Beck: Do you collect anything weird?

I pause mid-sentence and read Beck’s text.

I’m going to admit something, just between us ladies. I’ve been spending way too much time texting Beck, to the point that I’ve slightly fallen behind on my edits for this damn book. But it’s like an addiction I can’t curb. I see his name on my phone, and I have to answer. I try to tell myself no, answer later, but before I know it, my hand goes rogue on me and it’s unlocking my phone.

And this morning is no exception.

Rylee: No, never really been someone who likes to collect things. Well besides my hunks. What about you?

Beck: I used to collect bottle caps, but I don’t anymore.

Rylee: Bottle caps, like from bottles of soda?

Beck: Yeah, weird, right? But I would stack them up and crash my cars into them. There was a legit reason.

I smile to myself and envision a younger version of Beck stacking up bottle caps and tearing through them with monster trucks, or something like that.

“What’s the smile for?” Griffin sits next to me, startling my attention from my phone.

“Griffin, hey. Gosh, I didn’t see you there.”

“I can see that.” He nods at my phone. “Who you talking to? Secret admirer?”

Smirking, I answer, “He wishes.”

“Oh damn.” Griffin chuckles. “Ruthless, Rylee.”

I shrug and put my phone down, giving my attention to Griffin. “How are you doing?”

“Slightly chaotic. The shop is keeping me busy, and at night, I’m keeping it real with volunteering at the fire station. Basically going around to the senior houses in town and changing fire alarm batteries and testing them.”

“Ah, the joys of a small town.” We both laugh, knowing exactly what it feels like to grow up in such close quarters to everyone around you.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your writing flow . . . or texting flow for that matter, but thought I would bring you some fudge.” He hands me the red and white packaged goodness, infamously known around the island as Lobster Landing fudge. It’s a coveted thing in these parts, and all over Maine for that matter.

“You can’t keep bringing me fudge, Griffin. Every week now? Are you trying to fatten me up?”

“Nah, just trying to get you to name one of your characters after me.”

“Is that all? That’s easy.”

“Hey, you guys.” Zoey comes strolling up to us, carrying her giant canvas bag full of the materials she needs to write and illustrate her books. And I’m not talking paints and papers and all that. No, she writes and illustrates on her iPad. It’s impressive. It’s everything else like a candle, a throw blanket, a neck and head massager, her essential oils, her water bottles, one for ice water, one for tepid. It’s truly an absurd thing to watch her set up. But once she’s done, it’s like observing magic in the making. She’s so focused, so precise with everything she does. When she’s in the zone, she doesn’t get distracted, not even by her phone. Like me. Art knows if she’s at Snow Roast and really needs something, he’ll either call me or Ruth to get Zoey’s attention.

“Griffin, I haven’t seen you in a bit. How are you?”

“Maybe it’s because you’ve quit coming in for your daily fudge dose.” She plops down in the chair across from me.

“Yeah, and my taste buds hate me, but my love handles are cheering. It’s a civil war inside my body and honestly, the love handles are winning.” She eyes the box of fudge Griffin brought me. “But it looks like the taste buds and stomach might win this round.” Snatching the box before I open it myself, she digs in. “Gah, so good.” Waving her finger between us, she asks, “What’s going on here? Are you two finally dating?”

“What? No,” I say, feeling embarrassed.

Can you tell I haven’t quite told Zoey, or Victoria for that matter, about my texts with Beck? I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m afraid they’ll encourage the bad behavior I’ve been taking part in.

“Say that a little faster next time.” Griffin laughs next to me.

“Sorry.” I can feel my cheeks redden. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I didn’t want you to feel weird because you’re all hot, and you’re a Knightly brother, and you have forearms, and it would be like dating a mouse if you were with me, and I should shut up now.”

Chuckling, Griffin says, “Dating a mouse?”

I shrug. “I ramble a lot. I can’t be held accountable for what comes out of my mouth.”

“It’s true. She’s terrible at speaking a lot of the times.” Zoey starts casually pulling out her “must needs” for writing, as if she didn’t make Griffin and me incredibly uncomfortable.

“It’s bad. Sorry, but no, we’re not dating, Zoey.”

Looking over at Griffin, she asks, “Still on that dating hiatus?”

Leave it to Zoey to talk about things people don’t talk about. Well, that people only talk about behind closed doors.

Pulling on the back of his neck, Griffin taps my knee and says, “I’ll catch you later, Rylee.” He pats Zoey’s shoulder on the way out, leaving without answering Zoey’s question.

When he’s walking outside, down the sidewalk to his shop, I turn on Zoey. “Was that really necessary?”

“What? It was a simple question.”

“It was rude.” I hate how she can be so bold sometimes, especially when it’s at someone else’s expense.

She shrugs and puts her headphones over her ears. Rolling my eyes, I turn back to my phone to feel it vibrate in my hand.

And of course, my heart skips a beat.

Beck.

He’s calling.

Why is he calling? We don’t call, we text.

Should I answer it? Hell, I want to answer it. I want to hear his voice one more time. Is that desperate?

Maybe a little?

But I don’t care at this point. Making sure Zoey is engrossed in her music, which it looks like it from the way she’s mouthing lyrics, I swipe to answer and turn to the side, trying to be discreet.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause and then, “Hey.”

Oh God. One little word. How, with one monosyllabic word can he shoot a serum through my body and make every one of my muscles turn into noodles?

“Hey,” I reply, not being clever at all.

“How are you, Saucy?” And there is it, his nickname for me, said in his beautifully delicious voice that rolls through my ear and down my body like it did when we were in Key West.

I swallow hard and take a deep breath, trying to rid the nerves gathering in the pit of my stomach. It’s just Beck. There’s nothing different here . . . other than images of him hovering over me—pulsing inside me—that keeps fogging my brain.

“I’m doing all right. How about you?”

This is awkward, oh so awkward. I’m tense, I’m on the verge of stuttering, and I’m sweating. I am legit sweating in my elbow pits.

He chuckles, and the low rumble hits me hard in the gut, setting off a wave of butterflies. “Great now that I get to hear your voice.” He sighs, and I can envision him scratching his jaw, his scruff scraping across his fingers.

“Is that why you called? To hear my voice?” I briefly close my eyes, trying to calm my racing heart.

I shouldn’t be engaging in this conversation. I already told myself this was over, we weren’t doing this, but here I am, once again giving in and feeding on Beck like a starved woman. And that’s exactly what it has been like. I only had him for a few days. They were some of the best days I’d had in such a long time, and I really enjoyed talking with him, laughing, being generally ridiculous with him. The stupid things we came up with at the wedding. Keeping a straight face with each ludicrous answer he came up with. I have friends, but I’ve missed him. His friendship. And since returning from Florida, at times, the daily silence has been . . . noticeable.

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

“It shouldn’t be, because we decided to say goodbye in Key West.”

“You decided,” Beck says. “I had other ideas about how we should correspond after we left.”

“Good job following through on that by the way.” I chuckle.

He joins me. “Never said I was good at listening. And hell, you should know this about me already, Saucy. I do what I want.”

If that isn’t the truth . . .

“Yes, you’ve made that quite clear.”

“As long as we’re on the same page. So, tell me, are you naked right now?”

“What? No. What is with you?” I laugh. “I’m at the coffee house.”

“Ah, hanging out in the sex chair, huh? Getting it on with your keyboard? Diddling those keys to climax?”

I roll my eyes, mirth pulling at my features. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Nah, not ridiculous, just a damn good time. Now tell me, Rylee, have you spiced up your current work in progress with any real-life experiences, maybe a little fucking against a sliding glass door?”

“Oh, that would make you the happiest mother fucker, wouldn’t it?”

“More like the jolliest mother fucker. Tell me . . . did your hero have your heroine naked, breasts pressed firmly against the cold window, while he lapped every last drop from her drenched pussy?”

Well . . .

I take a deep breath and clear my throat. God, that had been spectacular.

I eye my computer, twisting my lips to the side, hating myself right now. “Maybe.”

A loud laugh pops out of Beck, which only irritates me. Okay, I should have never said anything.

“What’s so funny?” Irritation blooms at the pit of my stomach, overtaking the butterflies.

“You.”

“Why? What did I do?”

Zoey lifts her head, mid mouthing a lyric and spots me talking on the phone. She gives me a questioning look.

I point at the phone and mouth, “Mom.” Giving me the side-eye with a nod, she returns to her work, thankfully.

“You’re so goddamn damn proud it’s ridiculous. You know you can give in, right? It’s okay to feel things about me. It’s okay to admit you had a fucking blast in Key West, and it’s okay to admit you miss me.”

“I don’t miss you.” Lie.

“Fucking liar.” There’s so much humor in his voice that once again, butterflies.

“I don’t. You know, you’re very forgettable.”

“Bullshit. If I was forgettable then why have you been texting me?”

“Throwing you a bone?” You and I both know that’s not the truth.

“I don’t believe that for a second, but nice try, Rylee.”

Sighing, I lean back in my chair, propping my leg on the table in front of me. “Are you going to irritate me, or are you going to say something to make me swoon?”

There’s some shifting on his end of the phone before I hear, “You want to be swooned?”

“Doesn’t every girl?”

“Not being a girl myself, I’m not quite sure what every girl wants since you all are so damn different, but hell, if you want to be swooned, I can make you swoon. Is that what you really want, Rylee?”

Crap, I don’t even know at this point.

I know I don’t want to start anything with someone who lives so far away, because that’s long distance, and not close to being easy. But then again, this man, he’s starting to consume me. To the point that when I hear my phone ding with a text message and it’s not Beck, I’m disappointed. Slightly depressed.

What I do know is quitting Beck isn’t what I want. My heart wants more time, but my brain is wary, for all the right reasons.

Unfortunately, it’s my heart that’s calling the shots right now.

Feeling shy, I say, “Maybe.”

Beck clears his throat, his voice turning serious. “You want to be swept off your feet? I can do that, Saucy, I can easily do that.”

I’m about to answer when Zoey tosses a mechanical pencil and hits me in the boob. “Are you talking to Beck?”

“What? No.” I lie.

“Yes, you are.” Zoey motions at my face. “You’re all red, and you’re rubbing your legs together. You’re talking to Beck.”

“No, I’m not.” Clearly my lie isn’t very convincing, because Zoey is pushing all her things to the side and snagging my phone from my grasp before I can stop her.

She holds the phone in front of her and puts it on speaker. “Beck Wilder?”

Chuckling, Beck answers, “Zoey.”

“What are you doing calling my friend? I thought she was moving on.”

“Looks like your friend has failed to mention she’s been talking to me for the past two weeks.”

Zoey raises an eyebrow at me. “Is that right?”

“Maybe,” I answer, feeling my cheeks warm with embarrassment again.

“Is that why you won’t give Griffin a chance?”

“Griffin, who’s Griffin?” Beck asks, sounding slightly concerned.

“Just the hottest guy in town. Well, one of four of the hottest guys in town, because it’s really hard to decide among the four Knightly brothers. They’re all extremely attractive with all the muscles. Wouldn’t you agree, Rylee?”

“Uhh, I don’t know.” Killing Zoey right about now actually sounds like a really good time.

“Looks like I have some competition then. I wasn’t aware I was going to have to bring my A-game, Rylee.”

“Ehh, yeah, the Knightly boys are, errr, they’re attractive.” Don’t say that. Even though they are, don’t say that.

“Attractive, huh? Interesting.”

Then there’s silence and talk about uncomfortable . . . Zoey’s specialty. Why am I friends with this woman again?

“Hey listen, I have to go. Zoey, always a pleasure.” And then he hangs up.

Shrugging her shoulders, as if nothing happened, Zoey tosses me my phone and gets back into position.

“Uh, are you going to explain what that was?” I’m fuming. I should be relieved she kicked Beck off the phone, but that’s not the truth.

She starts drawing on her iPad with one of those magical pens. “Just helping a girl out.”

“How was that a helping a girl out?”

“Trust me, I lit a fire under Beck’s ass. Give him two days. Guaranteed that guy does something to make you swoon over him. No doubt in my mind.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

Zoey barely lifts her head to look in my direction. “Easy, because Beck looked at you the way Art looks at me. He’s a fool for you, Rylee.” The look.

It’s always about the look. Lizzie Bennett taught me that years ago. It’s always about the look.

* * *

Two days later . . .

I set my glass of wine on the side table, kick my feet up, pick up my remote and press on. Within an instant, the fire in my fire pit roars to life.

Ah, the perfect summer night.

Fire pit, check.

Wine, check.

Hot guy . . .

Well, that’s to be debated. Thanks to Zoey’s loud mouth, I haven’t heard from Beck in two days and yeah, I’m freaking sad about it. I didn’t think he could be scared off that easily, but I guess I was wrong.

“Hey, are you back here?” Victoria calls out from the side of my house. I don’t have a fence. It’s more like I share a huge yard with a bunch of neighbors, even though we have distinct property lines we don’t worry about.

“Yeah, by the pit,” I call out.

Victoria rounds the corner, holding a very poofy garment bag and a small package in her hand.

Oh hell. This isn’t going to be good.

“Hey, look what I have.” She waves the garment bag in hand and tosses the small box to me. “That was on your front porch.”

I take one look at the address label and once again, my heart stills in my chest.

Beck.

How the hell did he get my address? I can give you one guess. Zoey. That master manipulator.

Ignoring Victoria for a second, I tear open the box and pull back some tissue paper to reveal . . .

“Oh my God.” A snort pops out of me as I pull out a hunky merman ornament. But taped on his face is a small color picture of Beck, grinning like a fool. There is a letter attached at the bottom, so I quickly read it.

Rylee,

Saw this little gem at a Farmers Market in Malibu. Instantly thought of you but decided to spice him up a bit. Abs are spot on, aren’t they? Bulge is a little off in size, needed to stuff him some more, but we’ll let that go. Bet you that your boy Griffin didn’t get you one of these. Point, Beck.

Call me.

I read the note at least three more times, noting how legible is handwriting is. Very sharp in place, as if he’s spent years upon years perfecting it.

“Wait, this has Beck’s face on it.” Victoria holds up the ornament. “Is this from one of your readers? How do they know who Beck is?”

“It’s from Beck, Victoria.”

“Uhh . . . am I missing something?” She sits on the chair across from me, garment bag still in hand. She hands me back the ornament, seeming really confused. Looks like Zoey doesn’t have the big mouth I thought she did.

I fold the note and put it in the box along with the ornament. “I’ve been talking to Beck recently.”

“Is that so?” Victoria knowingly smiles. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to cut off your interaction with him. There was something electric between you two. I’m actually surprised you held off this long.”

“Seriously?”

She nods. “Yeah, it wasn’t hard to see that you two shared something special. I was actually a little surprised when you decided to quit him cold turkey. I don’t think he’s the kind of guy you can wave goodbye to.” Spot on, Victoria. He isn’t someone you can easily walk away from or say goodbye to.

Victoria never really talks about feelings, or guys for that matter, because it’s not her jam. She would rather talk about the intricacies of a World War I musket than a relationship, so I’m a little shocked she’s being so open now.

“Where is this coming from?” I take a sip of my drink and set it on the tabletop of the fire pit.

She shrugs and plays with the zipper of the garment bag. “I don’t know. After we talked in Key West, I thought about your situation some more. You deserve happiness. It’s been a rough year—”

“Everyone has rough years. I don’t want to keep using that as an excuse to go after some guy who lives on the other side of the country.”

“I’m not using that as an excuse. I’m making a statement. You had a rough year, Rylee. It’s time to take a breath and enjoy the life you have, the one you strived to keep. If anyone knows about life being too short, it’s you, so live it to your fullest. I’m glad you’re talking to Beck again because it shows me, as your friend, that you’re moving on from your past and taking a chance on living. I say go for it.”

Taking in deep breaths, I look to the sky and close my eyes, willing the threatening tears to stay put. Victoria doesn’t like crying. She hates it, in fact, so keep it together, woman.

Not wanting to talk about Beck or my situation anymore, I say, “What’s in the bag?”

Victoria pauses. I can sense her wanting to continue this conversation but instead, she moves on, and the stark sound of a zipper being undone opens my eyes. Oh hell.

The garment bag parts and a turn-of-the-century dress, frills, gigot sleeves, and the ugliest fabric that looks like it’s been starched at least five times in a row appears. Oh my God.

“Uh, what is that?”

A devilish smile crosses her face. “Do you remember our little deal? If I went to Key West, you’d come to my historical ball with me. This is your dress.”

Yup, I knew I wasn’t going to like the reason Victoria was here. “You can’t be serious?”

“Oh, I was very serious when we made that deal. I don’t want to go to the ball by myself.”

“Well, it’s not like you went to the wedding with me. You didn’t even stay through the reception. How is this fair?”

Victoria shakes her head. “It’s not my fault you met a guy and happily traipsed around with him everyday. I held up my end of the bargain.” Holding up the dress, she says, “Now it’s your turn.”

Knowing she’s right, I sigh, hating every ounce of the deal I made that seems to be more in her favor than mine. How was I supposed to know I would end up meeting Beck? “Fine, when is it?”

“In an hour.”

“What?” I sit up in my chair, leaning forward. “An hour? Why the hell are you telling me now?”

“Because if I told you any earlier, you would have come up with some excuse why you couldn’t attend. With this carefully planned-out sneak attack approach, I know you’re not doing anything and can go to this ball with me.”

God, she’s so fucking smart. That’s Victoria though; she thinks of every possible route a situation can go and takes the surest route. Something I probably should have done before I made this plan.

“Fine.” I huff and stand, taking the bag from her. I turn off my fire pit and point my finger at her. “I don’t care what you say, I’m wearing makeup.”

“But—”

“If you want me to go, I’m wearing makeup. That’s final. I’ll be waiting for you in half an hour.”

I walk away as Victoria calls out, “Hair instructions are in the bag; try to stay as close to the design as possible.” Shouting now, she adds, “We want to look authentic.”

Mumbling to myself, I say, “Oh yeah, I’m going to be authentic. Real fucking authentic.”

In my house, I take the gown to my bedroom where I start to get ready. This isn’t my first time going to one of these terrible balls where I have to talk like I’m from that era. It’s dreadful, and I’m always called out for talking about things I shouldn’t. Sorry if I think playing some Bruno Mars instead of the organ would put a little more pep in people’s step. Bruno Mars was created for a reason: to make us thrust our hips together on the dance floor.

God, Bruno could sing in my ear all day.

But that’s not the case for the people attending the ball. They prefer someone to pound out a concerto on an out-of-tune piano. Painful, so freaking painful.

I pull out the instructions for my hair and immediately turn my nose up at it. Yeah, I’m not doing that. A low bun is all she’s getting. Sorry, Victoria. Maybe if I’m not “authentic” enough, I’ll get kicked out. One can only hope.

Getting ready is only going to take me a few minutes with my new plan of attack, so I pick up my phone and dial Beck, nerves bouncing around in my belly.

I have yet to initiate our contact. Until today, he’s always reached out first, but now that the ball’s in my court, I have to make the effort.

I don’t know why it makes me so nervous, but it does.

I put the phone on speaker and sit on my bathroom counter, listening to the phone ring, and ring, and ring.

Should I leave a message? I wasn’t prepared for a message. Why does leaving a voicemail seem so much harder? Maybe because I ramble and say stupid things and will end up saying something like I dream about your dick and wish—

“Hey, Saucy.” Beck sounds out of breath when he answers.

“Uh hey.” Did I interrupt him doing something? Like . . . you know, DOING something?

No, no way. Beck isn’t that kind of guy, so get that thought out of your head.

“Rylee, are you there?”

“Oh . . . yup. I’m here. Sorry. Was thinking about you having sex.” See, rambling and saying what’s on my mind. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.

Chuckling, Beck answers, “Is that so? Was I doing a good job?”

“What? No. I mean yes . . . I mean . . .” Flustered, I hang up the phone and drop it on the bathroom counter, as if it’s on fire. I step away and place my hand on my forehead, trying to comprehend my inability to call a man and not act normal.

That was embarrassing.

Like, mortifying and yup, look at that. He’s calling back. Of course he is, because he’s nice and interested and wants to talk to me.

Damn him for being so perfect.

Sighing, I answer, “Hello?”

“Hey there.” There is so much humor in his voice, it releases some of the tension in my shoulders.

“What’s up?” Taking the casual approach this go around.

Chuckling some more, Beck asks, “Are you nervous to talk to me on the phone, Rylee?”

I should be used to his blatant directness, but it’s still taking some time to comprehend. I’ve never met anyone like him, so to the point, no messing around.

I want to be the same with him.

“I am. You make me nervous.”

“Because I’m so goddamn attractive you can’t think about me without fumbling over your words?”

Okay, sarcasm works for me. “Don’t be a dick.”

He barks out a laugh and then soothingly says, “Don’t be nervous, Saucy. It’s just me. You know what you’re going to get when you talk to me on the phone. General interest in your day, some blatant flirting, and of course the begging for a selfie. How many times can a guy really ask?”

“You have pictures of me, so you’ll survive.”

“I want more. Come on, I know you got the package, my tracking number told me so. FaceTime with me, let me see that smile of yours.”

I bite on my bottom lip, trying to comprehend where this is going.

“FaceTime seems too intimate.”

“So, maybe I want to get intimate.” His response is instant, no stumbling, no pauses.

“Intimate seems pointless because we live so far away.”

“Sometimes you have to take a chance on something that makes you happy, regardless of the unknown.”

And just like that, his words resonate with me.

Taking that chance, I press the FaceTime button on my phone and hold my breath.

Within an instant, Beck’s face comes on screen. Oh my God, I really forgot how attractive he is. How attracted I am to him. I love his gorgeous smile and how his eyes show sincere happiness, amidst the cocky mischief. How I wish I could hug him right now.

“Hey Saucy.” His voice is low, smooth, just how I like it.

“Hey,” I answer shyly.

I take in his background. He looks like he’s in his bedroom, and he’s definitely not wearing a shirt because his shoulders are bare. There isn’t anything on his walls, but he does have white curtains over his windows, which is a bit surprising. I never would have pegged him to be a man bothered with window decoration.

“There’s that beautiful smile I’ve been dreaming about.” He sits on his bed. “Now tell me about the package you received. Is it everything your little heart desired? Is he the most handsome of the mermen you have?”

I chuckle, feeling a little more at ease. “He is definitely the most interesting.”

“And handsome.”

I laugh some more. “Of course the most handsome. I like that he’s holding a paintbrush, very fitting.”

“I thought so myself. But can we agree that the bulge needs to be bigger? I’m packing some heat here and that merman is not representing me properly.”

“Maybe he rolled it up like a sushi roll and tucked it behind his scales. Shifters and such can do that.”

“Shifters?” He makes a confused face.

“Never mind.” I brush it off, not wanting to get into that conversation. Too many questions are involved when trying to explain paranormal romance to someone. “I love the ornament though. Thank you; that was really sweet.”

“You’re welcome, Saucy. I’m glad you like it.” He lies down on his pillow and holds the camera above him. I catch a flash of his broad chest and my mouth waters. “What are you up to tonight? Got any big plans with any guys I didn’t know about like Griffin?”

I give him a sideways look. “Nothing with Griffin.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“But I do have plans,” I say quickly.

“Yeah?” The hand that’s behind his head lightly brushes through his hair that is longer than I remember. “What kind of plans? Do they involve me and getting naked on FaceTime?”

“No, nice try though.” I scoot back on the counter and lean against my mirror. “I have a date.”

His brow pinches together and call me a bitch, but I kind of like playing around with him since he’s played with me so much. It’s only fitting. “A date? Tell me about this date.”

I purse my lips together. “Let’s see, there will be music and dancing.”

“Oh yeah? I love dancing.”

I know, and he’s sexy as sin when he dances. There is something to be said about a man who effortlessly shows his skills with no qualms and no holding back. That’s Beck; live in the moment and express yourself. It’s what makes him so addicting, and it’s what makes him impossible to cut loose.

It’s why I’m talking to him right now, giddy as hell to see him, to hear his voice.

“So much dancing.” Choreographed dancing from the 19^th Century, but I’m not going to let him know that. Dancing that I sure as hell won’t be participating in. “And food, because you know, what’s a date without food?”

“Got to have food,” he answers. “What else is there going to be?”

Hmm . . . let’s see, there will be paper fans waving over massive amounts of ringlets cascading down the up-dos of each and every woman—except me—in the venue. Maybe I’ll skip that detail.

“Drinks, yup. I’ll be drinking.” And that’s the freaking truth. The minute I walk through the doors of that ballroom, first stop is the bar and instead of a glass of wine, I’m going to ask them to duct tape two bottles of champagne to my hands. And if anyone asks what I’m doing, I’ll introduce myself as Madame Boozehands of Soon to be Drunkville.

“Huh, so dancing, drinking, and food. Sounds like you’re going to a wedding without me. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

There is a pounding in my hallway that’s quickly picking up pace and before I can see what it is, Victoria bursts through my bathroom door, looking frantic and thrusting a piece of paper in my direction.

“Victoria, what the—?”

“Oh thank God. You haven’t started your hair yet. I gave you the wrong instructions. I gave you the hairstyle of a servant, not of a middle-class woman. What the hell was I thinking? Here, read the instructions carefully and if you need help let me know right away so I can do it for you. You know what, maybe I will do your hair. It has to be right for tonight, and I have my dress in the car so we can get ready together. I don’t want to be late to the historical ball. Dance cards fill up quickly, and I want to make sure we don’t miss out on any of the dances.”

What terrible, terrible timing.

Exhaling a long breath, I turn my phone to Victoria and say, “Say hi to Beck.”

Startled, Victoria squats to look into the phone like it’s a microscope. “Oh, Beck. Sorry. I didn’t know you were talking on the phone with Rylee.”

I don’t have to look at the phone to know that not only is Beck smiling like a damn fool, but he’s already calculating the ribbing he’ll unleash on me when he next gets the opportunity.

“Hey Victoria. So you must be the date our friend Rylee is talking about.”

“Oh, yup.” Victoria pushes her glasses up on her nose. “We’re going to a historical ball tonight. Do you want to see her dress? I picked it out myself. It’s very authentic.”

“There is nothing more I want to do than see her dress right now.”

My nostrils flair . . . Ass.

Excited, Victoria unzips the garment bag and pushes it over the shoulders to show off the maroon and tan frilly, poofy dress I’ll be wearing.

“Wow.” He pauses. “I’m going to need a picture of Rylee in that.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take one with her phone and send it to you. But we should go, because I have to do her hair, and I really want to make sure it’s accurate for the era we’re representing.”

“Totally get it. Don’t let me keep you. It was good seeing you, Victoria.”

“You too.”

I turn the phone back to me where Beck is gleaming with joy . . . on my behalf. With a wink, he says, “Looking forward to that picture, Saucy. I’ll talk to you later.” And then the phone goes blank.

That devil of a man. Ugh, I could scream at Victoria, letting the cat out of the bag. I mean, to her defense, she didn’t know I was trying to pull a fast one on Beck, but still, gah . . .

Beep.

A text . . . from Beck.

“Okay, sit down on this chair, and I’ll get to work.” Victoria motions for me to sit, which I do. There is no getting out of this anymore. This is really happening, and there’s no doubt in my mind Victoria will make sure Beck gets a picture of me. “Beck is so nice. I’m glad you’re talking to him again.”

“Yeah.” I huff and open my text message.

Beck: I hope your date goes well tonight and you get lucky with Victoria.

So fucking cheeky.

Rylee: Me too, twenty bucks says she’s a better lover than you.

Ha! Take that. I giggle to myself, very pleased with my response.

Beck: Send me video and I’ll let you know my opinion on the matter.

Of course he has a smart-ass comment to follow up.

Rylee: Your opinion isn’t warranted.

Beck: Okay, then call me after. Bet she can’t make you come all over her face like you did on mine.

My body heats up and I’m immediately embarrassed when my mind jumps back to our night together, my naked breasts pushed against the glass, Beck’s powerful shoulders spreading my legs, and his entire mouth pressed against my center, making me come so goddamn hard I nearly blacked out.

“Are you hot?” Victoria asks. “Your head is getting all steamy. Want me to turn on a fan?”

“Yes,” I practically moan.

“Eh, that sounded a little sexual. Are you okay?”

“Fan, Victoria. Just get the fan from my bedroom.”

“You’re being weird . . . are you . . .” She leans over my shoulder. “Are you sexting right now? While I’m touching your hair?”

“No!”

“Let me see then.” Victoria reaches for my phone, but I pull it close to my chest. “Ew, you’re sexting while I touch your hair and getting horny over it. Do you realize how creepy that is?”

“I’m not sexting.” My entire body is on fire from humiliation. I don’t have to look in the mirror to know how red my cheeks are right now.

“Then let me see.”

“No. It’s not for your eyes.”

Staring me down through the reflection in the mirror, she says, “Are you making fun of me in your texts?”

“What? No!” Ughh, I sigh and say, “I was tricking Beck, telling him I had a hot date, and then you came in and spoiled that. Now he’s saying he hopes I get lucky with you tonight since you’re my date and I said”—I take a second to catch my breath—“I bet you’ll be a better lover than him.” I cringe in time for Victoria to smack me on the arm.

“Ew, don’t talk about me pleasuring you. What is wrong with you?”

The question for the ages.

Before I can answer, she takes off toward my room for the fan. Oh poor Victoria. How she got caught up in Zoey’s and my brand of crazy, I have no idea. Some days, I really think she wishes she could trade us in.

For the next half hour, Victoria works on my hair in silence. I don’t text Beck, and instead I plot in my head, going over all the different feelings I want to evoke from my characters. When it’s time, I slip into the over-starched dress, let Victoria button me up in the back, and stare in the mirror.

What a vision.

What an absolutely horrifying vision.

Tall turtleneck and shoulders for days, this is some hot shit. I will say this, though. Victoria created an accurate portrayal with my hair. A loose bun on the top of my head and curls framing my face.

You know . . . I kind of look like . . .

“Oh dear.” Victoria says from the side of me, fully costumed, eyes raking over my entire appearance.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

She nods and bites on her finger. “It’s uncanny, almost spot on with the teal circle broach.”

“Yup.” I nod. “I’m Cinderella’s wicked stepmother.”

“Dead on.” Patting me on the shoulder, she snags my phone from the counter and says, “Smile for Beck.”

The flash goes off and there is no time for me to stop her. She sends that puppy right on over to him without my permission. She’s been hanging out with Zoey for far too long.

“Hey, did I look good in the picture?”

“Eh, not really, but we don’t have time to make the picture perfect. Let’s go.” She tosses me my phone and takes off down the hall. “We are not going to be late. Dance cards, remember?”

“How could I possibly forget?” Following behind her, because I’m nervous she will cut me if we’re late, I check the picture to see what she sent and stop in place. “Oh my God. Victoria. I have four fucking chins in this picture.”

“Four? Huh, I only counted three.”

“I seriously hate you right now.”

“Hate me on the way to the ball. Come on.”

Blowing steam out of my nose and ears, I follow her into her car, irritated now more than ever when my phone beeps with a response.

“No phones allowed. They didn’t have such devices in that time period.”

“Yeah, and you weren’t alive during that time period either, maybe I should get rid of you, huh?” There is a bit of crazy in my eyes, and I know when she sees it, because instead of pressing the matter, she drops it and starts her car as I read my message.

Beck: I would still fuck you. I would fuck you hard with that dress pushed up and over your hips, my cock buried deep inside of you.

Oh God. My skin starts to heat up and my four chins are slowly becoming less of an issue.

My phone beeps again.

Beck: Can you thank Victoria for the spank-bank material?

I roll my eyes and look out the window, the slightest of smiles turning up my lips. And that would be a hell, no.