“I never said I wasn’t a fan of marriage,” I reply. I pull out my phone. “Hang on. I need to send a text.”
She frowns at me. “Right now?” And then she hears her phone chime and I glance at the text I just sent.
ICWTMY
She pulls out her phone, continuing to frown as she reads before a small smile plays around her mouth. “I can’t wait to… maul you? Muffle you?”
“Try again, Lucie.”
She smiles wider. “I have no idea. Oh, wait. Masturbate you? I don’t think that’s grammatically correct.”
“Don’t think I won’t spank you right here, even with the agent watching. You know what the ‘M’ stands for.”
“Yeah,” she says, typing into her phone. “I think I do.”
LUCIE
ICWTSY
I can’t wait to say yes.
I can’t wait til she does either.
THE END
For a preview of Beck and Kate’s book, The Summer of Buried Things, turn the page.
THE SUMMER OF BURIED THINGS
COMING JANUARY 2024
Beck’s cabin is deep in the woods, and straight out of every horror movie you've ever seen. You catch a glimpse of this house during any film—Saving Private Ryan, High School Musical—and you know someone is about to die. The seedy motel I stayed in last night last night is looking better and better.
He isn’t home yet, which isn’t a surprise. Beck rarely sleeps in his own bed. I wait on his front steps, my legs stretched in front of me, and it’s not long before I hear the roar of a motorcycle in the distance.
As wheels rumble over the gravel lane, my heart begins this weird, tripping rhythm—nerves, I suppose. I could take or leave most of Caleb’s friends, but Beck was different. I’ve thought of him a lot this past year, his image often resting behind my eyes like the screensaver on a dormant computer—the black brows that make him look like he’s glowering any time he isn't smiling, the wavy dark hair falling to his shoulders. And his eyes, that strange light brown, glimmering as if backlit by a fire.
The bike purrs to a quiet halt in front of me. Even seated, the sheer size of him is overwhelming. His arms, his chest—all the parts I’ve seen firsthand—are double the size of a normal human’s. I wonder, as always, about the parts I haven’t seen.
He pulls off the helmet and raises a brow at me as he rises. My pulse speeds up in response. There’s something dark and slightly predatory about him, like a housebroken tiger—maybe he plays along but that thing inside him is always one step removed from violence. It appeals more than it should. He’s got a beard now. That appeals too.
He tucks the helmet under his arm. “I heard you'd come back.”
God, I hate small towns. I should have known they’d all be gossiping.
“I’m about to start my period. Were they talking about that too?”
Beck’s smiles are rare and even then, barely noticeable, but his mouth moves slightly upward as he passes me to walk up his front steps. It feels like a victory, that almost smile.
He unlocks the door and I follow him inside without waiting to be invited in. Nothing has changed in the year I’ve been gone. Aside from the bathroom and two bedrooms off to the right, it’s just a small kitchen in the back and a tiny living area so empty you’d think he was in the process of moving out. There’s a table with two old chairs and a shitty, ancient couch facing the TV; not a single vase, photo, or lamp.
I grin. “I love what you've done with the place.”
He acts as if I haven’t spoken, tipping his chin toward the couch and grabbing a chair for himself, sitting astride it to face me. “Why are you here?” he asks.
I deflate a little at his tone. I knew I wouldn’t be welcomed back by everyone, but I sort of thought it would be different with him. It used to be.
“Aren’t we going to make friendly chit chat first?” I ask, curling up on the couch. “You ask where I’ve been and I tell you what a good girl I am now?”
He raises a brow. “You? Good? Unlikely. Tell me why you’re in Elliott Springs.”
“My husband is here,” I snap. “We aren't divorced yet. Nothing's been done that can't be undone.” If he won’t feign civility, why should I? I’ve never had to play nice with him anyway.
“I fucking knew it,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Kate, let it go. She’s a nice girl. They’re good for each other.”
I roll my eyes. "Girl is the key word. She looks like a Disney princess, just waiting for her magical first kiss."