Chapter 26 Monk
TWENTY-SIX
Monk
I probably shouldn’t have come.
I’m exhausted, irritable, and the only holiday I dislike more than Halloween is Columbus Day, for obvious colonizer reasons.
And, yet. Here I am, posted up on the wall, scanning the crowd for… yeah, I should’ve stayed my ass at home.
Evan’s house, built into the side of a mountain, overlooks the city, offering a spectacular view studded with lights and hills.
Members of our cast and crew seem to be packed into every square inch for this Halloween party.
I just got back from New York and haven’t even returned to the set yet.
I could have easily used that as an excuse not to show.
I could have pretended not to be back in time if I’d wanted to avoid this party.
If I wanted to avoid her.
That’s the problem, though. I’m not avoiding her.
On the low, I’m searching the room for that cloud of curls and tight, curvy body.
In some books, that could be considered the opposite of avoiding.
I was on the balcony with Canon the last time I caught a glimpse of Verity.
Canon, who’s doing everything he can to deny that he’s attracted to Neevah.
It’s actually funny seeing a man with so much control and discipline folding for a girl, and not even realizing how obvious he is.
Okay. I do see the irony.
Who am I to talk? At least Neevah hasn’t proven to Canon she’s a lying bitch.
Yet.
Contrition for even thinking of Verity that way pricks my conscience, though I’m completely justified.
She did lie to me. She cheated. Maybe she’s changed.
She said she doesn’t do relationships anymore.
I guess she figured out monogamy isn’t for her.
I may not trust her, but I’m honest enough with myself to admit I want her.
Still. It only took one touch, the clasp of our hands when we agreed to a truce.
That familiar bolt of electricity traveled between our palms, burning right through the skin, a reminder that I’ve never had this connection with anyone but Verity.
A question of what we could have… could be… again.
I peer through the glass doors leading to Evan’s backyard and the glittering sapphire water of his swimming pool. Buckets are lined up on a long table. Probably twenty people stand around cheering, but I can’t make out what’s actually happening, so I head outside.
Six people wearing plastic ponchos stand in front of the buckets. I only recognize one of them. The person I hoped to see and dreaded seeing.
Verity’s hair is tied back and laughter illuminates her face.
She’s dressed as Jennifer Beals from Flashdance, the gray sweatshirt slouching to bare one shoulder, but she slips the poncho on to protect her costume.
Her curls have been softened into loose waves tonight and, hands behind her back, she kicks off the red heels that complete the iconic look.
She’s bent at the waist, poised to dip and bob for the apples in her bucket.
A piercing whistle blows, and the six of them go hard, sloshing water everywhere as they rapidly retrieve apples from their bucket and spit them out.
When the whistle blows, signaling time is up, the “judge”—Jill carrying her daughter, Sienna, on her hip—counts their apples.
“And our winner is,” Jill shouts, “setting a new record and ignoring the fact that this is the first time we ever did this shit, so there is no record—”
“Mommy said a bad word,” Sienna chirps, covering Jill’s mouth.
“—Verity!” Jill mumbles through her daughter’s fingers. “With six apples!”
Verity jumps up and down like she’s won a car on The Price Is Right. She’s one of those people—a bud when you first meet her, closed tight, but over time, as she becomes more comfortable, unfurls. She must have bonded with the crew while I was in New York for her to be this uninhibited.
“You did it!” A tall guy with dirty blond hair picks her up and spins her around, his arm under her ass.
The smile freezes on my face. My hands stop mid-clap.
Who the hell is he?
“Oh my God!” Verity screeches, laughing at him and tapping his shoulder. “Put me down, Chris.”
Yeah, Chris. Put her the fuck down.
He slowly—it feels reallllly slow to me—lowers her to the ground.
I’ve always wondered what people mean when they say heart eyes, what that looks like.
Now I know. That has to be the best way to describe the goofy way Chris looks at Verity.
She’s oblivious, stripping off the plastic poncho and shaking her hair out so it settles around her shoulders.
Needless to say, Chris is riveted. I’m still watching the Chris of Hearts show when Jill steps up beside me.
“Welcome back,” she says, reaching up for a one-armed hug.
“Thanks.” I keep one eye on lover boy over at the apples.
“Productive trip?”
Chris squats to slip one red shoe onto Verity’s foot, her hand on his shoulder to stabilize herself.
“Monk?” Jill says pointedly. “I said, ‘Productive trip?’”
“Huh?” I force focus to Jill, peering down into her green eyes. “Yeah, got lots done. Hey, who’s the guy over by the apples?”
“By the apples?” Jill asks tongue in cheek. “Or by Verity?”
“Screw you. What’s his story?”
“Touchyyyyyy.” Her laugh is evil. “So our little screenwriter, huh? Damn, I’m good. I mean, can I call it, or can I call it?”
“You’re not as cute as you think you are. What’s up with Chris?”
“He works with production.” She shifts Sienna on her hip and brushes the curls from her daughter’s forehead. “Nice guy.”
“I’m sure he is.” I turn to face her. “I think you need him over here.”
“Oh, do I?” Her lips quirk and she lifts one brow. “You and Canon and these girls.”
“I’ll go get him for you.”
I walk over to the table and stop in front of them.
“And then I thought…” Verity’s words trail off, and the open expression on her face seconds ago falls away, a guard slipping into place when her eyes meet mine.
“Hey, Chris,” I say, ignoring her. “It is Chris, right?”
“Yeah,” he replies with an easy smile. “Welcome back, Monk.”
“Thanks,” I say, forcing a smile in return. “I think Jill needs you.”
“Needs me for what?” His brows pinch and he looks over at Jill, who rolls her eyes and waves.
“Don’t know.” I shrug. “You’ll have to ask her.”
“I’ll be back.” He touches Verity’s shoulder and then heads for Jill, who gives me the stink eye.
I wanted to get rid of the guy, but now that he’s gone, I have nothing to say. The silence stretches like a tightrope, and before I speak, Verity does.
“So how was New York?” she asks, tugging down the sweatshirt that falls to the middle of her thighs.
“Fine.” I grab an unused apple from the table. “I got the chance to conduct.”
Her face relaxes into a small grin. “I’ve never seen you conduct.”
“No?” I pretend to think about it, knowing she’s right. “I guess it never came up when we knew each other.”
She bites her thumbnail, which used to be a sure sign she had something she wasn’t sure she should say. I wonder if it still is.
“What?” I ask.
“What, what?” She frowns and tilts her head, nail still caught between her teeth.
“You’re doing that thing where you bite your nails and kind of look like you’re holding in a fart.”
“I do not!” she sputters, but laughs. “God, you’re such a boy.”
“Never denied it.” I give in to the grin that keeps trying to work its way onto my face despite my best efforts. “But you do get this look like you’re not saying something that you’re thinking.”
“How do you even remember that?”
“I remember everything.”
Her smile wavers, and I know she thinks I’m alluding to how we broke up, but for once, I’m allowing myself to remember how we were together. Before it went bad, it was the best I ever had.
She clears her throat and tugs at the sweatshirt again. “There is something I wanted to run by you, but wasn’t sure…”
She bites her nail again. I slowly push her hand away from her mouth.
Even just this simple touch ignites a spark.
I’d bet my Grammy it’s not just on my end, not with the way Verity’s eyes widen and her breath hitches.
It’s been twelve years since we first met, but in all that time that spark hasn’t faded.
“What’d you want to run by me?” I ask.
She gestures to one of the loungers by Evan’s pool. “Could we sit?”
“Sure.”
She takes one lounge chair and I take the other so we’re facing each other.
I keep the apple, tossing it back and forth between my hands to distract me from the picture she makes.
The pool lights have come on. The Flashdance sweatshirt droops off one shoulder, and her skin glows deep coppery brown in the water’s reflected light.
Her hair got wet when she bobbed for apples, so it’s curling around the edges, a few damp strands clinging to her neck.
She kicks off the red pumps and presses her knees together, tugging the hem down when it rides nearly up to the top of her thighs.
That’s a lot of skin showing if she expects me to focus on an actual conversation, but I fix my eyes on her face, striped in the reflected glow of the pool lights.
“Did you mean it when we called truce?” she asks, raising her eyes and watching me closely, as if she’ll know I’m lying by even the twitch of an eyebrow. That used to be true, only I never lied to her. I won’t start now.
“I think I meant it.” I chuckle when she rolls her eyes.
“Monk.” She groans and grips her hair at the sides, frustration and amusement warring on her pretty face.
“I mean, sometimes I just say shit to get people off my back.” I pause, letting myself just look at her for a few seconds, something I haven’t been able to do in years. “But I guess you’re not people.”
She drops her gaze to her lap almost immediately, snipping the thread that connected us.
“I, um…” She shakes her head and sets that luscious mouth into a determined line. “Do you know who Slim Gaillard was?”
“Vee, come on now.” I lean back and press my palms to the lounge chair behind me. “Of course I know him. One of the greatest to ever hit the keys. I love that you guys included ‘Flat Foot Floogie’ for one of the Savoy dance numbers.”
“I was wondering… and we’d have to run it by Canon, of course… but I wondered if we could take a little creative license with that scene to highlight Slim’s unique talents. He hasn’t gotten nearly the recognition he deserves.”
“Or the money. ‘Floogie’ was their biggest hit, him and Slam Stewart. Benny Goodman played it, which made it hugely popular,” I say, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees.
“But Slim and Slam made next to nothing from it. They sold the publishing rights for a measly two hundred and fifty bucks. Wasn’t till he joined ASCAP years later that Slim saw any real royalties. ”
“Typical.” Verity shakes her head and sighs. “I love that we have the chance to amplify, not only Dessi’s life with this film, but so many other artists from her day as we tell her story. I think Slim deserves a little screen time.”
“What’d you have in mind?”
She leans forward, her eyes lighting up in that way they did when she used to get excited about an idea.
“You know how he’d play the guitar with his fingers pointing down on the fingerboard? Upside down? Or play the piano with the backs of his hands?”
“And make up outrageous lyrics.” I chuckle. “Yeah, he was something else. He played a crowd as well as he played the piano.”
“I’m just thinking when we do the big dance number at the Savoy, and we play ‘Flat Foot Floogie,’ what if leading into it, we let Slim have a little fun?”
“Oh, that could be really cool. I know a guy named Clyde with enough comedic stage presence and the skill who could pull it off.”
“Maybe we could talk to Canon together about it?” She presses her hands together like she’s pleading.
“Canon respects your opinion, Vee. You don’t need me to convince him.”
“But you’re the musician. If you think it could be cool, he’ll think so, too. We both know he’s just gonna come to you and ask what you think.”
“True.” I grin at the face she makes. “Maybe we should corner him now, while he’s all relaxed smoking his cigar out on the balcony.”
“You mean while he’s out there brooding over Neevah?”
I lift my brows, surprised she picked up on that.
“Does everyone know he’s slightly obsessed with her?” I ask.
“‘Slightly’?” She cackles and leans back, flattening her palms behind her on the lounge chair. “He’s not that obvious or anything, but remember I had to ride with them to Alabama when we met Dessi’s daughter. There were so many pheromones in that car, I wanted to roll down the windows.”
We both laugh, and my gaze crawls up the long length of her legs in the sweatshirt that rides higher the more relaxed she becomes.
Something must tip her off. Maybe I didn’t look away quickly enough or maybe she is so familiar with the lust she is capable of inspiring in me that she senses it.
Not sure what it is, but something makes her self-conscious, makes the laugher dissolve from her expression.
She sits up straight and tugs the sweatshirt down as far as it can go, which isn’t far.
“Okay, well, um,” she says, licking her lips nervously and standing. “Wanna go gang up on him now?”
“Sure.” I stand, too, which brings our bodies closer together. Delivers her heat and her fresh scent tinged with apples straight to me.
“By the way, how are your aunts?” I ask, when neither of us have moved to go find Canon.
This is small talk 101, but being close to her without the rage feels good. I don’t know when it faded. A simple truce I wasn’t even sure I could keep wouldn’t lower my guard this quickly, but in this moment, resenting Verity is the last thing I’m thinking about.
And fucking her is the first.
“The aunties are good,” she answers. “Still running their store. Actually drowning in online orders now. They discovered TikTok Shop and the rest is history.”
I chuckle and rotate the apple in my hand.
I can’t come up with anything to say except shit I probably shouldn’t, so I don’t say anything and wonder if she’ll find in the silence the same thing I did.
That once the years-long enmity clears, what’s left feels dangerously close to what started all of this between us at Finley years ago.
There’s a question in her eyes that she would never ask. I know that about her, so I guess I’ll have to be the one to stir old embers. But not tonight. Tonight it’s enough to know something here still burns.
“Ready?” I ask, tossing the apple and catching it. “I think we hit Canon up with it now.”
“Yeah,” she says, her voice coming out a shade huskier than it was a moment ago. “I’m ready.”