Chapter 13
thirteen
FRANCIE
“Ryan,” I mutter. “No, sounds too much like I’m copying Ryan Reynolds.
Or Ryan Gosling.” I let out a sigh. “Jack, that’s a good name.
” I frown as I pour a cup of uncooked pasta into the boiling water.
Autumn had arranged for the kitchen to be fully stocked for my arrival, and right now I’m making myself some macaroni and cheese because I need the comfort.
“Or Richard,” I try the name out loud. It sounds aristocratic. The water starts to boil over, hissing as it hits the hot plate. “Dammit,” I yell, turning the burner down. Stupid Asher and his stupid fingers.
I’ve spent most of the afternoon trying to think of a fake name for my fake boyfriend, when I should be writing, which means I’ll be staying up all night to catch up on my word count.
That’s if I don’t spend the rest of the night thinking up a fake job for the fake man. Because my first thought – firefighter – is way too problematic. Not only is it overly sexy, but a firefighter in New York is probably easy to track down for Asher. He’ll know I’m lying in about thirty seconds.
And I can’t stand to think about how smug he’s going to be when he’s proved right.
Once upon a time, I loved that he knew everything.
I was fourteen the first time I asked him for help with my math homework.
I was visiting Liberty for Autumn’s birthday, and I had an assignment I’d been putting off all week.
I was in an advance math class even though I absolutely shouldn’t have been, but to do anything else would have upset my family.
So I studied my ass off, but pre-calc was kicking that same ass. Until Asher found me crying in front of my textbook, and slowly and patiently explained sine, cosine, and tangents to me.
I blink at that memory. I haven’t thought about it for years.
I was fourteen and he was twenty-four. The kind of age when most guys would have been utterly selfish.
He was in grad school by day and building his business by night.
And yet when he’d found me crying because I was so sure I was going to fail, he’d grabbed a chair and sat down next to me.
“Come on,” he’d said, nudging my shoulder with his. “It’s just cosine. Nobody ever died from a triangle. Probably.”
It took two hours before everything he tried to explain finally sunk into my brain.
And then Hudson, West, and Parker dragged him out to The Salty Dog because they were old enough to drink and I was still in braces with hair that was uncontrollable and a major crush on my best friend’s older brother.
I let out a sigh. I don’t want to think about all the ways he was nice to me growing up.
I want to think about how aggravating he is to me now.
Instead of remembering the way his lips felt on mine.
Or how thick and hard he was against my thigh as he made every muscle in my body feel like they were melting when he made me come.
My phone buzzes and I pick it up, hoping for some distraction.
You have a message.
It takes me a second to realize it’s the dating app Charlie installed. Somebody actually looked at my profile? With that stupid photograph? I don’t know whether to feel sorry for them or be afraid.
Still, I open it up and see what looks like a normal, thirty-something guy staring back at me. In photo form, thankfully. He doesn’t look like a serial killer, but then neither did Ted Bundy.
He looks more like a surfer if I’m being honest. In his photo he’s wearing a white, linen shirt, opened one button too far to reveal a smooth, tan chest. His hair is long, curling around his neck, and he has about a dozen necklaces on. He’s grinning with the whitest teeth I think I’ve ever seen.
He’s so completely not my type it’s not even funny. I open the message anyway, because curiosity is my middle name.
Hey friend! How wild is it that we’ve matched out here in Liberty?
It feels like the island has aligned us or something.
I’m staying at the Grand Liberty Hotel holding space for a breathwork immersion at the hotel.
Only here for a few days, but would love to vibe over a matcha or walk along the beach barefoot and just… be. No pressure. Just presence.
Reed Marks. That’s his name. I’m no virgin at dating apps. If a guy is 'just visiting it means one thing. He wants a no-strings night with you.
And I’m so not a one night no-strings girl. I start to write a gentle brush off to him – because I’m way too polite to ignore his message – when my phone starts to ring.
When I see Autumn’s name flash up, I can’t help but smile.
“What are you doing calling me at this time?” I ask her, checking my watch. “Isn’t it the middle of the night in London?”
“It is.” She sighs. “I can’t sleep and Parker is snoring so I thought I’d call and see if you’ve settled in okay.”
“I’ve settled in great,” I tell her warmly, so happy to hear from her. Talking to Autumn always makes me feel better. “And thank you for all the goodies you left me. I feel like I’m staying in a luxury hotel.”
“You deserve it. Plus I have an ulterior motive,” she says, her voice low. I can hear the low hum of a television in the background. The poor girl really is having trouble sleeping.
“Of course,” I tell her. “What do you need? Want me to sing you to sleep?”
She starts to laugh. “I need your words. Send what you’ve written to me. I can read them while Parker drives me crazy sounding like a steam train.”
“I can’t send you them yet. They’re a mess.” I frown. Though I guess I could clean them up. I need to read through it all anyway, to plan the third act of the book. “How about later this week?” I suggest. “I’ll send you the first half.”
I think about the scene I wrote yesterday with the heroine pinned between a wall and the man who shouldn’t be touching her. And how maybe, just maybe, I wrote it with a certain dark-eyed security ass in the back of my mind.
“It’s a deal.” She sounds giddy. I love how supportive she is of my writing.
I’m not sure I’d still be doing it without her.
Back when we were teenagers and I was writing Kylo and Rey fanfiction, she was the only one I told about it.
And then, when I got a following on Wattpad, and started writing original stories, she was the first to encourage me to publish them.
It's been four years since I uploaded my first book for sale. And she’s been with me, as my first reader, my biggest supporter, and now she’s essentially my patron, giving me somewhere to stay.
“So how’s your trip going?” I ask her.
“It’s horribly luxurious,” she says. “Parker’s a bigger draw here than I realized.”
“He’s hot, he’s rich, and he’s a professional athlete,” I point out. “Of course he’s a draw.”
“Did you know they call it American Football over here?” she asks, giggling. “It annoys him to hell.”
I grin, imagining Parker’s grumpy reaction to that.
“They call soccer, football, right?” I ask.
I’ve only been to Europe once, back when I was eighteen and my brothers bought me a trip to Rome for my birthday.
It was glorious and way too short. With this new book, my UK publishers are already planning a tour all over the UK next year.
Which is another reason why I need to get the thing written and stop angsting over Autumn’s brother.
“Yep. He’s started calling it ‘English Soccer’ whenever anybody mentions American Football. That doesn’t go down well.” She lets out a sigh. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” I tell her. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.”
“It’s not your fault. I still get to read your words soon, which is almost as good as having you here. Tell me, did you write the group scene yet?”
I blush, because yes, I did, and it was hot. “Um…”
“You did. You dirty girl. You know I love those scenes the most.” She laughs again. “And Parker always gets the benefit, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh God, I don’t need to know that.” I wrinkle my nose.
“Speaking of grumpy asses, I spoke to my brother earlier.”
“Which one?” I ask, ignoring the pang in my stomach.
“Asher. He said something about you dating somebody.” She clears her throat, and I realize this is actually the purpose of her call. “Are you?” she asks. “Without telling me?”
She sounds genuinely hurt. My chest tightens because she always tells me everything. When she and Parker first started dating under the radar because neither of them wanted her brothers to find out, I was the only one she confided in.
“I’m not dating anybody,” I say. “It’s just something I said to get both of our brothers off my back.” I tell her about the dinner with Myles and Asher. She giggles when I describe them both being so stupidly protective.
“You’re like Rapunzel,” she teases.
“The one who lived in a tower?”
“That’s her. The one with the long hair. You’re just like her, apart from the hair that is. I thought my brothers were bad, but yours are worse, I swear.” She sounds relieved, like she was worried there was something coming between us. “So why didn’t you come clean to Asher?”
I clear my throat. She doesn’t need to know about what happened the stupid night when she got drunk at The Salty Dog. “He’s working with Myles, I can’t risk him telling him. You know what Asher’s like.”
“That’s true. He’s so intense.” She sighs. “He really started drilling me. I tried to blow him off, but you know what he’s like. Talking to him is like being interrogated by the CIA.”
Oh God, now he’ll know for sure that I was lying. I hate this.
“Don’t worry. It’s not your fault. I’ll come clean to him.”
“Oh no, don’t do that. You’re absolutely right, Asher would definitely tell Myles. And then you’ll have to deal with them not only being over protective but asking why you lied to them.” She lets out a low breath. “And if they start sniffing around, they’re bound to find out about your books.”
“Oh God.” The thought of any of my brothers discovering my books – and god forbid, reading the smutty scenes – sends my blood cold, but the memory of my discussion with Alice about marketing sends it colder.
“You’re right. Let’s just hope they get busy with their security issues and forget about me. ”
A low voice rumbles in the background. I’m guessing it’s Parker.
“You would tell me if you started dating somebody though?” she asks, sounding uncertain again. “I know we don’t live together anymore, but we’re still besties, right?”
“Of course we are. And of course I would,” I promise. “Now go to bed.”
She laughs softly. “Yes ma’am. And Francie?”
“Yep?”
“Don’t forget to send those chapters.”
“I won’t,” I promise. She hangs up, and I look at my phone again. Reed Marks is still beaming up at me, his golden retriever energy practically bursting through the screen.
Before I can think better of it, I start typing a reply to him. This is a good idea. Brilliant, even. Unless it backfires. But it won’t. Probably.
Hi there Neighbor (for a few days)! How about a drink at The Salty Dog Beach Bar tomorrow night? I can meet you there at eight.
I have absolutely no doubt that word will get back to Asher that I’ve been seen with a guy, and he’ll stop grilling everybody about my dating life.
I smile at my brilliant idea. Sometimes, I amaze myself. After all, what could possibly go wrong?