wake up in the middle of the night. The body pillow is pushed down to about my waist, and Simone’s hand is inches away from my face. She’s still asleep, but she’s tossing and turning, a frown across her pretty features. I want to cuddle with her so fucking bad. Maybe I should go sleep on the couch, but if she wakes up and I’m gone, she’ll freak out. I scoot away but keep my eyes on her. It takes a while, but her face finally relaxes again. I hate that she’s having nightmares. I hate that I wasn’t around to catch that piece of shit ex in the act. I don’t even know what he looks like, but I know I could beat the shit out of him. It’s been a while since I’ve felt anything so intensely, particularly rage. Simone sighs and kicks the pillow into my leg. I don’t know what she’s dreaming about, but she finally looks relaxed. And so fucking beautiful that my stomach tightens. It’s not just physical attraction, though obviously, that’s a big part. I just like her. A lot. The weeks of just being friends have only made me realize that I have feelings for her. Her creativity and curiosity. Her sense of humor when she’s relaxed. And her ambition, too. The time we’ve had together (when we haven’t been on thin ice) since she got here has felt good — lively. I never felt like that around any of my exes, except for her. Both now and back then. She shifts in her sleep and I shut my eyes again, just in case she’s awake. This isn’t good. I’m basically asking to get my emotions kicked in the ass if I start anything. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to just be friends, because that’s not what I want. But I’m painted into this corner, so I guess I have it sit in it.

I feel the pillow get pushed up onto my legs and open my eyes again. She’s halfawake now, nodding at me. She rolls over and hops out of the bed to go to the bathroom. A minute or two later she comes back and slides into the bed. “Are you awake?” she whispers. “Mmhm.” I open my eyes again. The dim moonlight from the skylight makes her look like a fairy with her big green eyes and delicate features. “Did I wake you?” “Nope.” I roll onto my back, since facing her is making me feel fluttery inside. “Sometimes I just wake up for no reason.” “Same.” She rolls around a little until she’s on her side. “I had nightmares, though.” “I know. You were tossing and turning. Your hand was right next to my face.” I turn my head to look at her. “You okay?” “Mmhm. I’m just trying to not feel guilty about all of this. I hardly what my dream was about, but I know it was basically just me feeling like I wasn’t doing something I should’ve been.” She rolls onto her stomach, keeping her face toward me, her arms underneath the pillow. “Simone. Don’t feel guilty about the whole situation with Max, and don’t feel guilty about wanting some protection. You’re a normal human in a stressful situation. Don’t pretend like you shouldn’t think all of this is hard.” I expect her to protest, but she just sighs and closes her eyes. “You’re sweet, Jay. You know that?” she mumbles. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me sweet before.” I chuckle. “I did, back in high school.” I hear her legs sliding against the sheets. “Because it was true. No matter how much you hid it.” “I wasn’t hiding it, necessarily. It was just that you were the only person I felt comfortable around.” I open my eyes again, and she’s looking at me. Her gaze is

sleepy, but curious. “You were pretty much my best friend back then.” “You had other friends. I was your girlfriend.” “Yeah, sure, but I couldn’t be my whole self.” I close my eyes again, not liking where this conversation is going. I feel that warm, yearning sensation in my chest, like I want to knock down any interior walls I have. “It doesn’t matter. It was the past.” “I know.” She sighs and keeps wiggling around for a few moments. “Goodnight.” “Night. Again.” Finally, she goes still and her breathing evens out. I scoot over to the far edge of the bed and face the door to the bedroom. It takes a while, but I fall back asleep.

I don’t wake up until the early morning sun is coming through the skylight. Simone’s not in bed, but I hear her puttering around the kitchen the next room over. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and go to see what she’s up to, clearing my throat so she knows I’m coming. She’s sitting on the counter next to the coffee maker, looking out the window with a mug of coffee in her lap. My breath catches when I take her in. Her hair’s loose and wavy around her shoulders, and she looks a lot less stressed than she did yesterday. There’s a little smile on her face that makes her already beautiful face even more perfect. “Good morning. Made coffee.” She raises her mug and looks back out the window. “There was a whole family of deer walking through here just now! It was amazing.” I chuckle and grab a mug. “Yeah, they like to wander through here.” “All the time?” She asks in wonder. “Damn, you’ve been living in the city for a long time, haven’t you?” I pour myself a cup. I can already tell that it’s way too weak for my tastes. I guess I won’t die from having weak coffee once. “There were deer growing up in New Jersey, you know. And trees and shit.” “But they never came into our yard. We had a dog, ? Lola. And that cat who lived around there that my dad would feed.” She sips her coffee, seemingly satisfied with it. “There were hardly any animals besides them, since the cat terrified all the birds, and Lola would bark her head off at any squirrels or whatever that wandered into view.” “Oh, yeah.” I’d forgotten about her family’s ancient dog. I lean against the counter next to her, far away enough to not crowd her, but close enough to satisfy my need to be near her. “Lola lived to be fifteen.” “Damn, really? That’s old for a dog.” I finally get brave enough to sip the coffee. It’s tolerable, which is a step up from the garbage juice that she sometimes

manages to make. “Yeah.” Her legs sway absently. We enjoy our coffee in comfortable silence, watching nature outside. It’s not just the calm of the trees and land outside. Sharing something simple like this with someone else feels really nice. It’s like being alone, but better — there’s no pressure for me to be anything or put up any fronts. I don’t need to try to put parts of myself away, and it feels natural as can be. I can’t help but steal a glance at Simone again. I hesitate to say I’m in love with her again, but I feel pretty damn close to something like it. It’s a subtle shift, like someone opening a locked box in my chest. “ what you said last night?” She tops off her coffee. “About ‘being your whole self’ back when we dated?” I nod. “Yeah, what I said when we were both exhausted?” “I haven’t felt like that with anyone since then, which you made me realize.” She looks up at me. “Not even with the boyfriends I thought I loved.” She lets the comment sit for a second. My hands suddenly start to sweat, so I put my mug down. “Oh,” is all I can manage to say. “I’m not sure what I’m trying to say,” she its, looking away from me again and out into the yard. “I think I’m… I don’t know. I just have a lot going on, you know? Emotionally and otherwise.” I pick my coffee back up and take a long drink. I need to wake up more if we’re going to talk about this. “You do have a lot going on.” I nod. “So that’s why we’re trying to stay friends for now, right?” She’s starting to fidget. “I know that. But it’s hard.” “Because…?” I know what she’s going to say, but I want to hear her say it.

“Because I think I feel something for you again. Very few people in my life care about me the way you do, with actions.” Her voice sounds steady and sure. “But I’m a wreck, Jay. I can’t be a good… Whatever we would be. Assuming you feel something, too. God, I’m just assuming shit left and right.” “I do feel something,” I say, cutting her off. “A lot of something.” I slide my hands against my shorts, trying to stay casual even though I feel like a fucking teenager again. It took me three solid months to get the courage to ask Simone out, and when I finally did it, I only managed to do it through MySpace. God, that? She said yes, obviously, but it was the most nervewracking moment of my young life. Sweaty hands, racing heart — just like now. “So what do we do?” she asks, her voice small. “I don’t know if I can be just friends with you anymore. It would suck. But I don’t think I can be a good girlfriend.” “Maybe you can be. Maybe you’re selling yourself short.” I move a little closer to her. Her lips look really soft, and I feel a magnetic tug in my gut to just kiss her. “I don’t want to hurt you.” She slides her fingers through her hair, tossing it over her shoulder. “I don’t want to get hurt either.” Both of us let out a breath at the same time, long and slow. “I don’t think either of us want that.” I smile a little. “Anyone who does is a masochist. But it’s better than not trying at all.” She smiles back, and all my fucks go out the window. I take her chin between my fingers and kiss her softly. It’s a sweet kiss, nothing like the frenzied ones we shared when we slept together. She pulls me close by my T-shirt and winds her arms around my neck. I feel tingles from my lips to my toes, like there’s lightning in the air nearby. She moans softly when I nip her bottom lip, and that does me in. I grasp her hips and pull her legs around my waist. I don’t grind against her — I just keep kissing her like my life depends on it. I want to have her close, forever, and I don’t want this to end. I’m not sure how long we spend making out in the kitchen, but it’s long enough for the area around her mouth to get chapped and red from my stubble. I plant

kisses down the side of her neck to give her a little break, pushing the collar of the big T-shirt aside to brush my lips along her collarbone. Her breath hitches for a moment when I do. I’m glad she still likes to have that spot kissed. Her neck is irresistible, long and graceful like a swan’s. “Can we go somewhere else?” she murmurs, grasping my face between her little hands and kissing me briefly. The way she’s looking up at me through her lashes tells me everything I need to know. I make sure her legs are secure around me and pick her up, walking us back to my bedroom. The body pillow is still on the bed, so I shove it to the ground, gently placing Simone on the bed. I sit down next to her and pull her so she’s straddling my lap. How do her kisses make me feel like I’m dying and coming alive at the same time? All these years, I thought the intensity of the feeling of kissing her was just young lust, the thrill of actually touching a girl I liked for the first time. But no, it’s the fact that I’m kissing her. She’s the reason why I never felt those deep feelings when I kissed the few other girlfriends I’ve had in the past. She set my bar so high that no one could ever clear it. She’s tugging on my hair with one hand so she can rake her teeth across my neck, nipping a little. Not so hard that I’ll have a hickey, but just enough for me to feel it. My fingers are itching to feel more of her skin, more of all of her. I slide my hand under her shirt, up her ribcage and to the band of her bra. I lean back and take my own shirt off first before doing the same to her, pulling her flush against my skin. Her nipples are pebbled, and when I move so they brush against my chest, she gasps. Feeling her soft breasts, smelling whatever sweet lotion she happened to put on her neck last night… I’m overwhelmed, and I don’t know how much longer I can last without exploding or going up in flames. My lust has finally ed in, and I rock my hips against hers. She eagerly returns the favor. “Sit up here,” she purrs, crawling off my lap and point to the headboard. “Take these off.” I do as she says and shuck off my shorts and boxers. My cock’s already leaking a little pre-come, aching to be touched. I sit with my upper back against the headboard and she kneels between my legs. She gives me a sweet little kiss on

the lips before she trails her mouth downward, over my chest and to my left nipple. She licks it, nips it, then does the same to my right one. Goddamn, that feels good. “Shit, keep doing that,” I grunt, hardly sounding like myself. She glances up at me in surprise, then swirls her tongue around each nipple again. Every nip and short suck sends blood rushing southward, and the only thing keeping me from losing control is the thought of being inside of her again. I want to savor it this time while I’m wide awake, less driven by hot lust and vodka. She kisses her way down to my bellybutton, grasping my cock at the base. My hips twitch up in anticipation and she grins. She keeps eye as she swirls her wet tongue around my tip. I swear loudly, clutching the sheets instead of grabbing her hair too hard by mistake. I can’t take my eyes off of her. She takes her sweet time licking every inch of my cock, gently sucking on each of my balls before she takes me into her mouth completely. I can’t stop myself from moaning loudly, because holy fuck, she’s good at this. Her hair falls over her face as she bobs her head up and down, sucking me like she’s trained for it her whole adult life. I gather her hair on top of her head and use the spare hair elastic she keeps on her wrist to keep it out of her face. “I — Oh, fuck,” I moan. Her tongue hits me in that perfect spot on the underside of the head of my cock over and over again. Not so hard that it’s painful, but just enough for me to beg like a dying man. For what, I’m not sure. I want her to keep going, but if she does, I’m going to come so hard that my soul leaves my body. “Babe, please,” I gasp, grabbing the ponytail I made and tugging her off of me. “I need you.” She scrambles over my thighs, positioning her center over my cock. After a few teasing brushes, she slides down slowly, enveloping me in her soaking, soft warmth. She groans and rests her hands on my shoulders, using them to balance as she slides up and down my shaft. I want to stay deep inside her, so I stop her when she’s all the way on me. “Hold on to me,” I manage through clenched teeth. When she gets her arms around the back of my neck, I scoot forward and wrap her legs around my waist.

Now we’re chest to chest, as close as we can possibly be. I rock my hips forward, which makes her gasp and dig her nails into my skin. It takes a bit, but we eventually fall into a steady rhythm, rocking against each other. My face is buried in her neck, kissing her and trying so damn hard to not come before she does. I think she’s already close, clutching me like I’m the only person who exists. I cup her ass so I can rock her harder. She’s trembling and starting to clench around my cock, her breasts pressing into my chest with every labored breath she takes. She climaxes with a quiet moan and a fully-body shudder that almost undoes me. Staying inside her, I gently tip her over onto her back and balance on my elbows over her. She keeps her legs wrapped around me while I thrust into her, feeling tension building up in the base in my spine. I kiss her again, letting my lips linger on hers while she slides her fingers through my hair, her nails tingling my scalp. I can’t hold back any longer, and start to lose control, like a slowed-down explosion. I manage to pull out in time and come on her belly. After a few moments of trying to get a hold on reality, I flop onto my back next to her. Shoulder to shoulder, we gather ourselves. After what seems like ages, Simone reaches over and threads her fingers though mine, giving my hand a squeeze. When I turn my head to look at her, she’s smiling.

Chapter Thirteen

Simone

I almost wish I’d let myself be with Jay earlier in the year when it was chillier because he’s like a damn furnace in his bed. Our bed? Well, his bed — I’m just in it. Since that night after Max broke in three weeks ago, I’ve stayed inside the house with him. He has half his body thrown around me in a cuddle, his arm across my chest and leg over mine, his face buried into the pillows. I need to get out before I burst into flames. I finally open my eyes and immediately realize I feel disgusting, like I’m about to throw up. My sleep-addled brain starts to put things together. Last night I made chicken pesto, but I cooked it all the way through. But I also ate some cookie dough raw… Does salmonella kick in that fast? I don’t even know, because my stomach’s usually made of steel. I roll out from his grip and rush to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I make it to the toilet before I heave, holding my hair back with one hand. I puke quietly for what feels like an hour, even though it’s probably only been a minute. Ugh, I hate this. I sit back on my heels and flush, sighing. I hope I don’t have food poisoning. I’ve been getting a lot of work done and I don’t want to disrupt my flow. I clean myself up, still feeling a little uneasy. I hope I didn’t wake up Jay, but then again, he’s usually a heavy sleeper. The doors are thick around the house anyway, and I don’t think I made too much noise. If I even hint that I’m sick, I know he’ll insist that I rest at least half the day. I smile around my toothbrush. I’ve gotten a tiny bit used to being showered with affection and attention, and it’s nice when Jay’s not getting in my way. He’s Mr. Protective, and it’s especially noticeable since we’re together all the time now.

Every day, we get up together, usually fuck, eat breakfast, then go to his warehouse to work. The afternoon’s basically the same after lunch. It’s a comfortable rhythm, so comfortable that it’s a little startling. I don’t know how to handle how good I feel in parallel to how terrifying this is, way deep down. The pain of not being with him is much bigger than my fear of being with him, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not scared. We haven’t talked about what we actually are, or what we’ll do when I go back to the city in two months. For once, it’s not something that Jay wants to face head-on. I don’t think I can fall back asleep after throwing up, so I go into the kitchen and start some water in the kettle. I decide on tea considering my stomach, plus Jay hates my coffee no matter what I do. It’s not my fault he likes to drink battery acid that he calls coffee. I can only tolerate it with a lot of creamer. I look out the window while I wait, iring the trees in full bloom. I’m going to miss it up here. I don’t want to think about leaving yet. At least my stomach is a decent distraction. I’ve taken my iron stomach for granted. I lean against the counter, taking a few deep breaths. If it’s food poisoning, wouldn’t Jay also be barfing his brains out, too? I pop open the fridge and grab the leftovers. They don’t smell bad. I rub my belly absently, and I’m super bloated. Maybe it’s PMS. I freeze, looking at the deer calendar Jay has on the fridge. It’s been a while since I having my period. I’m lucky in that it’s never a huge deal like it is for some other women I know. But the downside of that is that I’ve let who knows how much time go by without even noticing that I’m insanely late… Shit. Jay’s been pulling out lately, but sometimes he doesn’t. I am on the pill, but I’m not perfect with it. I never really had to be, since Max always liked to use condoms as backup and easy clean up, and my past relationships were so shortlived that only relying on the pill never even came up. I feel extra sick now. I mean, there’s a chance I’ve literally just caught food poisoning for the first time in ages, but there’s also a very real chance that I’m

pregnant. That changes everything. Any thoughts of cruising along with whatever Jay and I are until I leave are gone. How could we have been so careless? Yeah, the sex is amazing, but it’s not so earth-shattering that we can’t use our damn brains. Or maybe it is that earth-shattering, and in that case, he’s ruined me for every other sexual partner I’ll have in the future. I make my tea in a daze and drink it at the counter. I need to go into town and clear my head. Since we share a bathroom, how can I take a test? I’ll have to hide it. I think I can do that. I need to get dressed and out the door before Jay’s up. But I can’t go into town alone. Max or whoever helped him break into my place might still be out there. But I surely can’t go with Jay, so I’ll have to be fast and careful. I hurry to finish my tea without spewing it all over the kitchen, then take a fast shower. I wind my wet hair into a bun and head back into the bedroom, where Jay’s finally awake. He doesn’t really use his phone the way most people do in the morning — he literally just uses it as a phone, and not a mini-computer — so he’s just sitting up with his hands in his lap, his eyes heavily lidded. Even in my distress, I can’t help but notice how hot he is. His broad, powerful shoulders, the perfect proportions of his chest muscles, the dusting of hair that trails down his stomach and under the sheets. His hair is tousled and hanging over his forehead, looking so effortlessly good that I’m a little jealous. He looks like a freaking Norse god, if they had a hard time waking up in the morning. “Hey,” he says, smiling at me. His eyes skim over my mostly-naked body hungrily. “You’re up early.” “Yeah, I need to run an errand.” I go over to my drawer and dig out some panties and a bra. I throw my towel on a hook on the back of the door and slide them on. “How urgent’s that errand?” His voice is low, with that commanding tone that makes me melt immediately. But that’s what got me in this situation in the first place. “Pretty urgent.” I grab a flowy dress from the closet and slide it on. I’m not even sure if I’m knocked up or not, but I feel self-conscious as hell about my stomach. “Mm.” I hear him slide out of bed. “So I’m guessing we’ll have to fuck later?”

“Yep, sorry.” I turn and gesture for him to lean down for a kiss. He gives me a light peck on the lips and gives my waist a squeeze. “Want me to come with you?” He looks concerned. “No, no.” I try to smile. “I think I’ll be safe. Things have calmed down, and I’m just going to be in the middle of town.” “Okay,” He looks reluctant to let me go, but he nods. “I’ll see you later, then.” He goes into the bathroom to get ready for the day, and I sag with relief. I quickly gather my purse and head out to my car. It’s been a long time since I’ve been alone in town since the break-in. Or alone, period. It’s kind of nice, but a tremor of anxiety runs through me. The police haven’t been able to do anything in regard to Max’s break-in, but nothing else has happened since. Jay’s shadow constantly around me makes me feel protected and safe. I don’t know what I’ll do when I have to leave. Guess I have to get used to flying solo again. I slap the steering wheel in frustration and crank up my music. I’m probably just hangry. I need to grab a bagel first. I park near the bagel place I discovered in the first few days I was in town and head in. I’m greeted with a friendly smile from the woman behind the counter, as always. I don’t her name, but her face is familiar enough for me to know that she re me. The town is small, but at the same time, it’s not. It’s small enough to see certain people all the time, but not feel like every single day is routine. For instance, there’s a group of young people in a corner table, hunched over a map. There are hiking trails not far from here, and I guess the influx of tourists is because of that. But there’s also an older couple there, drinking coffee and reading the paper. It’s like they live there all the time, because I’ve never not seen them in this place. “How’s it going, hun?” the woman behind the counter asks. She’s probably around my mom’s age, early sixties. “I’m good, thanks,” I nod, even though the smell of bagels is making my stomach turn. Not my beloved bagels. If I’m actually pregnant and I get turned off of bagels, I’m going to be so pissed.

“What’ll you have?” She looks me over, slightly distressed. “I can’t what your order is. I’m so sorry.” “It’s seriously fine. I’ll take a poppy seed bagel with tofu veggie cream cheese. Toasted,” I say with a laugh. “I’m impressed that you so many people’s regular orders.” “It’s just practice.” The woman smiles and turns to start my order. “Though now that it’s summer, there are so many people coming in and out that I’m forgetting the regulars’ orders.” “Does it always get busy during the summer?” I ask. “Usually, yes, but it feels busier this year. It’s been getting popular, this little town. I heard they’re putting a resort on the outskirts. I guess that’s the only place it’ll really fit. There’s not much actual space to grow unless you build into the mountains.” She throws my bagel into the toaster and I pay. I guess she’s referencing that resort Jay hates. I didn’t know that it’s actually going to happen. If Jay’s right about the guy behind it, there’ll be a lot more people with jobs in town, even if the jobs do exploit people’s hard work. I won’t be around to know how it pans out. My stomach clenches a little, thankfully not in a nauseous way. I need to go get this test and figure out what’s happening before I start leaping to a billion conclusions that may or may not be possible. I eat a little bit of my bagel slowly at a little table in the corner closest to the counter, while I check my work email to distract myself. Since my mess of a meeting with Katya, I’ve had to make a lot of shifts. Some other designers on the team are contributing more. It’s not ideal for me, but Jay suggested I ask for help. That way, Katya’s happy and I can still have time to do a little more work on my own collection in my spare time. It’s been working so far. I doubt Katya will end up helping my line financially, but she’s not the only person in the city who has money and an interest in fashion. She’s just the easiest, and I don’t want to default to the easy option. I give up on my bagel after I finish a quarter of it and stuff it into my purse. It’s all I can manage to get down without worrying about whether I’ll get sick or not. I’m torn between wanting to move around, being scared that Max will swoop in and attack me in broad daylight on the street and laying down because I’m so damn tired. Plus, I’m just delaying taking the test. The pharmacy’s a few stores

down, and the walk there feels like that time Gigi convinced me to run a half marathon with her. It was terrible and felt like it would never end. When I finally make it inside, the pharmacy’s surprisingly busy. It makes me feel a lot safer. It’s a lot of elderly people, but there’s a surprising number of younger people, too. I’m self-conscious as hell, even though it’s not at all weird for a thirty-year-old woman to buy a pregnancy test. I’ve never even had a scare before, so this is all new territory. Why are there so many options? I stare at the array of pink and blue boxes, appropriately placed next to the condoms that we should have used. I grab three different boxes each from three different brands, just to cover my bases. I buy them, along with some condoms and a travel sized container of antacids. The man behind the counter doesn’t even blink an eye when he rings me up. Once I have everything, I stop outside of the store and look inside it. I have to take them somewhere. I need to know, but I don’t think that I can wait until I get home. I look at the array of shops. There’s the Tavern on the end of the strip, which opens around eleven for lunch without serving alcohol. It’s still a little too early, so I decide to walk up and down the main drag, stopping into stores and absently shopping to time. I want to go to the yarn store, but Maya’s not working. She could be a welcome distraction. Or I could call Gigi, but she can’t be here to help me. I wish she were here. Or that anyone I could talk to, besides Jay, were here. The minute the clock strikes eleven, I leave the hiking supply store I’ve been wandering in for the past fifteen minutes and head to the tavern. I’m one of the first ones there, behind some younger guys wearing outdoorsy clothes — camo, boots, et cetera. They look tired, like they’re much older on the inside than they look on the outside. I stand close enough to overhear what they’re saying, since the women’s bathroom is still not clean. I doubt anyone uses it this early. “You hear back from that job?” One guy asks his friend. “Got turned down.” The first man’s friend sighs and looks up at the deer bust on the wall. “At least you’re in good company.” The first man claps his friend on the back. “I swear, it’s like all these companies are splitting all the jobs into part-time gigs that hardly cover everything.”

“And yet, here we are, blowing money on food.” “I doubt my wife wants to see me come home without a job,” the second man says. My heart sinks for them before it lifts again. These are the guys who could benefit from some sort of craftsman studio or from a few good businesses that produce more jobs coming to town. But then there’s the problem of a lack of actual space in the town. Maybe that’s what the resort guy’s angling to do — if he can put the resort on the outskirts of town, everyone will be vying for jobs. But they might be getting the shit they’re already hating. I walk past them when the cleaning lady says the bathroom’s clear, resisting the urge to text Jay about the proof that he could make a difference in the town. I can’t text him yet. I can’t bring myself to face any interactions with him, period. I head into the last stall before the handicap accessible one and grab the tests. There’s the early detection one, the easy read one, and the basic one. I go with the easy read one, because I don’t believe in my ability to read any sort of test that’s not in plain English right now. I follow the directions, lay the test flat, and wait. I don’t know what to do with myself for five minutes, so I watch some video of a rescue kitten growing up on my phone. Big mistake, because I start to cry like an idiot. Thankfully no one’s here to witness my breakdown. When the alarm on my phone goes off, I shut it off and take a deep breath. I snatch the test off of the toilet paper dispenser and look at it. Clear as day, it says I’m pregnant. I want to put my head between my knees, but I’m sitting on top of the toilet seat. I settle for resting my head in my hands. Shit. I take some long, deep breaths before I sit back up. Maybe it’s a false positive. I’m glad I got the other tests, because I’m going to take every last one of those suckers the second I get back to the house. I put the little cap that comes with the test on, wrap it with toilet paper, and tuck it back into the box it was in. I’m not sure why, because I really doubt I’ll forget what it says. My hands are trembling, and I feel queasy again.

I’ve always wanted to be a mom, but with thorough planning. Apparently, it’s crazy to get your kid into a good daycare in New York City, and that’s not even taking the cost of it into . And all those medical costs, even with good insurance. I’m well-off enough that I can afford having the baby with some changes to my budget, but I’m going to have to scramble to sort it all out. I’m already planning on moving when I get back, so at least I can find a two bedroom somewhere. And other women at the office have had babies and said the maternity leave we get is pretty good. But there’s my work outside of work, and that’s what makes me start to actually cry. I had this whole plan for the next five years and now I’m doing it all in reverse. Sure, there are women who are entrepreneurs with really young babies, but they usually have a partner or family living really close by to help them out. My family’s in New Jersey, so they aren’t too far, but I doubt they’ll come into the city to help out with childcare. And then there’s Jay. He doesn’t want a family and told me that flat out at the bar what seems like ages ago. He’s going to freak out if I tell him. I mean, he seems okay with Andrew and Holly’s baby, but there’s a big difference between liking a baby you can give back to someone else and a baby you can’t. What if he kicks me off his property? That would be a terrible thing to do, so I shove that thought into the back of my head. He would never do that, even if I’m basically his biggest nightmare. But on the flip side, what if he wants to go old school and stick with me for the sake of the baby, despite his misgivings? He did say he was glad his parents waited to get divorced until he was out on his own, just because of the emotional blowback of it all being so tough. The thought makes me nervous, too, even though it’s the best situation for the baby, financially and emotionally. I’ve been single or unhappily coupled for so long that I can’t imagine what it would take to be in love enough to build a life with someone. Sure, we get along now, but I don’t know what he’s like under pressure. I don’t know what he’s like when he’s at the end of his rope, looped into a life he knew he didn’t want to have. I don’t know a lot of things about him deep down, since he’s not the same person

as he was back then. I can’t stay with him for the sake of the baby. Neither of us are prepared for that. I can hardly imagine hopping into a serious relationship so soon after the shit show that’s whatever’s happening with Max. Once I’ve pulled myself together and the bathroom is clear, I leave, clutching my little bag of tests like a hawk is going to swoop down from the sky, steal it, and drop it in Jay’s lap. Should I tell him now to get it over with? I have to eventually, because I’m sure my symptoms will be much more noticeable soon, assuming the test isn’t a false positive. I don’t want to think about that yet. It’s all so much, all at once. Maybe I should toss the test I saved out. If Jay intercepts me at home, he’ll just see that I’ve bought tests. Maybe I can say that they’re for Maya, even though I don’t want to drag her into all this. I dig it out of the bag and walk faster. There’s an alley where some dumpsters are behind the tavern. When I turn into it, I nearly bump into Harrison, the guy that Jay’s been talking to about the potential resort popping up in town. He’s just as startled as I am, jolting back. “Sorry!” I say, putting on a wobbly smile. He looks at me like I’m a three-headed monster and clutches his shopping bags, whatever’s inside clattering. It sounds like plastic. Maybe recycling? Who knows. I don’t think he re who I am, and he rushes past me. Weird. He seemed a little too intense at the tavern, and clearly he’s wound up all the time. But what could he have been doing that would make him react like that? I walk further into the alley and throw my used test into the dumpster. Just beyond that, I can tell that someone’s recently moved some things around. The ground is damp around two dry spots, like the rain didn’t get under whatever was here before. I can’t tell what would have been here, though. The dry spots are smaller than trash cans. Maybe he was just peeing back here or something? It doesn’t sit well with me, but there’s not much I can do. I head back to my car and drive back home. Jay’s out in his workspace, cranking music so loudly that I can hear it from the house, thankfully. I sneak inside before he notices that I’m back.

I need a plan for all of these tests. While I debate what to do, I chug some water. I can put the used tests in a dark trash bag and stuff them in with some other garbage. Something that won’t explode all over the place. Okay, I need to relax — he’s not going to go digging through the trash like a damn raccoon. And there are cords he keeps on the trash cans so real raccoons don’t go through the stuff. I grab a black trash bag and head to the bathroom, locking the door. He’s gotten way too accustomed to waltzing into the bathroom when I’m in the shower, so better to be safe than sorry. Over the span of an hour, I take all the tests. Again and again, they come up positive. All together, including the first one in the tavern, I take nine. The odds of having nine false positive tests are insanely slim. So this baby is real, and it’s inside me right now. I had my big panic moment back in the tavern bathroom, so now I feel strangely steady. I’m going to be a mom. It’s not the way I imagined it would happen, but it’s happening, so I need to handle the situation. I should go to the doctor. I should also figure out when to tell Jay. He’s the only wildcard here. I can do all the classes and budgeting and organizing in the world, but the baby’s dad being in his or her life is something that I can’t really control. I need to think before I do anything stupid. I can’t just drop this bomb on him out of the blue. It’s life-altering, to say the least. I put all of the tests in the trash bag and clean myself up. With some eye drops, concealer, and lip stain, I look as good as new. I dart out to the trash cans and stuff the tests inside of a bag that’s already there, then close it. Relief washes over me. At least that part’s over. I head back inside and get the rest of my bagel from my bag. I stand at the counter and eat it, trying to make a to-do list. I should go to the doctor, which means I need to find one nearby. I need to call Gigi because I know that my current sense of steadiness will not last all night. But where can I even talk to her? We’ll have to text or something. I focus in on making my list, absently touching my stomach as if I can feel something. “Hey,” Jay says, coming into the kitchen. He smells like outside and wood, even from a distance. “You’re back.”

“I am.” I smile at him, surprised at how easily the smile comes despite my racing heart. Maybe it’s the part of me that realizes these might be the last few uncomplicated moments we have together. I already miss what we have, and it’s not even over yet. I shut my notebook when he comes around and wraps his arm around my waist. He kisses me so tenderly that I nearly burst into tears right then and there like a crazy person. “You’ve already eaten?” He gestures to the empty paper of my bagel. “Mmhm.” He nods and opens the fridge. He emerges with the milk and grabs a bowl. He eats so much damn cereal, like a box a day. He makes himself a bowl and comes back near me again. “Everything okay?” he asks, scanning my face. He rests a big hand on my lower back. “Yep.” I smile up at him and it hurts my heart. Why can’t things be simple with him? He’s a good guy who’s always treated me well. He’s gone above and beyond what’s necessary to make me feel safe during all of this bullshit. Under any other circomestance, I’d be elated that I finally picked a good one. But that doesn’t mean I can handle being in a serious relationship with him, even if he wants to be in one. Nice and sweet and hot are all good things, but I know for a fact that it’s not enough for him to suddenly want a family. But seeing his face makes me forget all of that. If I see him all the time, I’ll probably melt and do something stupid, as I clearly do whenever I’m around him. And if we’re living together, he’ll notice me puking my guts out all the time. I need more space. I need more air. I need to figure all this out. “Actually…” I bite my bottom lip. “I think I want to move into Holly and Andrew’s guest house like I was supposed to.”

“Oh?” He looks confused. “Why?” “I just think this is moving a little fast,” I say quietly. “Basically living together is a big step. I feel a lot safer now, so I don’t think I need to be as close.” That last part isn’t entirely true, but he won’t let me go quietly if I don’t say it. He chews in silence, letting what I’ve said sink in. I can’t meet his eye. I’m just giving myself time before I make any decisions about the baby’s future. I’m not chickening out, am I? I hope he doesn’t think so. “Okay, I guess?” He still looks lost. “Do you not want to be together? Whatever this is?” “I’m not sure.” “What?” He puts his bowl down, his eyebrows going up in shock. “I do. But it’s complicated.” I nearly rest my hand on my stomach again, but I stop myself. “Max?” he asks. I nod. That’s a whole other thing. If Max finds out I’m pregnant, I don’t know what he’ll do. Chills run up and down my spine. Maybe I can go home to Jersey for a while and work from there until things blow over? Or maybe, hopefully, I could get a restraining order that sticks. “But you know you’re safer with me.” He furrows his brow, obviously unhappy. “What changed?” “It’s just emotional,” I shrug, even though it’s a lie. “Emotional.” His anger’s boiling under the surface, and there’s nothing I can do about it. “Didn’t we just have a conversation about how we wanted to try it out, regardless of that asshole?” “Yes, but we also said that we might get hurt.” I swallow, feeling tears rapidly pooling in my eyes.

“Goddamn it,” he mutters. “I don’t want to break up. I just want to put things on hold or slow them way, way down,” I finally explain. It’s not what I initially thought I would go with, but it’s true. I want him so badly, and I don’t want this to end. “Please, Jay. I just want to take it slow. And I think it would be best if we weren’t hanging out every single day. If things were a little less intense.” He stares at me. I can tell he’s holding back, hard, and I’m grateful for it. He should just let it rip and chew me out for being a flakey asshole. “Fine.” He’s moving past anger and hurt to annoyance, and it pains me. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. “Thank you, Jay. I really appreciate it.” “I don’t like it, but I get it, kind of. It’s better than breaking up all the way, even though I’m so fucking mad that I can hardly think straight.” His hand grips the edge of the counter so hard that I expect it to snap off. “But I care about you a lot, and even with this bullshit, I still want to be with you. I just need time to cool down, so maybe it’s for the best that you stay with Andrew and Holly.” “I know. I deserve it.” I look down, and a couple tears fall. He sighs when he sees me crying but doesn’t move to comfort me. “I can help you move your stuff tomorrow.” “Thank you.” “Whatever. Maybe I’m just an idiot who’s stuck in the past.” He picks up his cereal and turns his back on me. It feels like a slap across the face. “I’ll be out back.”

Chapter Fourteen

Jay

I’m getting really fucking tired of being yanked around emotionally. It’s like I’m a dog on a leash with an owner who can’t decide where she wants to go. Simone and I are sort of together, but also sort of not. I moved her to Holly and Andrew’s cabin, which they’ve upgraded to have a security system, so I don’t see her all the time anymore. I saw her in ing in town once, and that’s all I can handle right now. On one hand, I’m angry at being held at arm’s length, but on the other I miss having her around. I miss watching dumb movies and just shooting the shit, drinking wine and laughing like normal couples do. She made my house feel good, and my workshop more fun. But still, the fact that she’s still not opening up worries me. Something must have happened for her to suddenly get cold feet, but it happened over the course of the day. Did Max text her again? Did someone tell her that he knows more about where she goes day to day? I don’t know what her deal is. But I do know that I’m at the end of my rope. Why can’t she just fucking talk to me? I don’t use social media, but I’m debating whether I should dig up Gigi’s info. We haven’t spoken in years, but I bet she’d tell me. She was always really honest, but also fiercely loyal to Simone. So maybe she wouldn’t tell me if the secret was that dire. Or maybe it’s something I did. Maybe I push her for sex too much? That doesn’t make sense, though, because we’re clearly both really enjoying it. Or maybe she’s just tired of me and finally lost her ability to keep it together. I haven’t been dumped in years and years, and I don’t want to re-live that feeling. But why would she ask to put our relationship on hold if she didn’t want me at all?

At least I have a different problem to worry about, at least temporarily. Edgar’s called yet another meeting in town at the bagel shop. I don’t believe he has a good deal or anything that could convince me, but maybe I can weasel him into rethinking his newest deals. Or, as Simone suggested, I can see what the locals really want, and try to start my studio. The idea makes me surprisingly anxious, but Simone’s got a weird amount of faith in me and my ability to be a sociable person. Damn it, just thinking about her makes my chest ache. I shove the feeling aside. For people to get behind my idea, I can’t just stand there and be intimidating. I actually have to try. I’m not the first one there today. Harrison is smoking next to his car with someone I don’t recognize. The guy doesn’t seem like a tourist — he’s wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and work boots that a lot of guys around here wear, worn with use — but he’s so good-looking that even I notice. He’s around six feet, in great shape, with a haircut that I can tell is expensive. There’s no way anyone’s hair falls just right without some effort. The man looks me up and down, puts out his cigarette, and says something to Harrison. Harrison nods, and the man walks off. Maybe Harrison just gave him a light, because they don’t seem like they know each other well. Harrison notices me and waves, walking to meet me. “You here for the meeting?” he asks. “Yep.” I open the door to the bagel shop. “Wouldn’t miss it.” The shop’s filled with people who are just picking up breakfast, with Edgar and the others in the corner at one of the big corner tables, a platter of bagels in front of him. People move when I walk up, giving me space. Edgar looks me up and down, his eyes narrowed. At least he’s not pretending to be polite anymore. I put together a bagel while everyone around me makes small talk. I’m not an anxious guy, but suddenly I’m aware of how rusty I am at being a normal human being. I don’t feel like talking about the weather or how the old hardware store is closing. But I should, shouldn’t I? I sigh and pour myself a cup of coffee in a little paper cup. Edgar sits down at the head of the table and clacks his little stack of brochures together. Everyone quiets down.

“Thanks for coming, everyone.” Edgar starts ing around the brochures. “As I’m sure some of you know, my associates and I have now purchased two plots of land for our resort. Since I know that a lot of you care about what the resort will do to the town, here’s a breakdown of the financial benefits that will come to the entire town, not just all of you. There’s also a section on our efforts to preserve the environment.” He gives me a pointed look, and it takes a lot of power for me to not roll my eyes like a teenager. I take a brochure and look it over. It lists the number of jobs that the resort will bring, plus the potential salaries and benefits. I try to pick apart the details, since I know he’s the type to hide some trap behind tricky language. The benefits are for full-time employees, but most of the jobs are part-time. Pay’s pretty decent — enough to get by for most people, at least around here. I’m tentatively impressed, but who knows if he’ll keep his word… And his plan to maintain the natural landscape looks like someone at least sort of tried to make it right. “I’m sure all of you have noticed the recent increase in crime also.” Edgar takes the leftover brochures. “If the resort is built, then more tax money will be coming into the town. With more tax money comes a bigger budget, and that bigger budget can be allocated to the police department.” That gets people’s attention. Chatter breaks out, and I glance around the table. “Is the increase in crime that serious?” One of the landowners who hasn’t sold yet asks, looking at the brochure in confusion. “The arson rate is way up, and there’s been a two hundred percent increase in burglary and grand theft in the past year,” Edgar explains. “And that doesn’t even take assaults into .” Damn. I didn’t realize things were that bad. Now I’m torn — the resort would be a fast way to fix the crime issue. But is Edgar right? I know there have been more arsons, but I didn’t know about all that other stuff. And besides, a two hundred percent increase in burglaries could mean there was one last year and three this year. Not that any are good, but the way he phrases it matters. “What’s that in comparison to? This town has always been safe,” another landowner asks. “It’s not like we’re New York City or something.”

“True, it’s not nearly that bad. But in comparison to other towns in the county, Gray’s Point is quickly becoming the town with the highest crime rate.” Edgar clasps his hands together. “Particularly when it comes to felonies.” “But wouldn’t that make you not want to be here?” Harrison asks, looking paler than usual. “If the town has more crime?” “Mm, not necessarily.” Edgar shrugs. “I mean, it did give us pause — arson is very serious, and it’s a little unusual for a town this small to have so many — but we think the investment is worthwhile, especially with an increased police force.” Harrison sits back, clearly not pleased by this at all. I’m not pleased either. I can’t deny the fact that we need more money in the town. This is the fastest way to get it done, but also the worst. I don’t want to be stubborn, but I don’t want to let this go if it means losing something this important to us all.

Chapter Fifteen

Simone

I feel like absolute garbage. I thought morning sickness was supposed to be just a morning thing, but I feel nauseous all day, every day. I’ve just had another dinner of toast, which is the only thing I can eat without wanting to die. I didn’t get out of bed to eat it because I’m exhausted, so now I’m covered in crumbs. I’m eighty steps behind on my to-do list because I’ve been napping all the time, and I nearly screamed when I bumped my boob on a door earlier. They’re a little bigger, which is nice aesthetically since they weren’t huge in the first place, but they hurt like hell. How much longer can I hide this? I’m running out of excuses to give everyone for why I’m holed up all the time. There are only so many colds a girl can fake. And I’m definitely starting to show if I’m not wearing the right clothes. The only people who know are Gigi and Holly, who took a look at me one day and just knew. “It’s just a weird sense I have,” she explained with a shrug, unbothered by the fact that she’s apparently psychic. “Something about your face. I almost decided to be a midwife once.” So that was creepy and terrifying. The few times I’ve been out in town, I’ve been paranoid that someone will just look at me and bring it up. On the upside, she’s been massively helpful and soothing through all this, giving me advice without prying into my personal business. She promised to keep it a secret, even though I know she probably knows it’s Jay’s. It’s not like I’ve gone around town on dates or anything. She’s given me some books and tons of tips on dealing with the nonstop rollercoaster ride that my body’s going through. She even recommended me to her OB one town over, who I saw a week ago.

Everything’s going okay so far, which is a massive relief. I hate being stuck in this weird place, not sure where the future’s going. Jay has to know at some point — he’s either going to guess if he sees me, or I’m going to tell him if I ever build up the courage. We’ve only been texting, slowly warming back up to each other again, and every time he asks how I’m doing, I have to lie. The lies have escalated from ‘bad cold’ to ‘most contagious virus ever’ in an attempt to keep him away from here with his comfort and kindness. I’m putting my head in the sand at this point, despite every waking moment being consumed by feeling like boiled trash. I’m not going to cry about this. Instead, I grab my phone and video call Gigi. She and Jack just finished their move the other day, so hopefully she’s settled. After a few rings, she picks up. She waves at me wildly, the slight chat delay making her movements choppy. “Hey!” She’s at home, which I only know because I recognize her pink couch. The place behind her looks brand new and enormous compared to their old place — high ceilings, actual sunlight, tidy trimmings. “What’s up? How are you feeling?” “Like shit.” I sigh and sink deeper into my pile of pillows. “But your new place looks good! Give me a tour.” “Everything’s mostly in boxes still, but okay.” She stands up and turns her phone’s camera away from selfie mode. “Can I be lazy and just move around my camera? You know what our stuff is. We haven’t bought any new furniture, besides a TV stand.” “Yeah, that’s cool.” She isn’t kidding — everything’s basically the same as their old place, except it’s spread out now that it’s not crammed into a studio. “How are you feeling?” she asks again, still wandering around their new place. “Still barfing all the time?” “Not all the time, but I feel like shit.” I take a sip of my seltzer. I miss chugging drinks without my body getting mad at me. Learned that lesson the hard way. “You look like it.”

“Well, thanks, Gigi.” She flips her camera back into selfie mode so I can see the concern on her face. “I mean, no offense. But you look sad, mostly.” “I guess I am,” I sigh. “I think I’m just over being up here. I’ve been in here working away and I just want to get back to the city.” “You sure it’s not Jay? Did he not take the news well?” I pause, biting my lower lip. I told her I was going to tell him last night, but I chickened out. “Simone.” Gigi’s eyebrow goes up. “You’ve told him, right?” “No,” I mutter quietly. Gigi shakes her phone. “Since I can’t shake your shoulders to snap you out of it, I have to shake my stupid phone. Come on now, hun.” “I’m going back to the city in a little while. He doesn’t really need to know. I’ll email him or —” “You are not going to email the father of your child about being knocked up. Holy shit. I cannot believe I just had to say that.” She flops back down on her couch. “Just tell him to his face. You can’t move forward without letting him know, and you’re probably feeling sad because you’re in limbo.” Ugh, I hate it when she’s right. “He’s not going to take it well,” I protest slowly. “Okay, maybe, but he has to know. So you just have to drop that bomb in person.” She softens a little. “Just text me if you need a pep talk, okay?” “Okay,” I sigh. “And go outside. You look a little pale, too. When was the last time you left for more than just groceries?” she asks. “You’re mom-ing me so hard right now.” I smile. “But it’s been a while. I think

I’ll ask Maya to go on a hike tomorrow. Might as well get some exercise and breathe all this fresh air while I can.” Oh God, I’m going to be inhaling so much gross stuff when I get back to the city. I reach for my laptop to look up how smog affects babies but stop myself. Holly said Googling symptoms or potential issues is basically asking for anxiety attacks. Plus, basically everything my body does is weird now, anyway. “That’s so cute. I want to mentor a teenager. One who’s not my actual sister, though, since she’s an asshole.” Gigi looks past her phone. Her youngest sister, Grace, is ten years younger and definitely is at the bottom of the list of nicest people I know. “You can do that. There are charities that connect you with young people who need guidance,” I point out. “Actually, that would be kind of cool. Maybe we should do that when I get back.” “Yeah, maybe.” Gigi’s still looking past her phone. “I think Jack’s coming home with food. Talk later?” “Yeah, definitely.” I blow her a kiss, and she blows one back. “Bye.” She hangs up. Once I’m done, I text Maya to see if she’s free tomorrow. I need to get all the fresh air I can get while I’m here.

“Got water?” Maya asks. We’re standing behind my car’s open trunk, putting on hats and lacing up our boots for our hike. We’re parked at the base of the trail, where small groups are coming and going. Mostly going, since it’s getting hot in the afternoon sun. The trail is shaded for the most part, but the higher it goes, the more exposed it is. I’m wearing a loose linen button down that hides my little bump, plus some stretchy bike shorts, and I’m already sweating a little bit. I’m feeling pretty okay overall, finally. Maybe the fresh air and sunlight are helping. “Yep.” I tuck two extras into my backpack. “Granola bars?” “Yep.” I put a whole box in there, just in case. I don’t want to out or anything. “And sunscreen, bug spray, and sunglasses.” “Awesome.” She puts her bag on her back and adjusts her hat, her two pigtails swinging out underneath. “Let’s go.” She leads the way, since this is actually the first hike I’ve been on since I was in the Girl Scouts in fifth grade. Maya’s been asking if I want to go on one for ages, saying it’s not like we have to climb up the side of a mountain or anything like that. And exercise is good for me, especially now. “This is the easy route, right?” I ask, looking up the slope. I don’t like the look of this. I’m not out of shape, but I’m not looking to climb a mountain in my state. “Yep. Don’t worry, this is the hardest part,” she grins. “It’s not so bad once we get up this.” “Okay. I’ll take your word for it.” I adjust my backpack and pick up my pace so I meet hers. Why do my hips hurt? “Shoot, you’ve been sick. I shouldn’t be walking so fast.” She slows down a little. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t worry about it. I’m better now anyway,” I reply. We fall into a rhythm, walking side by side. There aren’t a lot of people out on this part of the trail.

Then again, it’s a weekday, so most people aren’t. “How are things? It’s been a while since we’ve had a lesson.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “They’re okay. I’ve been working on a lot of the pieces you’ve been helping me with. I’ll show you when we get back.” “That’s great!” I look over at her. She looks defeated. “So why do you look so sad?” “I dunno.” She sighs again. “I just feel behind. I was on some subreddit for people who want to go to fashion school and I’m so behind. It’s going to take me forever to get up to speed.” “There’s nothing wrong with that. You have your job at the store and your friends.” “Yeah, well, my friends are going to college in the fall and I’m not, so I won’t have many around. Maybe I should have applied to places since I graduated back in December. I mean, that was the cut off for most places, but my friend Kelly applied to a place with rolling issions and got in.” Her normally bright, warm expression is cold and drawn. I recognize that feeling, like you’re being left behind. It’s the hardest thing to deal with when you’re young. “Trust me, if you don’t want to go to college, don’t go. It’s seriously not the place to go just because you think you should go,” I say. “You know what you like, and what you’re good at. So what if other people are a little bit ahead of you? You’re still on a good path and you’re working hard.” That gets a little smile out of her. “Thanks, Simone.” “No problem.” I gently bump her shoulder with mine. “I had the same exact thoughts when I was your age.” “Back in the day?” she teases. “Oh yeah, way back,” I snort. “Basically to the Middle Ages.” The uphill climb finally levels off onto a plateau, trees reaching up to the sky

above us. Everything’s so green and beautiful. The trees are dense around the path, so dense that I know I’d get lost if I somehow stumbled off the trail. “Look!” Maya points outward. The view’s stunning, with the rolling mountains stretching way out onto the horizon. “It’s so pretty up here.” “It is.” I suddenly feel a little tired. Well, more tired on top of my usual tired. “You want to sit on that rock for a second?” “Sure.” We sit down on the rock so we can look out onto the view. I take a second to sip some water and stretch out my legs. Okay, maybe I am slightly out of shape. I can’t blame this all on the baby. I tug at my shirt to make sure it’s not touching my stomach. “The guy I like is going to college, too,” she finally breaks the silence. “So he’s probably going to go there and bang all these cool girls and never talk to me again. So that’s why I feel like I should go. I’m already feeling behind on everything. Now I’m going to be even farther behind socially.” “Oh, Maya.” I resist the urge to pat her hand like I’m her grandma. “There’ll be other guys. Maybe some who are even better than him.” “I know.” She slowly lays back onto the rock. “But I just feel like I should do normal teenager stuff.” “You should stop thinking about what you ‘should’ do and do what you want.” I scoot so I can look at her face. “That’s the fastest way to be unhappy.” “But what if having a boyfriend makes me happy?” “You can’t know that. And you can’t rely on anyone else to make you happy.” I wonder if I sound as worried and terrified as I think I do. I’ve fallen into the same trap before and I’m still dealing with the blowback. She blinks, considering what I said. “I guess.” “Yeah.” I smile, even though as I say it, I realize that I’m spouting all this advice and taking exactly none of it. My gut churns a little, and I’m not sure if it’s the

baby or unwanted thoughts trying to fight to the surface. “C’mon, let’s keep walking.” Maya nods and gets up, and we continue. She’s quiet but doesn’t seem to be as low as she was. The longer we walk, the more beautiful it seems to get. The forest on either side of the trail seems to get more and more dense, too, almost like one in a fairy tale. It’s been so long since I’ve really felt calm like this, physically. I never realized how much the constant sounds of the city wore me down, or the pace. Yeah, there’s always stuff going on, which is great, but I’m never taking advantage of it all. Most of the time I’m just grumbling with other commuters on the subway or standing in lines outside of places, not taking in all of the art and culture there is to offer. I always wanted to live in New York City, so I never thought about how much my body doesn’t actually like it. I’m not sure if just going back up here — or to any other town in the area — will be enough. “Do you think you’ll miss Gray’s Point when you move?” I ask. “It’s just so calm out here.” “I dunno. I haven’t seen enough of the world yet. Maybe it sucks. I don’t know.” She smacks a bug on her arm. “That’s pretty wise.” “It’s just what my mom said.” She wrinkles her nose. “I think she just wants me to stay and hang out with her and the alpacas forever. Not that I don’t love them, but I want to leave here.” “You will.” I wipe the back of my neck with a handkerchief I tucked into my pocket. God, it’s warm. We stop and start, depending on how I’m feeling. I think Maya’s too polite to ask if I’m okay, since I keep pretending I’m fine. Maybe I should tell her, since she’s big on keeping secrets — a teenager thing that might come in handy. “Hey, can I tell you something?” I start. “Something that’s kind of a secret?” “Yeah, of course,” she replies, excitement bubbling over her words.

I pause, feeling a surge of anxiety. “I’m having a baby.” “No shit?” she squeals. “Congrats, Simone!” Surprisingly, I feel relieved, not like I’ve added to my burden. “Thank you.” “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” she asks. “Not sure yet. I’m not too far along.” I touch my belly a little. I’m not sure whether I’d want one sex over the other, though. Maybe I’ll wait until the birth, but I don’t know if I could handle waiting that long. “Wait…” She pauses. “Who is the father? Can I even ask that question? Am I being rude?” “In this circumstance, it’s not that rude.” I bite my bottom lip. “It’s Jay’s.” “Oh.” She blinks. “Oh my God, you won’t tell him I said he was —” “I’m not going to tell him you said he was a hot, sexy Hagrid.” “Okay, good.” She sighs in relief. “But wow. How’d he take it? I thought you guys were just friends?” “We are… But we kind of aren’t.” I tuck my hands into my pocket. “He still doesn’t know.” Maya senses that she’s reached the limit of polite questions and goes quiet. I need to tell Jay tonight. I’m just putting off the inevitable, and the longer I wait, the more hurt he might be. Or the happier he’ll be that I let him live in blissful ignorance for a while. And I need to take a long hard look at whether I should stay in the city or not, especially with the baby. Maybe I could even move back to New Jersey, even though the commute would suck. It would be a little bit calmer. I can try to talk to Katya. I’m still an important part of the team, but things have moved along pretty smoothly with just me on the phone. Maybe it could work. Maybe I could actually stay up here and raise the baby with or without Jay. Andrew and Holly are nice. And I’m not so far away that I

can’t go back to the city to visit regularly. I take a deep breath, pushing forward. Here I go again, not taking my own stupid advice. I have my friends and my family. It might not be the exact life I imagined, but I can try to juggle it all, with or without Jay. I hear some twigs snapping to my left in the forest. I hope it’s just a bird or something, maybe a wild turkey, even though they’re actually slightly terrifying. Maya hears it, too, and she looks over in that direction. Before I can say anything about it, someone grabs me by the ponytail and yanks me back. My scream is muffled by a hand over my mouth, and everything goes black.

Chapter Sixteen

Jay

The only reason I have a smartphone is that the flip phones my carrier had were pretty bad. I never use it for anything more than its intended purpose, texting, and maybe an alarm clock or camera from time to time. But now I get why people are attached to their phones. I just want something to happen, or come through, or something. I sent Simone a text last night, and she hasn’t responded. I can see that she’s read it, though. That’s the worst part. I’d prefer to just not know. I thought we were finally getting closer to being together again. We’ve texted most days, just casual conversation, talking about whatever pops into our heads. I haven’t asked if she wants to hang out again, maybe to grab a drink. I don’t want to push her, since she seems like she’s coming back around to the idea of us actually being a couple and not whatever non-relationship limbo we’re in on her own. It feels like I’m trying to coax a cat from underneath my truck. Sometimes the cat comes closer, but if I move the wrong way, it goes back to its hiding spot. I roll over onto my stomach and bury my face into my pillow. I’ve had to wash the sheets since the last time Simone was here, so it doesn’t smell like her anymore. Nothing does, since all of her stuff is gone. She left one pair of panties crumpled in the back corner of a drawer, but that’s about it. They’re clean, because of course I had to check immediately. It’s been way too long since we’ve had sex, or even exchanged a sexy text or two. Even though the panties were on the less fancy end of her lingerie spectrum, they were still hot enough for me to jack off to like some sad teenager. I pick up my phone and check it again. My last text was so mundane — I asked her if she saw this terrible sci-fi movie that came out a few years back. I want to watch it with her, since I know she’d find it hilarious. All my texts before that

were replied to in a reasonable time, with a reasonable amount of enthusiasm. Fuck, I can’t believe I’ve turned into this guy. Waiting by my phone, analyzing every single letter and emoji in a conversation. I need to get dressed and get on with my day. I roll out of bed, drink some coffee, then shower. It’s pristine and empty with just my shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. No more scrubs, bubble baths, body masks, hair treatments, or any of the stuff Simone brought around. Even if I didn’t use those things, I miss the way it made the bathroom smell — feminine, but not overly sweet. I pour myself another cup and head to my workshop. It’s hot out now, and I’m not looking forward to working with my forge. It has to be done, though. I have a project due to a client in two weeks. I throw myself into my work, trying to get every detail right, ignoring the feeling of my phone in my pocket. It’s on vibrate, so I should feel it, but whenever I do something with machinery, it feels like it’s vibrating. Hours go by, and soon it’s lunch. Maybe I should send another text? I pour myself a big bowl of cereal and start tapping out another response. “You okay?” sounds a little presumptuous — maybe she’s really busy and just hasn’t had the time to respond. Before I can figure out a good text, I get another one from Holly. Hey, is Simone at your place? Her car’s still gone from yesterday. I frown. No, she’s not. Why? Holly calls a few seconds later. “Have you seen her since yesterday?” she asks, sounding panicked. “She usually lets us know if she’s going out for a while, so she wouldn’t just leave overnight without telling us.” “I haven’t. I was just texting her to see what’s up. She read my text last night but didn’t respond.” My heart leaps into my throat, driven by Holly’s worried tone. Holly’s usually pretty level-headed. “Do you think she went home already?”

“I haven’t checked in the guesthouse yet.” I hear her walk outside. “I’m going to check. Maybe someone borrowed her car?” “But who would? She’s friends with Maya, but she’s barely out of high school. She shouldn’t be driving a rental car.” I glance at my cereal, my appetite completely gone. “I don’t know. I was just throwing something out there.” Holly knocks on a door. “Simone? Are you in?” There’s a pause, and I hear Holly open the door. “She’s not here,” she tells me, taking in a long breath. “Does it look like she’s been there recently?” I ask. “Y’know what — I’ll just come over there. I’ll be there in five.” I grab my keys and phone and book it over to Holly and Andrew’s. She’s standing outside, holding her phone in one hand and the end of her long braid in the other. Her clothes are haphazardly hanging on her frame, like she threw them on hastily. “Does her place look ransacked?” I ask, stepping past her and into the guest house. “Nope.” She steps in behind me. I scan the room. It’s really nice — their renovations look good. There’s her bed on the far side of the room, unmade, but Simone doesn’t like to make her bed. Her work stuff is on the long table next to the window, neatly organized. Her keys are gone, obviously, but so is her purse. If she were kidnapped from the house, the kidnapper might have left some evidence behind. At least it’s not like the last time something happened to her, where everything was wrecked. “Here’s her calendar,” Holly says, pointing to the fridge. I step up behind her and scan it. Her neat, feminine handwriting is all over it. Most things are work-related notes, but she’s also made a note that she has a doctor’s appointment close to when she leaves, and a “to buy” list on the empty space beside the calendar. Granola bars, bug spray, sunscreen…

“Maybe she went for a hike?” Holly attempts. “But with who? I highly doubt she’d go on a hike by herself.” I pause, thinking of an explanation. “Maybe she’d go with Maya. She’s been mentoring her.” “That’s worth a shot. She babysits for us sometimes. Let me text her. She usually responds quickly.” Holly does so, and we wait. I sink down onto the couch, feeling the little amount of cereal I ate churn in my gut. Maybe her phone died before she could respond. That would make sense. But most places have somewhere to charge your phone. She’s not a hiker, but she has enough sense to charge her phone before going into the woods. “Do you think she’s at the doctor, maybe?” I throw out there. “I don’t know. It seems like it might be worth a shot.” Holly stops, her back to me. I can see the tension in her shoulders. “I don’t think she would be.” “Is she sick? Why would she go to the doctor up here when she’s about to go home soon?” I get back up and pace. Holly doesn’t say anything for a moment, but it’s clear she knows something. I give her a questioning look. “She wasn’t feeling great. All those colds and viruses, you know?” She shrugs. “I don’t know much more than that.” A series of worst-case scenarios flood through my head. What if her car’s in a ditch somewhere? What if she ed out on this hike? What if she has some incurable disease that she didn’t want to tell me about? That might explain why she pulled away, but that would make everything so much worse. Holly’s phone rings and she picks it up right away. “Oh, hi, Natasha. How are you?” Holly frowns. She mouths Maya’s mom to me. “No, she’s not babysitting for us today. Justin’s with my mother… She said she was going on a hike with Simone? We haven’t seen her either.” I feel myself going pale and starting to sweat, even though I also feel cold.

“It’s been less than twenty-four hours, I think, at least eighteen or so…” Holly paces a little bit. “Since she’s an adult, I don’t think the cops can do anything yet.” “Put her on speaker,” I say. Holly does it. “So what should we do? Also, Jay’s here — we’re on speaker now.” Holly holds the phone between us. “We can try going into town and asking around. I know people know Maya from the store. And maybe some others can go around the trail to see if they’re there,” Natasha says over the phone. She sounds like she’s been up for days, talking herself hoarse. “That sounds good. I can go into town and start asking around,” I offer. “I’ll come with you,” Holly says. “Okay, I’ll go to the trail. What did Simone’s car look like?” Natasha asks. I give her the details. I wish I could her license plate number, but I never thought I would actually need to it off the top of my head. If we can’t get any details in town, we decide to meet up at the trail head later. Once we have all the details and plans set out, Holly and I get into my truck and head into town. The atmosphere in my truck is tense. Holly’s not saying anything, and I don’t want to turn on any music. I’ve never felt like this before, like I’m about to fall apart from anxiety. I don’t know what I will do if Simone is hurt. Every imagined future where we finally got to know each other again is starting to crumble. And then more terrible thoughts follow. What if she’s fine for now, but she’s on borrowed time with her health? What if we find her and still lose her anyway? She’s thirty, but that doesn’t mean she’s impervious to disease. But it could be something less serious. “When you said she wasn’t feeling great, were you talking about the flu? She’s been sick off and on for a while now.” I slow to a stop at a light. Holly doesn’t say anything for a few beats and keeps staring out the window. I can’t tell whether she’s scared or not, but there’s something on her mind. “I’m

not sure if she’d want you to know.” “What do you mean?” Someone behind us honks for me to go, and I speed on. “It’s not my business to tell you.” “You can’t just give me half of the answers, Holly. This might be a life or death situation. Maybe it’s something that can help jog my memory about her.” I grip the steering wheel, trying to pull myself back together. “I’m worried to death about her. We’re sort of seeing each other.” ‘Seeing each other’ is definitely a stretch, since I haven’t seen her in person in a long ass time and our conversations are basically all friend-level things, but still. I’m falling in love with her again, so who cares what I call it? A big part of a relationship is just how much you enjoy being around a person, and I really enjoy being around Simone. Holly swears, and I’ve never heard her swear in the whole time I’ve known her. Not even ‘hell’ or ‘damn.’ “Park for a second, and I can tell you more about it.” She gestures toward the lot at the end of the main road. “We need to get into town —” “Please. Just pull over.” I do as she says and pull into a spot. “Okay, go ahead.” I crack the windows and turn the car off. “She’s going to be so mad I told you, but since there’s a very strong chance she’s missing, I hope she’ll understand.” Holly sighs and looks at me. “She’s pregnant, Jay. And she wanted me to keep it a secret.” I know what she said, but part of my brain isn’t processing the words. It’s like someone shoved a hunk of sheet metal into a paper shredder — it just isn’t going through. “Pregnant?” I echo.

“Yes.” Her eyes soften. “And I’m guessing it’s yours?” I nod, but panic grips my throat. Fuck. “It might be her ex’s. I don’t know.” Could she have slept with Max while we were together? Or would she do it? When she said that she wanted to put our relationship on hold, she said Max was part of the reason. I shake my head. She would never cheat on me, especially with the guy who literally drove her out of her home. Even though she’s closed off, she’s not a terrible person. “I’d say she’s about three months along,” Holly adds. “Maybe a little bit more.” That was around the time that we had sex for the first time. But then that leaves an uncomfortable truth: I’m the father of her kid. I let my head fall back onto the headrest with a thump. Thank God Holly had me park, because I’m not sure if I can focus on driving without sending us careening off the road. My brain’s still not fully understanding all of this. I never thought I would father a child. I’ve gone out of my way to not do that my whole adult life because of my own fucked-up childhood, and I’m content with my decision for the most part. But that was before Simone came back into my life and made me realize that my life doesn’t have to be some solitary thing with no connections, family, or friends. Deep down, I know that things might not end up perfectly, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try. Doesn’t mean I’m not scared shitless, but my first impulse is to just give it a shot. I need to go with my gut. “Are you sure?” I ask. Suddenly, I’m more scared of the answer being no than yes. “Positive. She’s gone to my doctor and everything.” Holly nods. “Holy shit.” I swallow, feeling heat spread all over my body like tiny volcanic eruptions. Somehow that makes it more real. “Holy shit.” “Are you okay? I’m sorry you had to find out like this.” She folds her hands in her lap. “I’m sure you would have wanted to hear it from her, but…” “I know.” My heart’s going to explode out of my chest. I rub my sternum, as if

that would help. “Why didn’t she tell me?” “That’s only for her to tell you.” “I’m glad you were the one to tell me. I don’t think I would have handled it well from anyone else.” Holly’s a calming presence, and one of the few people I actually trust. But that still doesn’t change the fact that Simone didn’t want to tell me. But what, was she planning on not telling me ever? I would have found out eventually. Unless she was planning on going back to the city and never talking to me again. But what the fuck? You can’t just hide a baby. Nowadays, at least. And why didn’t she think she could say anything? I wrack my brain for any hint that I’d freak out about this kind of thing, but at the moment, I can’t dig too deep into my memories. I can’t ask her any of this shit unless we find her. “Fuck. We need to hurry and find her.” I throw the door open and hop out faster than I thought possible. Now I’m sweating even harder. If Max had someone break in and take some of her stuff, who’s to say he wouldn’t have her kidnapped or something? It’s a crazy thought, but knowing what I know now, I don’t want to take anything lightly. I’ve never been more invested in anything in my life. “Let’s start at the bagel shop. I know she liked to go there,” I say, parking messily in the lot on the end of the strip and instantly hopping out of the car. Holly struggles to keep up with me when I burst inside. Jane, the owner and person who tends to work the counter the most, is there, and gives us a big smile. “Welcome. What can I do for you two today?” She looks between the two of us, gradually sensing our lack of calm. Her smile fades. “Have you seen this woman?” I go through my phone and find a picture of Simone that she'd asked me to take. She’s in the workshop, grinning over her shoulder while she holds a metal hook she made. “I’ve seen her in here, but not recently.” Jane’s brow furrows. “Why?”

My heart sinks. “She’s been missing since last night.” “Have you seen Maya?” Holly shows Jane a photo of Maya on her phone that Natasha must have sent over. “Unfortunately, not recently. The last time I saw her was when she rung me up at the yarn store a week back.” Jane fiddles with her watch around her wrist. “I’m sorry. I can keep an eye out for them.” I tuck my phone back into my pocket. “Thank you.” “Here, take some coffee on the house.” Jane turns and pours us each a cup. It’s a small gesture, but it makes me feel a tiny bit better. We thank her and leave, slightly discouraged. We keep going from shop to shop, asking if anyone’s seen Maya or Simone. Some people saw Maya at the convenience store yesterday morning, but no one’s seen Simone, or even knew that she’s been living in town for a while. We keep striking out, until we reach the tavern. It’s a Friday afternoon, so there are already people there nursing drinks. I head up to the bartender and ask if he’s seen either of them, but he hasn’t. When we turn to leave, I spot Harrison and some of his friends in the corner, facing away from us. They seem to be in good spirits, which is a nice change of pace, at least. Harrison is still looking pretty good, too, at least compared to the last time I saw him at the coffee shop. “Hey, can I grab you for a second, Harrison?” I ask, putting a hand on his shoulder. He jumps. “What? What’s up?” He looks between me and Holly, his eyes wide. “We’re looking for Simone and Maya,” I explain. “You see them?” “Why would I have seen them?” His brow furrows, less out of worry and more out of defensiveness. “Who’s Simone?” “We’re asking everyone,” Holly says gently. Thank God she’s here, or else I’d grab him by the shirt and shake him for his attitude. “No one’s seen them in the past eighteen hours, and they didn’t come home from a hike. We’re thinking of

putting a search party together.” “And this is Simone.” I show him the picture. He tenses for the briefest second, but his face stays neutral. He studies Holly for a second. “Well, good luck.” “Since you know the town well, we were hoping you could help us gather some people, maybe,” I say. I crowd him a tiny bit to pressure him. I can’t help myself. It’s like some primal instinct to protect my young has kicked in, and I’ve only known about the baby for less than fifteen minutes. “I can’t,” Harrison stammers. “I have to get home.” “You sure about that?” I snap. “You’ve always been there for the town. What’s so important that you can’t help find two missing women?” We glare at each other for several moments. “I guess I can help.” Harrison slams the rest of his beer and turns to his friends. “You guys in to help?” His friends, even though I doubt they know either Simone or Maya, readily agree. “Let’s go, then.” Harrison stands and stalks past me. I follow him closely. “Harrison, you’re coming with me,” I order. “I’m driving.” “I can’t drive my own damn car?” He rolls his eyes. “No, because we need to stick together.” I nod my head toward my car. “I need to talk to you anyway.” Holly will be my buffer, so I don’t do or say anything stupid. We climb into the car and I drive off toward the head of the trail, where Natasha’s waiting for us. Harrison’s silent in the back seat, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s staring out the window like I’m his dad dragging him to soccer practice against his will. “Are you familiar with this trail, Harrison?” Holly asks, turning around.

“Nope.” He’s still staring out the window. “You okay?” I ask, trying to sound like I’m worried about him, but I think I just come across as a dick. Well, I tried. “Yep.” He glares at me through the rearview mirror. “I’m just tired, that’s all.” “You seem reluctant to help,” I finally say. Jesus, is this what it’s going to be like in ten years? Driving around a punk in the backseat of the car? At least that punk will be my own, assuming everything ends up okay. “Nope.” He looks out the window again. “Just tired. I don’t even know who Simone is.” “You know her — we bumped into each other at the coffee shop a month back. She was getting a latte and you were getting your morning cup,” I remind him. It was a really brief meeting, sure, but he definitely checked her out enough for him to at least vaguely . I feeling a weird mix of pride that my girl’s hot and anger over his complete lack of tact that made me want to punch him in the face “Oh, her?” He raises his eyebrows. Faux surprise. “I didn’t know she was your girlfriend.” “I never said she was.” I turn off the highway and onto the road to the trail. “What made you think that?” “J-just the way you guys looked together.” Harrison jiggles his leg. Holly and I exchange glances. At least she seems to see what I see — someone who’s hiding something, or at least isn’t being totally truthful. “I don’t know where she’s been taken,” Harrison finally blurts. “How do you know she was taken?” He doesn’t respond. “How do you know?” I pull over abruptly onto the curb, my vision going red. I’m sick of his bullshit. I’m sick of all of this. I just want answers, and if I have

to punch them out of a guy, I’ll fucking punch them out of a guy. “Jay —” Holly says, fear written all over her face. But I don’t care. She’ll be inside the car. I throw the car into park and jump out. Harrison tries to jump out the opposite way, but I catch him by the back of the shirt. I pick him up and drop him, so he falls backward onto the grass, scrambling on his hands like a crab. “You’re going to tell me what you know, or I’ll make you regret it.” I hover over him. He stares up at me for a few beats. “What’s in it for me?” “Having your face in its current arrangement and your butthole without my foot up it.” I feel moments from going completely apeshit. I don’t want to — I thought I’d lost this part of myself a long time ago — but the thought of Simone being hurt makes me lose all control. “Fine, I’ll fucking talk.” Harrison goes limp, resigned, and I step back. “Just don’t be mad when you hear it.”

Chapter Seventeen

Simone

I wake up feeling hungover as hell, the room spinning, my stomach churning and my mouth dry. I can’t what I did last night. My eyes slowly peel open, and I realize I don’t know where I am. That wakes me up right away. I can’t be hungover, since I’m pregnant, and it looks like it’s the middle of the night anyway — the tiny room is only lit up by moonlight streaming in from a window way above where I can reach, even on my tiptoes. It looks like a cabin; all wood walls, floors, and ceilings, with a slightly damp smell that suggests the place is a little old. The only things in here are the cot I’m on, an old mop bucket, and a stack of pillows and blankets in the corner. The door is on the opposite side of the room. My wrists are tightly bound together with rope, and Maya’s back is to me on the cot. “Maya?” I press on her back with my bound hands. “Wha?” She shifts around. “Where are we?” I sit up, nausea washing over me again. I want water, even though I’m so freaked out that I don’t want anything that’ll make it easier for me to pee my pants. “I don’t know.” I want to stand, but my ankles are also bound. I’m still wearing what I wore on the hike, but my hair’s been unbraided, and my hat is gone. My boots are across the room, too. “We were on the hike. The last thing I is someone dragging me backward by my ponytail and everything going black.” Maya stiffens. “I that, too, but someone threw a bag over my head and put their hand over my mouth. I think I ed out.”

She starts to yank at her ropes, panicking, so I put my feet on her. “Shh, we have to stay calm,” I whisper, hoping I sound at least a little bit soothing. With every second that es, the more I realize that we might be in imminent danger. “The more we panic, the more we’ll hurt ourselves.” “How long have we been ed out?” she asks, looking at her wrists. “What the hell? My Apple Watch is gone. It took me ages to save up for it.” I still have my watch on, a simple digital one, underneath my ropes. I push the ropes aside on the fabric of my pants and check the time. It’s three in the morning. Shit. I don’t know if it’s three in the morning the day directly after our hike or if we’ve been out for more than twenty-four hours. Either way, I bet people are looking for us. Maya’s still living at home, so her parents are probably worried sick. I know that Jay probably is, too. I hold back tears. Goddamn it, I wish I hadn’t been such a coward. I should have told him about the baby, and now I might not get the chance to. “We’ll get it back once we get out of here, okay?” I try to sound reassuring, but my voice wobbles a little bit. “I know we’ll be okay.” “But why would someone take us?” she asks, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Where are we?” I look out the window again. There are trees, which is completely unhelpful. I don’t know anything about the different kinds of trees, even if that would help. I lay back down on the cot to hopefully settle my stomach. The one-two punch of potent fear mixed with pregnancy hormones doesn’t bode well for me keeping whatever granola bars are left in my stomach inside my body. There’s only one person who would even think to do this, and it’s Max. But at the same time, I never thought he would take it this far. Somehow stalking me or burning my living space down felt within reach, but kidnapping? No. And kidnapping could lead to murder. I suck in a breath. I can’t go there already. There’s still so much time for us to pull out of this. And who knows… Maybe it’s literally just a random kidnapping. Okay, maybe not, considering how unlikely that is. But still — I’m trying to stay

even vaguely optimistic. I can’t let anything bad happen to the baby or to Maya, and freaking out will only make that more likely. We both freeze when we hear footsteps on the other side of the door, thumping across the ground. The door creaks open slowly, almost like we’re in a horror film. “Hey, you’re awake,” Max says, just like he’s walked back into the bedroom after waking up before I did. He’s smiling and relaxed, which puts me more on edge than anything else would. He’s so damn gorgeous. It’s a shame that’s the only good thing about him. Maya opens her mouth to say something, but I kick her. I glare up at Max. He’s not the kind of guy to blend in, but he’s clearly trying. He’s wearing jeans worn from wear, not from a factory, and a shirt that he must have thrifted. His boots aren’t new either. But the rest of him — his well-cared-for skin, his expertly-cut and professionally-styled hair — is just the same as always. “I’ve brought some food.” He holds up two small plastic containers stacked on top of each other in one hand. “I’m sure you’re both hungry.” “Will you untie us so we can eat?” Maya asks. Max pauses, glancing behind him. “Sure. But only one at a time.” He kicks the door behind him closed and locks it with a key from his pocket. I flinch away when he approaches me to untie me first. “Why are you scared of me, love?” he asks, looking genuinely offended. “You fucking kidnapped us?” I snap, with an incredulous laugh. “And before that, you stalked me, hurt me, maybe burned a house down to scare me, and had someone ransack where I was staying to take back all the shit you gave me when we were together. So that’s why.” I can see Maya’s eyes widen out of the corner of my eye. I need to stay stable for her sake, but my edges are already fraying. “I didn’t burn down a house to scare you.” His perfectly maintained brow furrows. “That’s crazy.”

“And everything else isn’t?” I blurt. “They’re much more reasonable things to do.” He unties one of my hands but ties the one still wrapped in rope to my ankles so I still can’t move. “First of all, you were avoiding me when I needed to talk to you. Then you weren’t cooperating when I finally got in touch with you, so we got in that little argument. You moved all the way up here, so I couldn’t even find you. And then when you refused to talk to me outside of Gigi’s party, I knew I had to get serious.” “How did you know I was up here?” I ask, staring down at the container of food. He hasn’t even opened it yet, but whatever’s inside smells awful. Now that I’m pregnant, I’m sensitive to the most random smells, and some foods are intolerable for me to even look at. I hope I can choke down whatever he’s packed. “I just had to ask around to piece things together.” He opens the container and I gag immediately. “What’s wrong? You love quinoa and salmon.” ‘Love’ is a stretch, but I tolerated it for the sake of health. But now, the idea of eating fish makes me want to out just to avoid it. Ugh, it’s like he shoved some sweaty socks into that container and left it in the hot trunk of his car for a week. “I’m not in the mood for it,” I manage, once I get my gag reflex under control. “Mm.” He hands me the fork anyway. “It’ll be good for you. You’ve gained some weight since you’ve been up here and you definitely need to lose it.” “Oh, fuck off,” I spit, and I immediately regret doing so. He snatches the food from me so hard that I’m surprised he doesn’t fling it across the room. “Fine, then. You’ll lose it faster if you don’t eat at all.” He slams the lid on the food and puts it down. “We can work on reintroducing food when we’re back in the city.” “What do you mean, ‘we’?” I ask, staring longingly at the food that I just rejected. I’d prefer to just eat the quinoa, if anything. My stomach growls. “Once I talk to you about our relationship, we’ll go back to the city together.” He

shrugs and ties my free hand to my ankles so I have even less movement than I did before. The rope digs into my skin. “And we’ll move on from this.” “What about me?” Maya asks. “Once I have your word that you’ll stay quiet about all this, I’ll let you go back to your job and your life.” He unties one of her hands. “Here, eat.” “How do you know I have a job?” Maya eyes the food in the second container warily and picks up the plastic fork. She’s a picky eater, but she’s probably hungry. “I’ve had eyes around town.” He sits at the end of the cot, cross-legged. “Katya’s the one who tipped me off that you’re up here, by the way. Did you know her grandson wants to be a model? I offered to show him the ropes. From there, she told me everything I needed to know.” I hold back tears. Goddamn it. I never thought that Katya would be the one I needed to worry about. But I couldn’t tell her not to tell anyone where I was going without tipping her off that something was wrong. And besides, she’s met Max a handful of times, not enough for her to know what he’s truly like. “How long have you been up here?” I ask, doing mental calculations back to when my stuff was taken. “I’ll tell you more later.” He gently touches the top of my foot, and I resist the urge to flinch again. He doesn’t seem angry or annoyed yet, but he’s like a viper — one minute, he’s fine, and the next, he strikes. “Why don’t we catch up first?” “If you’ve been following me, don’t you know?” I try to sound playful, but my question ends up sounding flat. He glances at Maya, then back to me. Maya’s slowly nibbling on the quinoa, shrinking away to the corner of the cot. “I guess that’s true. I do know some things. You’ve been working on a collection for Katya, yes? And getting a lot of rest. You two have been working together on some clothes and hanging out.” He gestures to Maya and eyes her as she eats. “And that guy whose guest house you were living in. What’s the deal with you two?”

I know that tone — the one where he’s trying to sound casual even though he’s angry as hell. It’s the tone he used when I would answer his calls too late for his liking, or when he’d find ice cream in my freezer even when he was giving me hardcore signals that he thought I was getting too chubby for his liking. “We knew each other in high school. He generously let me stay in his guest house when my original housing fell through.” I feel a wave of nausea over me again. It’s been a little bit since I’ve actually thrown up from morning sickness. Why is today the day that it returns with a vengeance? “I don’t feel good, Max.” Max slides off the cot and stands, suddenly tense. “In what way?” “Like I’m going to throw up.” I eye the mop bucket on the other side of the room. I could make it over there if I had use of my legs. “Ugh.” He can’t handle vomit at all, or even anyone sick. “Can you not?” “Not puke?” I ask. “I mean, I can try but I’m not sure if that’s possible.” “Hold on.” He leaves the room, shutting the door before I can see what’s on the other side. “What the fuck?” Maya whispers, stabbing some salmon with her fork. “Here, do you want me to feed you some?” “No, I’m okay,” I reply, taking deep breaths through my nose and blowing them out through my mouth. “Who is he? Is he your boyfriend?” She whispers. “Ugh, this quinoa shit is gross.” “My ex-boyfriend.” I glare at the door, then at the window. I tug on my ties, but that only sends me toppling over onto my side. Maya pushes me back up. “It’s a long story, but he’s part of the reason I came up here. He was being abusive and controlling, so I tried to dump him. He didn’t take it well.” “That’s an understatement.” She reaches for the knots in my bindings, but everything’s pulled so tightly that she would need a knife to free me. “We need to get out of here.”

The door opens again, and Max comes back with some seltzer and antacids. I’m actually grateful, and I think he can see it on my face. “Open up, love.” He holds the antacids up to my mouth. I open. Should I bite him? What good would that do? I can’t exactly get up and run for it. I accept the medicine and sip on the seltzer through the straw. “That’s a good girl.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I sip and sip, hoping to draw it out long enough for him to not talk to me. I yawn, a fake one that turns real. “I’m so tired, Max,” I say. “Can we talk later?” He eyes me. “Fine, I guess. But we will talk. Understood?” His blue eyes flash with unexpressed anger. I nod, not wanting to tempt fate. He gathers up the food and ties Maya’s free hand back up to her other one. He lays us down and pulls a blanket from the corner over us. “I’ll be in the next room if you need me, okay?” He grabs my chin roughly and kisses me on the lips. I don’t kiss him back, but I don’t recoil either. He leaves, the door closing and locking behind him. Once we hear him walk to the far side of the room, we turn to each other. Maya’s terrified, rightfully, but I’ve moved from terror to survival mode. We have to get out. It seems like Max is alone, but that doesn’t mean he’s not armed. He clearly has some drugs in his arsenal. But he had to be one of two people, since Maya was grabbed at the same time. So even if we do manage to attack him and get out, we might run right into the arms of someone who has no interest in keeping me or Maya alive. And we’re somewhere deep in the forest. There’s a strong chance we could get out and then die from being lost and dehydrated in the woods. I’m extra vulnerable, too. I see a light at the end of the tunnel — a very, very long tunnel. If we get out of here alive, there’s more than enough evidence to put Max behind bars. Then I can go about my life with Jay and our baby. But then there’s the opposite end of the tunnel, completely black. He could kill us if I do or say the wrong thing. “What should we do?” Maya whispers.

“Let me take the lead. Just trust me, okay?” I insist. “Of course I trust you.” “Good.” I swallow, actually feeling a little sleepy. He won’t kill us in our sleep, at least before I talk, right? I hope not. I’m basically always tired now anyway. “We’ll make it out of here.” Maya nods. “Are you really sleepy?” I pause. “That’s another thing. Obviously, we have to keep the whole pregnancy thing a secret.” Her eyes go down and she nods. I can tell she wants to ask a million questions, but she holds back. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything?” “Thank you. And no, I think we’ll be okay. I just need something to eat since I can’t stomach the fish.” I want to touch my bump, but I can’t. “And that’s why we need to get out of here, soon.” She bites her bottom lip. “Okay. I’ll try my best to help.” I almost start crying. I’m so thankful that I’m not here alone. I don’t know what I’d do if he’d only taken me. But why did he take both of us? If he’s been keeping tabs on me, he must have known I’m usually alone when I’m working. But then again, there’s a security system on Andrew and Holly’s property. He’d get caught. On the relatively deserted trail, not so much. “Let’s get some rest, okay?” I try to get comfortable. “We’ll figure things out in the morning.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting my body’s fatigue push me into sleep. It doesn’t seem to last long, though, because I wake up at the first light of the morning, desperately needing to pee. “Max?” I call out. “Max?” He comes bursting into the room, wearing running shorts and a T-shirt. He’s

clearly just woken up, because he doesn’t bother to close the door behind him. I peek past him, but don’t see much. I see a bed and a bunch of duffel bags, but nothing that can tell me where we are. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “I just have to pee.” I try to look sheepish. “Can you take me to the bathroom?” He nods. “It’s just an outhouse. I’ll come back and get you, Maya. Stay where you are.” It’s not like she can go anywhere, but that’s beside the point. He picks me up easily and carries me outside through a door in the room that he came from. It looks like the back of the cabin. Just as I suspected, it’s just forest around us. I can’t tell if we’re in the mountains or even near Gray’s Point at all. I can’t see what he drove up here in either. He pulls a knife from his pocket and separates my wrists from my ankles. He tugs my pants down, and holding my wrists together, he sits me on the commode inside the hot, smelly outhouse. It looks like it’s connected to a water supply, so it’s slightly better than a port-a-potty. He’s polite enough to turn around while I relieve myself. He goes to tug my shorts up from the front, but I flinch away. He’d brush my tummy, and there’s no way he wouldn’t notice anything. “I got it,” I mumble. “There’s a shower out here, too.” He secures my wrists again. “If you want to clean up.” “I’m fine.” “Suit yourself.” He picks me up again comfortably since he didn’t reconnect my wrists with my ankles. When I get back, he puts me down and picks up Maya. Rage flares in my chest. If he touches her weird, I’ll fucking end him. I don’t think he’s that terrible of a person, but I’ve stopped giving him the benefit of the doubt. They return a little bit later, and Maya seems unharmed. He puts her down on the cot next to me.

“Okay, ready for breakfast and a chat?” he asks. I nod, even though I know that there’s no way I can say no. He smiles, and leaves to go grab food. I hear what sounds like a cooler open and close, and he returns with two containers and spoons. They’re overnight oats, one of the only breakfasts that Max made for me. Well, one of the only ones I actually liked. The top’s decorated with blueberries and chia seeds. “Thank you,” Maya says quietly. I echo her thanks and dig in. It’s just right — not so sweet that I puke, but not so bland that I don’t enjoy it. Max lets us eat in silence, his eyes watching my every move. I feel selfconscious as hell, the unwelcome feeling of being judged coming over me again. He was always so harsh about my weight, even though I’ve never been overweight by any measure. I’ve never been above a size six in my entire life, but to him (and his past model exes), that was the upper limit of acceptability. It was always like that. He would always start out with, “Oh Simone, you’d be perfect if...” And then he would insert whatever bugged him about me that day. I would be perfect if I changed just a little bit of every part of myself, more or less. The perfect woman, if I were just a little bit more extroverted. The perfect woman, if I were just a tiny bit more excited to see him every day. The perfect woman, if I ed his career twice as hard whenever he didn’t book a job, because I was the one with the steady income, not him. I tried so hard to please him because I thought I was lucky to bag a guy like him. I never want to put up with that bullshit again. I’m not a perfect human being, but that’s not the point. I need someone to accept me for who I am, and Max will never be that guy. Eating while I’m a little puffy and bloated is making me feel like he’ll yank the food out of my hands any second. But he doesn’t. When I’m done, he takes my container and waits until Maya’s done. He takes hers and goes to put the containers away. “Now, let’s talk.” He looks to Maya, then back into the room where he’s been staying. “Maya, I hope you don’t mind that we discuss our relationship in front of you. I don’t think I can let you out of sight.” He says it so nicely that Maya nods like everything’s fine. Max turns back to me.

“I need you back, Simone,” Max continues, taking my hands which he’s left free. His hands are smooth and soft, the calluses he gets from lifting weights buffed away by his manicurist. “I miss you. That’s why I took these drastic measures — I know in my heart that you’re the woman for me.” I don’t say anything. I just look down at his hands, feeling my body start to heat up and sweat. It looks like midday outside, maybe, and the room is hot. I realize that there’s no way that he could ever feel guilty for his actions. Every last one of them is justified, no matter how absolutely bonkers it is. I can’t logic my way out of this situation. “We can make it work.” He moves my hair off my back and places it onto my shoulder. “I know I’m hard on you sometimes, but that’s just because I see the woman you can be.” I swallow hard, resisting the urge to snap back at him. He shouldn’t want to change me. He should just take me as I am. Or should have, because I’m never going to let him get away from this. “Oh,” I murmur, dragging my eyes up his chest to meet his gaze. “I’m not sure, Max.” His eyes narrow. “Why aren’t you sure? I love you. I’d do anything for you. I’ll be a father if you still want kids. I’ll even quit modeling.” He’s flat out lying to me. He would never quit modeling — he’s too good at it, and since he’s aging like fine wine, he’ll still get gigs as the years go on. And he’d only be a father as far as the sperm donation part went. If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe him — hook, line, and sinker. He’s so smooth. “But we’ve had some rough patches,” I say, looking down at our ed hands again. My hands are starting to sweat, but if I pull away, I know he’ll get pissed off. “All couples do,” he laughs lightly, like we’re just sitting on his couch and not locked away in some cabin where he’s holding me hostage. God, he’s such a fucking psychopath. I can’t say yes to getting back together with him — partially because I can’t make myself lie that hard, and partially because he might do something drastic if

he takes me back to the city. What if he realizes that he can’t keep me locked inside all the time? I don’t know if I can get out and to safety in time if I’m there. But going back to the city would mean that I could probably flag someone down for help. I bite on my bottom lip. But where does that leave Maya? He’s had eyes all around town, apparently, enough people for him to know where Maya works. Who’s to say he wouldn’t have her killed if she made the wrong move to save me once we leave? “C-c-can I think about this a little longer?” I ask. It’s a stalling tactic, but it gives him a little of what he wants — it’s not a flat-out no, and that’s better than nothing. “This is a lot to take in.” He takes a pause so long that it terrifies me. But he nods, and I let out a breath of relief. “Fine. I’ll give you a day. But seriously, think long and hard.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a stack of photos held together by a rubber band. “Here are a few reminders of us to jog your memory. We had a lot of good times, Simone. I know I’ve been a little off lately, but I’m still right for you. Look how good we look together.” He puts the stack in my lap, then digs back into his pockets. He pulls out more rope and binds my wrists again. It’s tight, but I can use my hands to go through the pictures. “One day to think, though.” He stands up, his beautiful eyes going steely, almost like ice. “And then I need an answer.” He leaves us alone, only coming in to give us water and food. Six small meals a day to keep our metabolisms boosted, because that’s clearly what we’re worried about while being held captive. Sometimes he closes the door, which gives Maya and I more time to plot. “Our phones,” she whispers once. “What if we can get to our phones and call? My parents have that app where they can find my phone if it’s lost. Maybe they’ll use it.” “That’s great to hear. Do you think it still has battery?” I ask. I want to move

around because I feel ill again, but every move makes the rope burn my skin more and more. “Shoot, I doubt it.” She glances toward the door. “But they might find where it last was, so at least that’ll help.” “Okay, that’s something.” I lean my head against the wall. But it’s a small something. I know that people are probably looking for us, but they can’t follow a trail if it doesn’t exist. The last time Max took me to the bathroom, I saw a truck outside of one of the windows. It’s nondescript and could be anyone’s. Time es more quickly than I’d like it to, monotonous hour after monotonous hour. What could he be doing in there? Maya and I the time by looking at the photos Max gave me, since there isn’t anything else to do. It looks like he went through his Instagram and printed off the photos. There are a bunch of us getting drinks, a few of me waking up in bed, a couple from the trips we went on together. And I was genuinely happy in a lot of them. He was fascinating and seemed to like me. He always had something fun to do. I did love him once. The memories are a weird mix of comforting and disheartening, but I stop myself from being hard on my past self. I had every reason to like him, and it’s not my fault that he turned controlling and crazy. All I can do is move past it. The door opens in the evening, almost twenty-four hours since Max told me I had to decide. My heart leaps up into my throat, and Maya curls up into a little ball against the wall. “Well, what did you decide, Simone?” He glances at me, then at the photos. He’s happy to see them all spread out. “Did the memories help?” I nod and try to get rid of my dry mouth before I speak. “I’ll go with you.” Maya stays composed. She knows this is the plan, even though it’s a risk. “Really?” Max’s face lights up, almost in surprise. “Simone, you’ve made me so happy. We can put all of this behind us and get back to where we were.” “Yeah.” I smile. “Great.” He stands up and reaches into his pocket. I expect him to pull out the pocketknife that he’s used to cut rope before, but instead, he pulls out a small

velvet box. I nearly puke right then and there, right down my front like a baby. He kneels. “So let’s make it official.” He opens the box, and I gasp. The ring’s gorgeous and exactly to my taste. It has an emerald cut diamond in the middle, with smaller diamonds along the white gold band. I look at Maya, then back at the ring. This is the worst possible way to be proposed to — a perfect ring in the worst situation possible. “H-how did you know?” I stammer, because I genuinely want to know how he picked such a perfect ring for me. It pisses me off. Being proposed to shouldn’t be like this. He shrugs and gives me a big smile. “Just a guess. Let me put it on you.” He plucks it from the box and slides it on my finger, the contrast between the jewelry and the rope around my wrists jarring. He must realize it, too, because he unearths the knife and cuts my hands free. He cups my wrists and rubs the sore spots, which hurts more than it helps. The ring fits, too. “Congrats?” Maya tries, looking between the two of us, her eyes wide in horror. Max cups my face and kisses me. I have to kiss back, even though all I want to do is weep. I’ve made a huge mistake. What if he doesn’t take me back to the city? What if he takes me back to some other cabin and forces me to live there with him as his wife forever? He couldn’t get away with that, could he? “Come on, let’s get you showered up. I’ve got some clothes for you.” He scoops me up. He smells like cologne, the scent of his body underneath it. He always showered meticulously, so I never got the chance to notice how he smelled. I don’t really like it. He shuts Maya in the room again and carries me outside to the ‘shower’ of sorts that I saw when he took me to the outhouse. A whole new panic sets in. We used to take showers together at the beginning of our relationship. Fun, sexy ones. We’d take each other’s clothes off and fuck all day, propelled by new relationship feelings. Now I’m only feeling dread. He can’t see me naked. He’ll notice my bump. He might not want to be a dad, but he’s not an idiot. There’s no way that he won’t know it’s not his based on how far along I am. “For old time’s sake?” He smiles and gestures to the shower.

“I’m uh… I’m feeling really chunky right now.” I laugh nervously. “I don’t want you to see me.” “Maybe you are a little heavy right now, but that doesn’t mean you’re ugly.” He pulls his T-shirt over his head, revealing his Adonis-esque form, and hangs it over the side of the stall. He shucks off his shorts next but keeps his boxers on. “Plus, some other parts of you are looking a little bit fuller. I don’t mind that in the slightest.” He glances at my breasts, a lecherous grin coming across his face. I try to step back, but he has me cornered. The movement of my boobs must have distracted him, because he goes for my shirt next instead of his own underwear. There’s nothing I can do at this point, so I let him start to undo the buttons of my dirty shirt. I look down at my feet and take a shuddering breath. Once all of the buttons are undone, he pushes the shirt off my arms. My shorts go next, and I’m left in only my bra. He looks down at my body, confused for a moment, then back up at me, the pieces falling into place in his head. Even though I’ve gained unrelated amounts of weight, it’s mostly been in my butt. There’s no hiding the fact that there’s a distinct roundness there that’s never been there before. That, plus my illness… There’s no way I can convince him otherwise. The air between us is electric with tension, the sounds of birds filling the air, and a low rumble of what must be a plane in the distance. We must be miles and miles away from the road, considering how quiet it’s been this whole time. I haven’t heard a single thing, and trust me, I’ve been listening. “Simone.” His eyes have gone hard, and anger seems to make every inch of his skin tense. “Are you pregnant?” I cover my belly with my hands, feeling myself start to cry. I don’t want him to hurt the baby. I don’t want him to hurt me. But he’s a half foot taller than me and strong and fast. I’m out of options, and almost out of time. “Tell me!” he shouts in my face, grabbing me by the shoulders. He shoves me up against the wall of the shower, the back of my head slamming against the old wood so hard that my vision gets blurry. “Don’t fucking lie to me.” “Yes,” I whisper, crying.

“You fucking whore.” He grabs my hair in a grip so tight that I cry out and yanks me out of the little shower stall. “You slut, I can’t believe you. I can’t fucking believe this.” He throws me to the ground on the grass behind the house, and I land hands first in an attempt to protect my stomach. I stop myself from face-planting onto the ground, but my wrists are scraped to all hell, immediately bleeding and aching like crazy. The beautiful ring he’s given me gets covered in dirt. I try to scramble to my hands and knees, but he grabs me by the hair again. “Were you going to some other fuck’s baby off as mine?” He kneels down, getting right in my face. His breath is hot and smells like burnt coffee. “Were you?” “N-no,” I gasp, breathing so hard that I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. “Whose is it?” He shakes me again, my neck protesting against the force. “Do you even his name; you piece of shit?” By now I’m sobbing, unable to give him the response he’d probably hate to hear anyway. “Is it Jay’s?” he snaps, yelling inches away from my face. I can hear Maya over the mechanical rumble in the distance, screaming for help that no one will hear. She’s kicking the wall from the inside, hard. “Yes,” I reply, curling into a ball. “Please don’t hurt me.” He glares at me, our faces so close that I can see the pores and fine lines he tries so damn hard to obliterate. His chest is heaving with rage, and his grip on my hair tightens. I get the feeling that my begging has only made the idea of hurting me even more appealing, because he gives me a wicked grin. Just as he’s about to open his mouth, a gun blast goes off. It’s not anywhere close to our heads, but both of us jump back from each other. I turn and start crying for a whole new reason. Jay’s speeding up the hill in his truck, one arm hanging out the window, holding a gun pointing in the air.

Chapter Eighteen

Jay

I thought I was at the peak of my rage but seeing that piece of shit touching Simone and screaming in her face unlocks a whole new level. It’s the same guy I saw talking to Harrison in town that day, the extremely good-looking one. Even now, with his hair messed up and his eyes wild, he looks intimidatingly good, like he’s an actor in a movie where all this shit goes down. They’re too close for me to shoot a warning shot near his head, so I shoot one into the air. Simone looks up at me, her fear turning to happiness in an instant. I come to a stop so hard that Harrison slides off the backseat and onto the floor. I don’t care what happens to him. I jump out of the car and run towards Simone and Max. “Check inside the house for Maya,” I bark at Holly. I don’t turn to see if she does what I say. All I’m focused on is beating the ever-living shit out of Max. He’s in his underwear, and so is Simone — at least on top. Without her shirt on, I can see her little belly, a little blip on her usually flat stomach. That makes me run even harder. I need to get her and the baby to safety. Max hauls Simone up into his arms, looping one arm around her neck and holding her in front of him like a shield. “Don’t shoot, or I’ll snap her neck,” he shouts, stopping. I stop in my tracks, too, about ten feet away from them. He’s already putting pressure on her windpipe, but I don’t want to see if he’s bluffing. “Put her down, Max. We’ve called the cops. There’s nothing you can do.” I slide my gun back into its holster and put my hands up, open in a sign of peace. I’m

feeling literally anything but peaceful at the moment. “I could kill her and this baby,” he says nonchalantly. “Then what?” Simone squirms, grabbing his forearm. She kicks his shin hard enough for him to wince, but he doesn’t loosen his grip at all. I hold my ground. “Let’s just calm down for a second,” I say, trying to sound friendly. “Put her down and we can all talk. Harrison told me you’ve been here for a while.” His face screws up in rage. “He did what? He fucking snitched? After all the money I gave him?” Ah — the final puzzle piece falls into place. When he told me about where Simone probably was, he didn’t explain why he’d give Max any information. Harrison’s not a bad person, but he’s not immune to the temptation of money. But Edgar was offering low six figures for all that land — how much more could Max have offered? “How much did you give him?” I ask, creeping to the side, but forward a little bit. The cops are behind us, since Holly called on the way, but I’m not sure how far they are. The least I can do is stall. “Fifty thousand more than that guy was offering him.” Max snorts. “What’s it to you?” “He’s in the truck right now, scared shitless of you.” I stop. “He has nothing to do with any of this — why’d you ask him for help?” “He needed money, and I needed services.” He takes a step back and lifts Simone off the ground a little bit. “Don’t come any closer. I swear, I’ll do it.” I’m not sure what to do. He’s laser-focused on me, and there’s no way I can shoot. I don’t want to take my eyes off of him, either. Holly’s still beating down the door to the cabin, but he’s not paying any attention to her. All this is about is Simone, and his inability to control her. She stopped kicking, but her posture is still upright. A surge of pride hits me, despite it all. She hasn’t been broken by this. “Just put her down,” I repeat, frustration finally setting in. I’m used to handling

problems, but I can usually rely on my size and words alone. I could solve this problem with my fists, but that would only make things more complicated right now. “No.” He stays right where he is. We stand still, not moving, the sounds of sirens far in the distance. He refuses to break eye with me, so I don’t either. In the staring contest, his grip slackens a little bit. Simone, finally able to breathe, takes that moment to slam the back of her head into his face and bite down on his arm. It’s enough for him to loosen his grip significantly, and she slips out of his arms. She bolts towards me. In an instant, Max is on her tail. I meet them in the middle and grab her, scooping her up and swinging her out of the way. When Max reaches for her, I kick him in the chest, sending him backward, gasping for air. The wind’s been knocked clean out of him. “Oh my God, oh my God,” Simone whispers into my ear through tears, clutching me like I’m going to disappear any minute. “You found us.” “I wouldn’t have stopped until I did.” I kiss the top of her head, still watching Max coughing and trying to catch his breath. I take slow steps back, keeping my eyes on him, my gun still up. The sirens finally reach us, and the cops appear, fanning out from behind us. Max is still writhing on the ground, holding his stomach. I might have broken some of his ribs or fractured his sternum. I’m not sure. But either way, fuck that guy. I could have done so much worse. Once the cops swarm him, I carry Simone over to where Holly’s standing next to the door, still unopened. Holly’s cheeks are bright red from exertion. “I can’t get it open,” she says, sheepish. I put Simone on her feet, but she holds on to my hand. I kick the door right off its hinges, and Maya screams inside. “It’s okay, honey! It’s us,” Holly calls. “You’re safe.”

Holly rushes inside to comfort her, and we follow. Maya looks like she’s been crying, but otherwise she’s unhurt, thankfully. I dig out my pocketknife and cut her loose. She throws her arms around me the moment she’s free. “Thank you for saving us,” she says into my T-shirt, sobbing. I don’t think she realizes she’s crying anymore. “No problem.” I pat her back with my free hand. Simone snakes around to make it a group hug. I look around the cabin for her clothes but can’t find them. “You want my shirt, babe?” I ask Simone. “You’re a little naked right now.” “What?” She glances down at her naked lower half, using her arms to shield her stomach like I already haven’t seen it. “Oh, shit. Please?” I peel off my T-shirt and slide it onto her head. It covers her past her butt. She gives it a happy sniff, which makes me smile. A cop comes inside and looks around. He spots me and Simone hugging Maya and slowly makes his way over, like he’s worried about startling everyone. “Are you Simone Moreland?” the cop asks. “I am.” Simone finally lets me go. “Can I ask you a few questions? We’d like to take you down to the station.” The cop gestures out to the cars. She curls up against me, scared. “Is it possible to do it here?” I ask, looking down at the top of her head. There are twigs and grass in her hair. “It’s been a rough few days.” The cop nods and pulls up a chair. Just like a coordinated dance, she settles between my legs on the ground and I wrap my arms around her. I want to touch her stomach so badly, but I resist and hold her hand instead. “Walk me through what happened on the day you were taken,” the cop starts. Simone takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I was on a hike with Maya. It

was the middle of the afternoon and hot, so not a ton of people were around. We were on a part of the trail with really dense woods on either side, and then someone grabbed me by the hair. They put something over my mouth, and I ed out.” I pull her a little closer. “I woke up inside that little cabin. Max is my ex-boyfriend and I think he took me and Maya so he could convince me to get back together with him,” she sniffs, dabbing tears with the sleeve of my T-shirt. “I stalled him as much as I could. I tried to play along for a while and said that I would go back to the city with him, but that only made him propose to me. I pretended to say yes.” She stops, slides the diamond ring off her finger, and hands it to the cop. It’s nice, and a weird jolt of envy runs through me. Her first time being proposed to should have been a joyous thing, not whatever the fuck Max did. “He took me outside to take a shower and he…” She pauses. “He just lost it. Then you guys came.” The cop nods, taking a few more notes. “Do you know what set him off?” “Not really,” she says. She yawns. “I’m very tired. Can we finish these questions another day?” “That’s fine.” The cop nods and looks to me. “Are you going to get her home safe?” “Yes, of course.” I look down at Simone. “You want to go home?” She nods. “Please.” I know we need to talk about our relationship still, but I don’t want to push the issue when she’s this vulnerable. Once Maya’s parents arrive to take her home, I tuck Simone into the front seat and buckle her in. She falls asleep on the ride back to my house, a deep, hard sleep. She’s drooling on herself and everything. Just looking at her makes me feel relieved. The adrenaline rush is over now, and I want to take a nap myself. But I can’t quite yet.

“How did you guys find us?” she asks after a long drive, her eyes still closed. I look over at her warily. She looks so pale and fragile. “You can tell me. I’m still running on adrenaline despite ing out asleep so I think I can handle the truth.” “Harrison told us,” I explain. “He was the one who broke into the guest house and took all your stuff back for Max. Max was lurking around town and overheard that he was having some money troubles, probably at the Tavern. I guess Max manipulated him, too, because Max promised him one hundred fifty thousand dollars to help him keep tabs on you.” “Holy shit.” Her eyes pop open and widen. “That’s the kind of money Harrison could have gotten if he sold his land, plus a lot more. He got offered it in exchange for doing very little, so he took the deal. He had no idea that Max would try to kidnap you and Maya. I don’t think he would have done it otherwise.” “But who was the second person who took us then?” she asks. “That? Don’t know. But Harrison told us that he refused to do it when Max told him the whole plan. Thankfully he did, otherwise I don’t think we would have found you guys. Max didn’t think he’d snitch because he gave him so much money, but I pressured him into it.” I sigh. “I hate what Harrison did to you, but he was in a shitty position. Max took advantage of him.” Simone takes that in and closes her eyes again. I can’t quite tell what she’s thinking. “Thank you for telling me.” We get back fifteen minutes later. I park the truck and go to grab her from the front seat. “C’mon, Moni.” I scoop her up, light as a feather, and bring her inside. “You hungry?” “Yes, starving,” she murmurs, still half asleep. I place her on the couch and put a blanket on over her body. “I bet you are.” I search through my kitchen for something substantial and find enough ingredients for a sandwich. I put one together, slice up an apple, and

bring it out for her. “You’re eating for two, after all.” She freezes, looking up at me in horror. I push the plate into her hands and sit down next to her. “How did you know?” She asks quietly. “Holly told me once we realized you were missing. She said you’re three months along?” I study her face, tear-streaked and dirty. She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She just nods and picks up a slice of apple. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” She nibbles on the slice, looking ashamed. “You didn’t mean to get knocked up? I’m pretty sure it took both of us for that to happen.” I smooth her hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear. “Why didn’t you tell me, Simone? Is that why you put us on hold? Because of the baby?” She nods, tearing up. “I’m really sorry.” “Thank you for the apology, but I’m more curious as to why you felt like you had to.” I tilt her face up with two fingers. “You could have told me, babe.” “But you said you didn’t want a family because your own family life was really tough. ? The first time we went to the bar?” She wipes her eyes and eats a whole apple slice in one go. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be in a relationship like that still. Throwing the baby into the mix is like putting everything on hard mode. I didn’t want you to feel pressured into staying just for the sake of it.” “I do saying that, and now I regret it,” I reply, putting my hand on her knee. “That was then, way before we started to fall for each other again. And way before you made me realize that my life doesn’t have to be the way that I thought it had to be — lonely and isolated because I couldn’t handle being around others out of fear... My life can be what I want it to be, and I want it to be with you and this baby.” “Really?” Her green eyes light up for the first time in who knows how long… “I

thought you would be pissed off at me for lying.” “I’m a little mad, but I’m mostly just relieved as fuck that you’re okay.” I glance at her belly, hidden by my T-shirt. “Seeing you get kidnapped by a crazy person really put things in perspective.” “You aren’t even a little upset?” “I’m only upset that I haven’t been able to be there for you. It seems like you’ve been feeling like shit.” I grin, squeezing her hand. “I still owe you a pedicure, don’t I? Maybe I can pamper you a little bit.” She leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “You do.” I take her plate and put it on the table so I can kiss her properly. I feel fucking giddy. No other word can describe it. It’s like a massive weight has been lifted off my shoulders and destroyed, never to weigh me down again. “But how is this going to work?” I ask when I break the kiss, thinking about the one last issue in the back of my mind. “You live in the city and I live up here.” “I’ll move,” she says readily, as if it’s no big deal. “I think I’m done with the city life. But I’m not sure how it’ll work with my job, though… We need the insurance. Having a baby is expensive.” “Oh, that won’t be a problem.” I squeeze her hand. She tilts her head to the side, confused. “I didn’t mention that my parents re-inherited me — I didn’t know until after they ed. They left me a pretty hefty chunk of change.” “What?” Her mouth drops open in shock. “What do you mean? What is a hefty chunk of change?” “I mean that money’s not a problem. They left me several million dollars. And over the years, I’ve invested it, and I guess, technically, I’m a billionaire,” I say, with a shrug that hopefully doesn’t come across as smug. “So we could have a lot of babies on that money. If that’s what you want.” Her mouth stays open. “But… What… Why the hell didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I don’t like to publicize it. It’s nice to know people are friends with me just because of who I am and not because of what I can give them.” “Oh my God, Jay.” She cups my jaw, clearly so shocked that she can’t say anything more. I pull her close and lay kisses all over her face and neck. A leaf falls out of her hair and onto her collarbone in the process. I hold it up to her and she snorts, putting it on the table. “I’m sorry. I’m really smelly,” she chuckles, pulling away a little bit. “I haven’t had a proper shower in a little while.” “Eat, and we’ll go shower.” I hand her the plate again. “And eat the whole thing. And you’ve been held hostage for days, so I’m not expecting you to smell like roses.” She does as I tell her and wolfs down the sandwich in record time. I put the plate away and guide her to my shower — our shower. I peel off her clothes, then mine, and turn the water on. She doesn’t have any bruises, but her wrists and hands are all scratched up. It rains warm water down from the shower head above, and she sighs. Dirt comes streaming off of her, making the water below turn brown. “I don’t have any of your fancy stuff.” I grab the shampoo and put some on my hand. “So you’re gonna smell like a dude for a little bit.” “I don’t mind. You smell nice.” She groans with pleasure when I shampoo her hair, massaging her scalp. I wash it twice to get it extra clean and put conditioner on it. While it sits, I soap up her body. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her naked, and goddamn, did I miss this. Her tits are definitely bigger. My cock twitches and I haven’t even had the chance to touch her. I lightly soap them up, taking care when she flinches. Sensitive. I’ll come back for them. I’ll have lots of time. “Can I?” I hold my hand over her stomach, and she nods. I slide my hand over the little bump there. “Wow.” “Yeah.” She looks up at me. “I’m a little worried that I’m showing already.”

“You know I was a ten-pound baby, right?” I position her underneath the water to rinse out her hair. “I could guess. You’ve always been big.” She groans. “Not looking forward to that. It’s like baby Hagrid.” I burst out laughing, “Baby Hagrid?” She giggles, and that turns into full-blown laughter. I’m so happy to see her happy that I feel moments from bursting. “Yes.” “I hope I’m sexier than him.” I massage her head. “Oh, you’re a hot, sexy Hagrid,” she says as she grins up at me. “Why do I get the feeling that you’ve been calling me this in your head for a while?” “Shh.” She slips her hand up and around the back of my neck, then pulls me down into a kiss. “Don’t worry about it.” I missed kissing her so much. The kiss intensifies and I press her against the wall, dwarfing her. She’s safe, especially here with me. I want to be a wall against any fucker who wants to hurt her. I want to protect her more than anything. And I will keep her — and our baby — safe, no matter what. I wrap my arm around her back and trail kisses down her neck. Her breasts are pressed against my chest, and my cock is against her stomach. Her skin brushes it, making my cock harden. We haven’t had sex in a long time. I need her now. I pick her up and line my cock up to go inside her, but I stop. “Wait, is it okay if we have sex right now?” I ask, looking down at her belly. She blinks. “I didn’t really think to ask. We weren’t together when I went to the doctor.” “I need to Google it.”

“Right now?” “Yes.” I slip out of the shower and reach for my phone, quickly Googling. “The shower is in the top three of my favorite places to fuck.” “You surprise me with the depths of your masculinity, you know that?” she snorts. “Found the answer. We’re good.” I throw my phone back down and hop back into the shower, picking her up and pressing her against the wall. I slide my cock into her slowly and her eyes flutter closed. “Just gently.” “Good. I think that’s all I can handle right now.” She digs her nails into my shoulders as I thrust slowly, our eyes locking. The intensity of it, after this wild day, is strangely cathartic. We’re working through something without speaking words. God, it feels so fucking good. “I love you,” I blurt as I go over the edge of my climax, gasping and resting my forehead on her shoulder. It takes me a moment before I realize what I’ve said. “Um…” “I love you, too,” she says with a smile, looking up at me through her wet lashes. I’m so happy that I’m scared I’ll drop her in my excitement. So I put her down and lay another kiss on her, then kiss her little belly. She laughs, and it echoes through the bathroom. I’m excited to hear it echo through my whole house.

Chapter Nineteen

Simone

Four months later

“Jay?” I call from our bedroom. “Babe?” “What?” he shouts back. He’s down the hall in the nursery, doing God knows what. I’m curled up in bed with my sketchbook. Well, as curled up as I can be when I’m as big as a city block. I can’t believe I still have two more months of this bullshit left and I’m already so damn pregnant. I don’t know how much more space this baby can take up inside my body. He’s already fist fighting my bladder every other second. Is he going to start punching my lungs next? “Do you want to go into town to buy ice cream or something?” I slide out of bed and waddle down the hall. I’ve been sketching some designs for my own collection for the past few hours, but now my stomach’s rumbling. I have a lot of free time now that I’ve left Katya. She’s happy for me and wants to stay in touch to see where my work lands, which is all I can ask for. I don’t feel the same anxious rush to put out a collection as I did before I moved up here. Of course, part of it is the baby’s impending arrival, but another part of it is just acceptance. Sure, it might take me a while to reach my dream, but there’s no need to rush it. For now, I’ve been working part time at the yarn and fabric store with Maya, just to stay busy. Jay keeps telling me that I don’t have to work at all, but I can’t do that. I need to do something with my hands. I’ve been doing a lot of knitting and making baby clothes. Our little boy is going to be the best dressed baby Gray’s

Point has ever seen. Jay’s kneeling next to the crib he made by hand, his tool kit next to him. Despite being pretty unable to do a lot of sexy stuff comfortably, my libido is still good to go. It’s probably because Jay is hot as fuck doing literally anything, especially working with his hands. And he does that quite a lot. Watching him make our baby’s crib, all sweaty, his muscles shifting under his summer-tanned skin as he puts the pieces together… I need to fan myself. “Hm? You hungry?” He stands up. I see him every single day, but I still can’t get over how tall he is. “Yeah, but that stupid kind of hungry.” I rest my hand on my belly, feeling the baby shifting around. I’m really hungry all the time, but there’s not enough space for my stomach to expand. I just end up eating all day in little bits. “Okay. Can’t let you get hangry, or you’ll rip my head off.” He rests his hand on top of mine and gives me a kiss on the top of the head. “Give me a second to get dressed.” I follow him back to the bedroom and watch him change. I’m already dressed in my usual vaguely chic maternity caftan, which I wear everywhere. It’s technically fall but it’s still warm, hence my ice cream craving. I’d do anything to cool off, especially with this extra weight on me. He guides us out of the house and down to the truck, where he opens the door for me. He treats me like a princess, and I’ve finally let myself be okay with it. Once I’m buckled in, I start fiddling with the music. He raises an eyebrow at me. “What kind of music are you feeling?” I ask, scrolling through his phone’s music library. “Something nostalgic.” He pulls to a stop next to an open field. “Oh hey, were these signs here yesterday?” I look at where he’s looking, and I see that there’s a “For Sale” sign. “Nope, that definitely wasn’t there before.” I take in the details as he drives past it. “Isn’t that some of the land Edgar bought?”

“Yeah, it is.” His brows furrow in concentration. “So the rumors must be true.” “He’s officially given up on the resort?” I settle on a playlist I made. It’s an exact replica of a CD that Jay burned me when we were teenagers. “He must have.” Jay smiles when the first song starts to play — it’s “HeartShaped Box” by Nirvana. Not exactly something that matches the upbeat mood we have going on, but I’m always in the mood for Nirvana. “Wow, so the resort is officially dead.” I drum my fingers on my belly to the bass line. “Who would’ve thought?” “Edgar went bankrupt, apparently. Or at least that’s what Andrew said. There was a class action lawsuit against him for all of the fucked up shit his company did to its employees. That must have drained his bank s.” Jay turns onto the main drag and drives toward the grocery store. “At least that’s over.” “Yeah.” I look out the window. People are out and about, but it’s not too busy. It’s never truly busy here, and I like it like that. “He probably would have had a field day if he hadn’t, considering what happened after Harrison and Max got arrested. He could have bought a ton of land by making people paranoid over the other kinds of people who could be living here.” As it turns out, Harrison was part of the uptick in crime that the town initially saw, the one Edgar mentioned at the last meeting he had. He was responsible for the arson and had some of his buddies who were also in dire straits go on a burglary spree for things to sell. He thought that if the town had more crime, then Edgar would be put off putting the resort here. That backfired, of course, which is why he went the desperate route of accepting Max’s money to help him stalk me. The crime rate in town only went up a tiny bit without his influence, so the police department isn’t too overwhelmed anymore. It helps that Jay made a large, anonymous donation to the town to install security cameras in certain places. Both Max and Harrison are in jail now, though Max is in for much longer. Harrison’s confession gave him a shorter sentence for all of his crimes and the ones he helped with. I’m pissed at him for what he did to me, but in a weird way, he helped my life. I hope he does okay.

“Well, it all worked out.” He parks and hops out to open the door for me. He helps me down from the truck, since I can’t see my feet, and takes my hand. We walk into the grocery store and steer straight to the ice cream aisle. We’ve gotten very familiar with it over the past few months, since it’s basically all I want to eat. He makes sure I get some veggies in for the baby’s sake, but still — there’s a lot of ice cream going on in our house. “Do we have sprinkles and stuff?” He holds up some. “Nope, let’s get more.” I put a bunch into the cart, along with a pint of chocolate, plus a pint with a core of cookie dough. He puts in his favorite flavors and we go to check out. We walk hand-in-hand, swinging them back and forth like kids. I look up at him, his face warm and happy. Even though I’m tired and weighed down, I’m feeling just as good. The future looks so bright. I’ve got my boyfriend and our baby, and a bunch of ice cream to eat. I wouldn’t trade the past few months for anything, even though it’s been absolutely crazy. If they hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t be here now. We drive home, listening to music and singing along. Well, I’m singing, at least. Jay hums since he’s aware that he’s not the best singer. When we get inside, Jay makes us bowls of ice cream and loads them up with toppings. Today’s his day to pick a movie, and he chooses some superhero movie that neither of us have seen before. The ice cream is gone before we know it, much to my dismay. “You want that pedicure?” he offers, out of the blue. “What? Uh, sure, I guess. Is this a subtle hint that my feet look really bad?” I ask. “No, no.” He gets up and goes down the hall. Weird. He comes back a few moments later with a small caddy of stuff. He’s learned how to give actual pedicures and gets a weird satisfaction from pampering me this way. Probably because it usually ends up in us boning like rabbits, but also because it truly makes me happy. He looks serious, like he’s about to go into

work rather than to give his girl a good pampering and massage. I wiggle my toes. My feet are swollen, and the massage is going to feel so good. “You okay?” I ask, trying to peer at him around my belly. He nods and takes my foot into his lap. His hands are sweating. His hands only sweat when he’s nervous. “You’re hiding something from me. Is there a raccoon in the house again?” I look toward the window. One got in a couple weeks back, and it scared the shit out of me. I don’t want to get rabies shots again. “Simone, do you want to marry me?” he blurts out. He digs into his pockets and pulls out a velvet box. The last time I saw one, I was scared for my life. Now, I’m just dumbstruck. I instantly flash back to when we were teenagers, and he finally asked me out after months of me wondering if he had a crush on me or not. Despite the difference in his body, that look in his eyes hits me somewhere deep in my subconscious. “What?” I blink in confusion. “Are you proposing?” “Yeah.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Fuck, I’ve been trying to figure out how to do it for the longest time, and I just want to do it so I stop worrying about it being perfect. Because I love you and doing little simple things like this — going to get ice cream, watching shitty movies, listening to music — reminds me of how much better my life is with you in it. It feels so right that I don’t want it to end. I don’t know what else to even say besides that. So there we go. That’s my proposal.” I immediately burst into tears. “Oh, Jay.” “I fucked it up.” He fists his hand in his hair. “You deserve a better proposal than this. I should have gotten some flowers or —” “Shut up and come here. I can’t reach you.” I extend my arms. He stands up and I grab him by the shirt. I yank him downward so he can kiss me. He’s so surprised that he nearly topples onto me but braces himself on his hands on either side of my body. I kiss him softly. “Of course I’ll marry you.” “Really?” He leans back, looking completely surprised. “You don’t mind that I

decided to go for this about fifteen minutes ago?” “No, because you’re asking me to marry you, and that’s all I care about.” I eye the velvet box. “And you clearly aren’t doing it without thinking about it first, since you have this box. Let me see the ring.” He opens it and I gasp. Now this is the perfect ring. It’s hefty, but not so big that I can’t do stuff with my hands. The center diamond is oval cut on two thin bands, with emeralds surrounding it. Even though he could buy the gaudiest, most outrageous ring, I appreciate the restraint he had. “Jay, it’s so perfect.” I let him slide it on my finger and ire it. Thankfully it fits, even with my slightly swollen fingers. “Oh thank God. I had Gigi help me pick it out, since she knows you the best.” He sits down next to me. “Really?” That makes so much sense. I thought she was hiding something from me when we video-chatted the other day, but she refused to spill. I thought she was pregnant this time or that Jack had proposed. I need to call her. Well, her and basically everyone I freaking know, because holy shit, Jay and I are getting married. “Yeah.” He kisses me again, long and hard. I’m still crying, but I don’t care. I’m shaking a little bit by the time we stop kissing. We both look at my ringed hand. It looks like it’s a part of me already. This time, the ring feels right.

Chapter Twenty

Jay

A year later

“Come on, bud. It’s time to nap.” I pick up my son, Gray, from the ground, where he’s surrounded by his favorite toys. I’m sitting a few feet away from him on the floor, too, sketching some potential furniture for his room as he grows. It’s nice to see how he plays so I can create something functional and safe. He’s fearless and likes to take tumbles, so something safe with a lot of rounded edges should work. He lets out a squeal of protest, but it doesn’t last when I tickle him a little bit. His laugh is the best thing I’ve ever heard. I want to record it on my phone and play it whenever shit gets rough. I never thought I’d ever feel this intensely or enjoy being a father as much as I do. Yeah, a lot of it is exhausting, and I’ve touched more bodily fluids that aren’t mine in the past year or so than I have in my entire life. But those giggles get me. It feels like they fill the whole house with warmth. “Jay?” Simone calls. “We’re coming.” I round the corner to his bedroom, which is right next to ours. She’s bent over the crib, her long hair swinging freely down her back. Damn, her ass in those leggings she’s fond of wearing now… It’s taking a lot of effort for me to not grab her right then and there and whisk her off to the bedroom. She’s been a little self-conscious about her body since the baby was born, but I love it even more. She’s a little softer in all the right places, just enough for me to sink my fingers into her flesh. My cock twitches in my pants.

Gray immediately forgets I exist when he sees Simone, reaching his short little arms out towards her. It burns a little, but I’m not the one with food sacs attached to my chest. I can’t blame him. Simone plucks him from my arms and gives him little smooches all over his face. He grins, wiggling around and babbling happily. She puts him down into the crib. Like magic, he starts to get sleepy. That’s one of my favorite things about him — he’s always been good at sleeping. Simone has him on a strict nap schedule that seems to be working. We watch him for a little bit, our pinkies touching on the railing of his crib. He’s got her eyes and my hair. The rest is up in the air, since he’s not done growing yet, but he definitely has my size. He’s off the charts in his height already. She flicks on the baby monitor and walks with me into our bedroom, leaving the door cracked so we can see him directly, too. She breathes a sigh of relief. “Let’s hope he stays down for his nap.” She stretches into the air, her lush breasts pressing against her T-shirt. “He’ll be fine. He’s a champ at sleeping.” I slide my arms around her and kiss her forehead. We collapse on the little loveseat we have, since it’s closer than our bed. “He must get that from his dad,” she laughs. I put my arm around her and pull her close, kissing her on the forehead. In the floor-to-ceiling windows, we can see the construction on our workshop. I finally got the balls to buy up the land that Edgar put up for sale, and we’re putting a craft school there. It’s almost done, so we’re upgrading the workshop on our land to have more space for her to work. “I’m scared shitless about the school,” I say, looking out the window. “Why? I thought you said we’ve gotten some serious interest from people in the town who want to get more job skills. That meeting with the high school went really well, so we’ll have some students coming in from there.” “I know. I don’t want to disappoint them.” I’ve planned and planned and planned. I’ve figured out the kinds of classes that we can teach: carpentry, blacksmithing, leatherwork, knitting, and fashion design. I broke that down into

basic, intermediate, and advanced classes, put together a schedule, and tried to market the shit out of it. It’s completely out of my comfort zone, doing all these meetings and talking to people. I’ve talked to more people in town in the past six months than I have in the entire time I’ve lived in Gray’s Point. But Simone’s got my back, always reassuring me that everything’s going well. She always will. This school will be fulfilling and will actually make the difference that Gray’s Point needs. Instead of pushing everyone out, we can let people in. “You won’t disappoint anyone.” She picks up my hand and squeezes, running her thumb along my wedding band. We’ve been so busy with the baby and the school that we just had a small wedding at the courthouse. It was us, Simone’s parents, Gigi, Gigi’s boyfriend, Maya, Andrew, and Holly. Instead of throwing a big reception, we went to dinner a couple towns over. It was perfect. I can’t believe I’m married to her. And get to be for the rest of my life. I look down at her and give her a kiss on the forehead. I don’t know how she does it. She not only carried and grew our very large child with hardly any complaints (like me, he was ten pounds when he was born), but she’s hardly missed a beat in working on her own collection. She has a few samples done, and with Maya’s help, she hopes that she can scale up soon. There’s already a shop in town that wants to sell some of her smaller accessories. And she’s helping out with the school, too. I’m more and more in awe of her every day. She scoots so she’s leaning up against me, her breasts slipping closer to my hand. Just the hint of a breast and my cock twitches again. The tiny movement catches her attention. “I can take care of you, if you want.” She runs a hand up my leg toward my hardening cock and gives me a saucy look. “Please,” I wink, immediately feeling less exhausted. I kiss her, nipping her bottom lip aggressively, but she has other ideas of where she wants her mouth to be. She slides off the couch and kneels between my legs, tugging my sweatpants

down. I offer her a hair elastic I found sitting on my coffee table and she takes it, whirling her hair into a bun on the top of her hair. She’s so damn good at giving head. She grasps the base of my cock and swirls her tongue around my tip. I moan and let myself sink into the couch as she works me, sucking and playing with my balls just enough to keep me on my toes. I still can’t get over how hot it is seeing her head bobbing up and down beneath me, her lips sliding up and down my flesh. We’ve been married for three months, and it still blows my mind that I get to be with her for the rest of my life again and again. “Baby, wait.” I rest my hand on top of her head. “Get on the bed.” “You want me on my hands and knees?” she asks, her voice a purr. “Or on my back?” I groan, just the image in my mind almost making me come all over my hand. I love sinking my fingers into her hips when I pound her from behind, but I also love seeing her all spread out for me, her pussy wet and ready. “Either, just get on the bed, babe.” I shuck off my sweatpants all the way and watch her leap onto the bed enthusiastically. She settles on her hands and knees and looks back at me, expectantly. I grab her hips and slide my cock up and down her slit. She’s already wet, but I want her wetter before I get inside her. I stoop down and bury my face in her pussy, making her gasp. She grabs a pillow and puts her face in it so she doesn’t get too loud. I slide a finger inside her, getting that spot she likes, and tongue her clit until she’s whimpering and pushing her ass back into me. I lean back and watch her twitch around my fingers. “I need you, Jay.” She flips over onto her back and motions for me to climb over her. I do as she wants and settle between her legs. She’s so petite in comparison to me, which taps into my animal side in a way that makes me harder than steel. I love how easy she is to move, how damn female she is. I glance over at the nightstand, where we keep our condoms. We’ve been using them since Gray was born because Simone was tired of taking the pill. Plus, she’d forgotten about the pill anyway, which is how we ended up here. Though honestly, I don’t love the condoms. I miss feeling her, all of her, and watching

my seed come spilling out of her. It was all so simple when she was pregnant. It’s not like she could get pregnant again, so we didn’t bother with anything. “Don’t get one,” she says, looking where I’m looking. “You sure?” I rest my hand on her hip, my dick getting even harder, if that’s possible. She nods. “If it happens, it happens.” I grin and kiss her, sliding inside of her slowly. Both of us groan, sucking and nipping each other’s lips like our mouths have been made for each other. I make love to her slowly, savoring every moment, resting my forehead against hers I slide a hand between us and play with her clit, making her tighten around me. That nearly does the trick, but I don’t want to come until she does. I wind her up higher and higher, her legs twitching around my body as she gets right up on the peak. She comes with a sigh, and I follow right along with her with a violent shudder. I pull out and flop onto the bed next to her, becoming exhausted all over again. She snuggles up to my side. “Love you,” she murmurs. “Love you, too.” We cuddle in silence for a while. “I think we should have another baby. Like actually try for one on purpose, before Gray realizes that he was an only child at some point. Less drama about his sudden shift in status, no?” she says. “You think so?” “Oh yeah.” She lifts her head, her beautiful green eyes meeting mine. “We’re both only children. It’ll be fun to see him grow up with a sibling.” “Yeah.” My mouth spreads in a slow grin. “Plus, it’s a good excuse for us to fuck in the middle of the day, whenever the time feels right.” She snorts. “Of course that’s the first thing your brain goes to.”

“Can you blame me?” I give her a little squeeze. “You’re irresistible.” Her hand trails over my stomach and down to my cock again, which starts to lift to meet her hand. “Then let’s go for it.” She slides her hand up my cock, making me shudder. I’m not sure how I’m so raring to go so soon after our last round, but I’m not going to question it. “Let’s take the leap.”

Accidentally Married (Sample)

“Let’s get married.” That was the last thing I had in mind. Then I saw Holly, a curvy redhead in a tight green dress. I knew she was mine. And I had to claim her. I tasted her full lips and devoured every inch of her. I woke up with a ring on my finger, but she was gone… Our marriage was an accident, but my vows are real. Finding her isn’t easy. And I’m not the only one who wants her. The cartel thinks they own her, but they have no clue. I’m not your ordinary billionaire. I’m ruthless. I’ll protect my wife. And our baby growing inside her.

Chapter One: Michael

The night is dark, cold, and I've got a bad feeling. A really bad feeling. Gabriel Trujillo called me earlier and told me we needed to meet. And when Trujillo calls, you don't say no. You clear your fuckin' schedule and go where he tells you to. It's a lesson I learned the hard way. I shudder and pull my coat tighter around me, attempting to ward off the chilly Colorado night. I'm standing in the parking lot of a rest stop on a hill,

overlooking the city of Denver. I was born and raised here and I'm probably gonna die here. I just hope that death is still a long time comin' though. My cell rings. I pull it out of my pocket and look at the ID. Trujillo. “What the fuck?” I mutter to myself. With a sigh, I connect the call and stare down at the glitter and sparkle of the lights in the city below me. I'm not an overly sentimental man, but looking down on the city makes me appreciate its beauty. “I'm here,” I say irritably. “I've been here for twenty minutes already.” “Running late,” Trujillo said, his Mexican accent coloring the words. “I'm a couple of minutes out. Relax, my friend.” “Hurry up,” I snap. “It's freezing.” I disconnect the call and drop the phone into my pocket. Ordinarily, I'm more deferential to Trujillo. Given who he is and what he does, it only seems prudent, if not wise. I don't know what got into me just now. Talking to him like that is a good way to get my teeth kicked down my throat. I guess I'm just cold, tired, and stressed the fuck out. Turning back, I stare out at the city again, trying to block out the cold, calm myself down, and not to think about what's about to happen. Truth is, I don't know what that is. Maybe nothing. Trujillo has a flair for the dramatic and might just want to make an impression by meeting me in this secluded spot in the middle of the night. Yeah, either that or he's going to put two in the back of my fuckin' head. A few minutes later, I see headlights coming around the bend and feel my balls tighten instantly in response. He's here. Shit. “Get a grip,” I mutter to myself. “He can't kill you. Otherwise he gets nothing.” It's something I've repeated to myself a million times already. And even now, after saying it one million and one times, it doesn't make me feel one iota better.

Trujillo is a wild card. He's unpredictable and I never know what he's going to do, let alone what he’s thinking. He very well could decide that I’m more trouble than it’s worth. That he'll eat the money I owe him just to wash his hands of me. I just don't know. And it's that uncertainty that has my balls climbing up into my throat. The black SUV pulls into the rest stop, as I’m trying to avoid comparing the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires with the sound my bones would make beneath those same tires. The SUV pulls to a stop in front of me and the driver cuts the lights. After being nearly blinded by the headlights, it takes my eyes a minute to re-adjust to the darkness. I hear the door open. Blinking away the spots, I watch as the driver walks around to the rear door and opens it. Gabriel Trujillo steps out of the vehicle and makes his way over to me. His dark hair is slicked back, and his thick beard neatly trimmed. The dark designer suit is well-fitted to his frame, with a vibrant blue pocket square, complete with matching tie - providing the only bit of color. Trujillo looks the part of a respectable businessman. He's anything but respectable though. Gabriel Trujillo is the head of one of the most notorious, violent, and brutal drug cartels in Mexico. Like most of the cartels, he's expanded his business operations into the U.S., moving drugs, guns, and girls. He's also eliminating his competitors along the way. The mass graves that seem almost commonplace south of the border these days, have been cropping up in places like Arizona and New Mexico. Recently, a couple had even been found in southern Colorado. There is no question that Trujillo is solidifying his hold on power in this part of the States. And I'm right in the middle of all this shit. If I'd known who and what he was when he first approached me, I never would have gotten into bed with him in the first place. But, desperation and a lack of options make a man do stupid things sometimes. Hell, all the time. He stops a couple of feet in front of me, smiling. He hands me one of the two cups he's holding. I look at it for a long moment, feeling completely uncertain. “Cappuccino,” he says. “I picked one up for you on our way. Thought you might like something to warm you up.”

I reach out and take one of the cups, eyeballing it skeptically. “T-thanks.” “You're welcome.” We stand in silence for a moment, Trujillo sipping his drink as he looks out over the skyline of Denver, iring it as I had been before he pulled up. I look down at the cup but don't drink, hoping he doesn't notice. Though, I know that poison isn't exactly his style. No, when Trujillo wants you dead, he makes a statement about it. It's a fact I've unfortunately had to learn as he seems to enjoy trumpeting his kills. After a few moments, he turns around and looks at me. “It's beautiful up here at night,” he says. “Gorgeous view.” I nod, as thick tendrils of dread wrap themselves around my throat, pulling tighter and tighter. Trujillo's eyes are darker than space and just as unfeeling. It's almost as if he can peel the skin off my bones and completely eviscerate me, with nothing more than a glance. “Nice to see you, Michael,” Trujillo says, his accent rich and cultured. “Thank you for meeting me out here tonight.” “Did I really have much of a choice?” Trujillo smiles. “No, not really. But I am a firm believer in manners,” he says. “What can I say, my mother raised me to believe in being polite and observing social norms.” “It's cold out here,” I say. “What can I do for you, Mr. Trujillo?” “I was wondering about the money you owe me,” he says, his voice smooth and pleasant. “And more specifically, when I can expect full payment on your debt.” I clear my throat and look down at the ground. “I'm working on it, Mr. Trujillo,” I reply. “I mean, we're doing a good job of cleaning a lot of it through the construction projects, and –” “Yes, you're cleaning some of it and turning a tidy profit,” he says. “But, that is ultimately, a slow process. Considering the interest accruing on your original loan, you're barely breaking even at this point. I'm looking for a more –

substantial – payment, Michael.” Shuffling my feet on the ground, I kick a small stone away. “I'm working on that, Mr. Trujillo,” I say softly. “Times have been tight lately. Some of my bids are getting undercut by –” Trujillo moves so fast, I barely have time to the fact that he's in motion before his hand lashes out and slaps the cup of coffee out of my grasp. I watch numbly as the cup sails through the darkness of the night, hitting the gravel of the rest stop. The top pops off and the drink spills out all over the ground. I turn to Trujillo, my heart hammering, and a sick, queasy feeling rising in my stomach. He's staring at me, his eyes darker and harder than I've ever seen them before. Jaw clenched, body tense, fists balled at his sides, I can see Trujillo trying to physically control and restrain himself. I should have known better. I feel myself grimacing. Trujillo is not a man who likes explanations and justifications. He expects results. Action. Those are the only things he respects. “I don't want excuses, Michael,” he says, his voice as cold as his eyes. “I want my money.” “I understand, Mr. Trujillo,” I say. “And I'm –” He holds his hand up and I fall silent. The look of patience on his face is forced and I can tell, is taking a Herculean effort on his part. “Michael, I want to make sure you understand the seriousness of your situation,” he says. “I do, Mr. Trujillo,” I say. The greasy, nauseous feeling rises even higher within me and I'm half-afraid I'm going to throw up on his thousand-dollar shoes. “Are you certain of that?” Trujillo asks. I nod. “Yes, I'm sure.”

He looks at me for a long moment, a look of skepticism on his face, which makes my stomach churn even more. Yeah, if this little meeting doesn't end soon, I'm going to puke all over the place right in front of him. “I'm not certain you are, Michael,” he says. “I think I need to do a better job of making you understand the gravity of the situation you're in.” Images of severed limbs, decapitated and eviscerated bodies fill my mind – all courtesy of the photos of his handiwork Trujillo has shown me. As I imagine myself winding up like those poor assholes, my stomach roils, my balls are tighter than ever before, and I'm closer to vomiting than I've been in years. Trujillo signals to his driver and the large Mexican man opens the back door of the SUV again. He reaches in and I hear someone sobbing. The driver drags a man out of the back – he had obviously been “worked over” by the cartel already. The driver pushes the man down to his knees in front of Trujillo and puts his large hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place. The man on his knees is sobbing and Trujillo looks down at him, a look of absolute disgust on his face. The man's face is a bruised, bloody mess. His eyes are swollen closed, his lips are split, and when he opens his mouth to breathe – no doubt, because he can't breathe through the mess that was once his nose – I can see that he's missing a number of teeth. It's going to take weeks, if not months, for this poor schmuck to heal. Who knows if he'll ever breathe correctly again. If Trujillo wanted to make an impression on me, he did. In spades. “I get it, Mr. Trujillo,” I say quickly. “I understand the seriousness of the situation and believe me when I say –” “This man,” Trujillo says, cutting me off as if I hadn't been speaking, “owes me ten thousand dollars. Substantially less than you, yes?” I nod slowly, the queasiness in my belly growing worse by the second. Trujillo looks at me intently, letting me know the question is not rhetorical and he's expecting an answer. I nod. “Yes,” I say. “Substantially.”

Trujillo nods. “This man was one of my distributors. A nephew of mine, actually,” he says. “Moved a lot of product for me and always did a good job. But, he got careless. Sloppy. Got some product stolen.” The fact that Trujillo is willing to do this to somebody in his family doesn't bode well for me. I can only imagine what he'll do to me if I let him down. “This man thought that because he's my sister's kid, he can do whatever he wants without consequence,” Trujillo says. The man on his knees shakes his head, speaking as quickly as he can through his busted-up mouth. His voice is thick and he's speaking in Spanish, meaning I don't understand a damn word of what he's saying. But, I don't need to be fluent in the language to know that he's begging and pleading for his life. “But, there are always consequences to our actions,” Trujillo continues. “Don't you agree, Michael?” I open my mouth to speak but find that my throat is dry and my tongue so thick, I can't form words at all. Instead, all I do is nod. Trujillo smirks, obviously understanding that I'm doing my best to project an image of confidence that I don't truly feel. Truth is, I'm downright fucking terrified right now. “A man should always be true to his word,” Trujillo says. “After all, if our word, as men, means nothing, what else do we have?” I shake my head, not understanding what he means. Although, the irony of a man like Trujillo speaking about being true to his word –a drug and gun dealing murderer – is not lost on me. Though, he doesn't seem to see it. “When a man gives me his word,” Trujillo says, “I expect him to hold true to that word. To be honorable. To do what he says what he'll do.” Trujillo looks to me, obviously expecting an answer from me again. Still unable to speak, I nod again vigorously. A predatory smile crosses his face and I watch as his eyes seem to grow even blacker – something I didn't think was possible. “I'm glad you agree, Michael,” he says. “This man does not know the meaning of honor. Does not believe in being true to his word.”

The man on his knees is shaking his head, his voice growing louder as he begs and pleads. Trujillo looks at him, the disgust on his face and the coldness in his eyes growing with each ing moment. “I am giving you this demonstration to remind you of your obligations,” Trujillo says. I nod and like a rusted gate finally breaking open, my voice erupts from my throat. “I understand, Mr. Trujillo,” I say. “And, don't worry, I'm a man of my word. I will get you the money I owe you. I swear it.” Trujillo looks at me for a long moment, as if he has some sort of lie detector in his head that's weighing and judging the truthfulness of my words. Finally, he gives me a small nod. “I'm so glad to hear that, Michael,” he says. “I like a man who puts value on his word. I respect that.” I nod, hoping this meeting is over. I need a goddamn drink. Or twelve. Trujillo nods to his driver and I stare in stupefied horror as the large man pulls a chrome plated pistol out of a shoulder holster beneath his jacket. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion and I find myself noticing the stupidest things – the way the moonlight glints off the cold steel of the gun barrel, the smell of the man pissing himself, and the dark pool of liquid spreading out beneath him. Standing rooted to the spot, terror sending electrical jolts through my veins, I watch as the big man puts the barrel of the gun against the kneeling man's head. I see the bright flash of the gun, hear the muffled sound of the shot, and then feel the warm, sticky spray of the man's brain and blood splash across my face. I watch as the man falls over onto his side, limp, blood pouring out of the large, ragged exit wound on the side of his head. His body hits the gravel with a wet, meaty thud, his eyes wide, sightless, staring at the cold light of the moon in the sky overhead. And before I was aware of it, or able to stop it, I double over, hands on my knees, and watch in horror as a stream of vomit comes shooting out of my mouth like the goddamn Exorcist or something. The taste is awful, and my head is spinning, darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision. It takes some effort to keep from ing out. Eventually, the vomit stops and I'm able to get myself under control. More or

less. I stand up and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Looking down, I look at my vomit mixing with the blood on the ground, feeling a bit guilty that I'd puked all over a dead man. Trujillo is staring at me with a small amused grin touching the corners of his mouth. “I am confident you understand the gravity of the situation now, Michael,” he says. My eyes riveted on the corpse at my feet, I just shake my head, my body growing numb. “Excellent,” he says. “Now, if I were you, I would throw that body over that embankment. Let it roll down into the forest below. Should take quite a while for it to be discovered.” I look at him, horrified. The last thing I want to do is touch the corpse. But, when I look at Trujillo, it's clear that this is part of the lesson he's trying to teach me. Reinforcing what happened tonight in my mind. He gives me another nod and walks back to the SUV, allowing the driver to open the door for him. I watch as the car drives off, leaving me standing there alone in the darkness. Well, not entirely. Not if you count the corpse at my feet. Not knowing I had anything left in me, I double over and puke all over the body of the dead man again. Apparently, I needed to add more insult to his injury. “Sorry, kid,” I say. As I struggle to drag the body over to the hill at the edge of the rest stop, adrenaline is coursing through me and my heart is thundering in my chest. If Trujillo can do this to his nephew, the thought of what he'll do to me leaves me breathless, my stomach tied in knots. I look at the face of the dead man a moment before pushing him over the edge, listening as he rolls noisily through the undergrowth, not knowing how in the fuck I'm going to come up with the money I owe Trujillo.

A Note from the Author

Thank you for taking the time to read my novel Broken Beast. I hope you enjoyed reading Jay and Simone’s story, as much as I loved writing it. If you did, I would truly appreciate you taking some time to leave a quick review for this book. Reviews are very important, and they allow me to keep writing. Thank you again for ing my work, I am incredibly grateful.

About the Author

USA Today Bestselling Author, The Washington Post Bestselling Author, International Bestselling Author. As a man who is a hopeless romantic, your is my inspiration. I'm excited to have you read my books so we can go on the hottest romance adventures together! ;)

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