Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Beckett
While Finn runs around the shop, greeting new arrivals, Joey, Charlie, and I get settled at a high-top at the back of the room.
When Jack walks in and I see all three siblings together for the first time, I realize the resemblance is undeniable. All three share unmistakable large brown eyes and dark hair.
Jack looks around the shop with a scowl. Truthfully, the guy intimidates me. It wouldn’t shock me if he knew how to hide bodies without getting caught. When he spots us, though, he breaks into a smile, the expression making him look less menacing.
He strolls over to us and slides into the chair next to Charlie. “How bad is this going to be?”
Joey leans forward to peer over at him. “There’s an erotic short-story telling at eight thirty. Charlie hand-picked this person. She’s very excited, if you catch my drift.”
She winks at her sister, earning a death glare in return. I cover my mouth, stifling a laugh.
Jack runs a hand down his dark beard, brows furrowing as he zeroes in on Charlie. “Really?”
Charlie closes her eyes, inhaling a deep breath. “I hate you. All of you.” She huffs, turning to me. “Except you. You’re fine.”
My anxiety gets the best of me, my throat closing up, so I go with my default—a classic nod and a smile.
The bell above the door chimes, and a moment later a woman covered in tattoos with long, jet-black hair steps inside, carrying a bag of popcorn that’s got to be three feet tall.
She scans the room and, when she sees us, a look of recognition passes over her face.
She heads our way with a pep in her step.
Joey angles close, whispering in my ear. “That’s Marnie, Charlie’s best friend.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Marnie says, mildly out of breath. “I had to feed the poor dude handcuffed in my basement.” She pulls out a stool and drops the enormous bag of popcorn on the table with a thud. “I brought snacks. They’re not the same ones I fed the handcuffed guy, though. Don’t worry.”
At her admission, my eyes widen and Joey laughs. She leans over again, her lips even closer to my ear this time, her warm breath ghosting over my skin. “Your best bet is to ignore her. The town calls her ‘Maniac Marnie’ for good reason.”
Fighting the urge to shiver, I clear my throat and turn to Joey, smiling. Without words, she mirrors my smile. Warm and understanding. As if we’re speaking a silent language that only the two of us understand.
“Who are you?” Marnie asks, barreling right through the moment. “And what are your intentions with our dear Josephine, hmm?” She shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth, her expression calculating, like she’s trying to decipher if I’m a threat.
“Leave the guy alone, Marnie,” Jack says, exasperated.
“Joey’s roommate,” Charlie says.
Marnie stops chewing, and a devious grin slowly spreads across her face.
Part of me is frightened, and the other part of me is. . .who am I kidding? The whole of me is frightened. This Morticia Addams lookalike—who may or may not have a man locked up in her basement—is staring directly at me with a mischievous glint in her eye.
“A roommate, you say? Can I ask how this happened?”
In unison, the Thorne siblings groan and bark out a “no.”
Their friend scoffs. “Fine. Just let me know when you set a date. You’ll need an officiant, and I’m booked up for the next year. Though I can make room in my calendar, since we’re friends and all that. I’ll give you the friends and family discount.”
“Jesus Christ.” Jack covers his face with both his hands.
“Oh my god,” Charlie groans, dropping her head on the table.
I pinch my eyebrows together. Officiant? Is she talking about a wedding? Like being roommates means we’ll end up married?
“Yes,” Joey whispers in my ear.
Breath catching, I look at her, only then realizing how close our faces are. The air is thick with the aroma of coffee, but Joey’s fresh strawberry scent hits me and pulls me in. “I didn’t say anything,” I murmur, my voice heavy with confusion.
Joey laughs, a beautiful melodic sound that drowns out the overwhelming noise of chattering patrons around us.
“Whatever you’re thinking about regarding Marnie, the answer is ‘yes.’” She laughs.
“The answer is almost always ‘yes.’ Is she a witch? Yes. Is she teetering on the edge of sanity? Yes. Is she unhinged? Yes. Always yes.”
I watch as Joey tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, but it slips free immediately and falls back into her face. Before she reaches for it again, my hand takes control and does the work for her. When my fingers brush the shell of her ear, her cheeks go pink.
A throat clearing close by startles me. Joey too. And my heart lurches. Her and I both freeze.
How is it possible that I forgot that we were in public?
That move wasn’t very roommate-y. If anything, it’ll only add fuel to Marnie’s wedding fire.
Joey’s eyes bore into mine, her lips twitching with a smirk. “Whatever you do, act normal and don’t make eye contact with them.”
My chest tightens. “They’re all staring, aren’t they?”
“Oh yeah.” Nodding, she rolls her lips like she’s suppressing a smile.
I groan. “Lovely.”
Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I act as natural as a person can under the eyes of nosy friends and family members and focus on the stage, waiting for the entertainment to appear.
Thankfully, the lights dim a moment later, casting a cozy glow over the audience. A hush falls over the crowd as Finn casually strolls up onto the stage. His welcoming voice carries throughout the shop as he thanks everyone for coming out tonight.
The first performer steps forward, and it’s not bad at all. It’s an entrancing acoustic guitar solo that receives a well-earned standing ovation at the end. From there, we’re entertained by poetry readings, stand-up comedy sketches, and more musical numbers.
Beside me, Joey holds her phone under the table, the screen illuminating her face, and taps out a message.
A heartbeat later, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. Slowly, I slip it out and position it under the table like hers and unlock the screen.
Joey
I am so, SO sorry.
A smile tugs at my mouth.
Why?
Joey
Because it’s a lot.
I’m fine.
The dude who did the splits, though? Not sure he’s fine.
Beside me, she lets out a quiet chuckle.
Joey
Guitar girl? Solid 9.2.
The poetry reading from the man dressed up as Edgar Allan Poe? 4.2.
The Edgar wannabe is definitely on a watch list somewhere.
Joey snorts, the sound making my chest swell with pride.
Joey
For sure. He was oddly hyper-fixated on how “hauntingly beautiful” roadkill is.
I tuned out when he teared up about identifying with the dead opossum he saw on the I-5 last week.
Joey
I don’t blame you one bit.
I totally understand if you don’t want to hang out with me after this.
To be fair, even I don’t want to hang out with myself.
If anything, I feel the complete opposite.
Joey
Mini golf next weekend?
I would love nothing more.
We steal fleeting glances, heads still lowered, expressions mischievous, a quiet acknowledgment of our text conversation.
Near the end of the night, Finn steps up to the stage and welcomes the next performer of the evening—the infamous erotic short-story teller.
“And now I’d like to introduce. . .” He tilts his head, his brows lowering in confusion. “Misty Sparkles?”
“I’ve been waiting all fucking week for this,” Marnie says through a mouthful of popcorn.
The performer glides onto the stage, stumbling over her long, glittery dress. Her wig is bright blond and practically luminescent under the intense spotlight.
Next to me, Charlie snorts. “Ah. Misty is actually my old accountant, Betty.”
Joey straightens, frowning at her sister. “Betty? The woman who forgot to file your taxes, Betty?”
Her sister scoffs. “Oh yeah. Nothing gets the blood pumping like a visit from the IRS, you know?”
Marnie practically growls. “Would you two shut up? I need to soak this in.”
Betty—I mean Misty—settles on the stool and adjusts the microphone.
“Hello, my name is Misty Sparkles, and this is my short, erotic story.” She clears her throat and holds her head high.
“On a chilly December night, I found myself completely bare under a sturdy man. My epidermis was scorching, my phalanges tangled in his long, luscious hair as his wet lips trailed down my thoracic cavity.”
Epidermis. Phalanges. Thoracic cavity. What in the entry-level anatomy class is happening here? Flattening my lips, I choke back a laugh.
Joey drifts closer, our arms touching from shoulder to wrist. “Would you say this is the kind of stuff you nurses read to get aroused?”
Closing my eyes, I turn away. Already, I’m moments away from losing my composure.
Misty continues. “His chest hair tickled my aching, peaked, aroused buds as his delectable oral cavity made its way down to my promised land—”
“Holy mother of adjectives,” Joey murmurs.
Covering my mouth, I take a few deep breaths through my nose in a weak attempt to pull myself together at Misty’s medical grade erotic short story.
“And when his rough phalange grazed over my puckered papilla mammae, I cried out in ecstasy—”
The coffee shop is quiet enough to hear a pin drop when Marnie hoots. “Hell yeah, girl! Make him graze that papilla whatever,” she bellows. “Put him to work!”
Despite all my efforts, I lose it, collapsing into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
Beside me Joey does the same, and the two of us fall into each other, our laughs erupting in wheezing gasps.
We sound like barking seals. Tears stream from the corners of my eyes as I struggle to catch my breath.
Joey grips my forearm tightly, her fingers digging into my jacket as she rests her forehead on my shoulder, shielding herself from the curious eyes of the crowd.
At her touch, the world around me blurs and my heart takes off at a sprint. All I can think about is sinking into the gentle pressure of her body against mine, her warmth seeping through my jacket and into my bones.
Charlie tries to glower at us, but instead, her composure crumbles to dust, and she joins in, her laughter blending seamlessly with ours.
Jack, who is clearly uncomfortable with the performance, has turned a deep shade of crimson and is frozen in his seat like a deer caught in headlights.
Marnie notices Jack’s frigid state. “Aw,” she teases him. “What’s wrong, flannel daddy? I didn’t know this kind of story would get you all hot and bothered under that checkered collar. Here, eat some popcorn.” She shoves the bag into Jack’s chest.
His expression darkens. “Do. Not. Call. Me. That.”
The interaction is enough to stop our laughing, and the three of us quickly straighten up and wait to see what will happen next.
Marnie scoffs. “Whatever. Next time you chop lumber, be sure to pull that log out of your ass.”
The three of us erupt into laughter all over again, and by the time we pull ourselves together, Misty is already off the stage.
The grand finale is a magic trick. I can’t imagine this ending in a success.
When the curtains open, the magician steps out with a dog who looks eerily like Frank.
“For my performance tonight, I will take this dog”—the magician, a man I don’t recognize, says, waving his magic wand around the Frank lookalike—“and restore his sight!”
Oh fuck. It is Frank.
The audience gasps, the sound making Frank’s ears twitch. Whimpering, the poor confused dog lies on the stage. I stand, ready to rescue him, but before I can take a single step, Finn sprints onto the stage.
“Absolutely not. That’s it for tonight,” he announces. “Thank you for joining. We can’t wait to have you back again.”
As the curtains close, the audience breaks into applause, whistling, clapping, and hollering for an encore.
The sudden burst of excitement causes my neck to break out in a sweat.
Shit. Here it comes.
The rowdy crowd, the small space, and the scrutiny of people nearby who are glancing at Joey and me with curiosity cause my heart rate to soar. The room slowly closes in on me.
The people are way too loud. The space is too cramped. The air feels too thick. And the invisible force of anxiety presses down heavily on my chest, making it nearly impossible to take a deep breath.
Frustration joins in with the panic. I was fine for the whole duration of the event. Why the hell has my anxiety spiked now? My best guess is that I’m getting too overwhelmed, and my social battery is depleting faster than anticipated.
I take a few steadying breaths, hoping it’ll ground me. But it’s no use. My chest only tightens further. I need fresh air.
I clasp my hands under the table, twisting them, anxious to get up and dart out of here. I want to leave, but if I do, everyone at the table will look at me funny or ask questions that, frankly, I don’t have the answers to.
A soft, warm hand covers mine, sending a flood of calm through my veins.
Joey.
Under the table, she entwines her fingers with mine. Her hand is so delicate, her skin so smooth. She uses her thumb to caress the back of my hand in comforting strokes.
More quickly than I’ve ever experienced, my panic recedes.
I can breathe again.
Closing my eyes, I suck in a deep breath, filling my lungs with much-needed oxygen. The foreboding that crept over me drifts off into the distance, and reality returns.
In my sea of overwhelming anxiety, Joey is my anchor.
Having her next to me is akin to having a lifeline at the ready. How she knew what was happening inside my mind is a mystery, but she did, and she instinctively knew how to help me through it.
Deep in my chest, that flicker of hopefulness grows into a small flame. Because with Joey, I become a different version of myself. A version that I like and admire whenever I see my reflection.
As inconvenient as our situation is, I’m falling for this woman. Not only is she beautiful, with an infectious smile, but she’s patient and empathetic—especially when my anxiety gets the best of me.
That flame shrinks, though, when I remember that nothing can truly happen between us.