Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
CHRISTINE
Watching Fletcher explain the rules to the room in pirate garb should absolutely not be a turn-on, and yet… I think he needs to start wearing more leather. Like, all the time. The neckline of his shirt is lower than mine, and I am absolutely not staring at the planes of his chest every time he moves.
Once the first round of the game is underway, everyone breaks off to interrogate each other and search for clues. Instead of Casey being glued to my side like he usually is in group settings, it’s like he can’t get away from me fast enough as he and Erin take off, more interested in their sword fight than the details of the game.
The party itself is…impressive, to say the least. Every detail was clearly carefully thought out—the food, the decorations, the costumes, the game—and it almost brings tears to my eyes.
The birthdays I spent with Julian were…cold. Fancy, but hollow. Expensive restaurants, expensive gifts. But they were the kinds of places he could’ve taken anyone, the types of jewelry that held no personal touches. Nothing that ever suggested he knew a damn thing about me.
“Please save me from myself. I can’t stop.”
I blink back to Gloria as she stuffs another handful of the Pirate Booty popcorn in her mouth. I narrow in on the M&Ms mixed in, and I quickly scoop up a handful for myself.
“I should warn you, there is a cake coming up you’ll want to save room for.” Fletcher slides in on my right.
My eyes dart around the rest of the kitchen—the table, the counters. No sign of a cake.
He chuckles and rests his hand against the small of my back. “Tucked away for safe keeping.”
Gloria nods knowingly. “Erin and Casey.”
Fletcher chuckles again, his eyes flicking to me. “Not who I was thinking of, actually.”
I swat him on the chest.
He clears his throat, his expression suddenly serious. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, ma’am, I have some questions for the innkeeper.”
I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing at the way he’s talking out of one corner of his mouth. And what even is that accent?
“Is your pirate from the South?” I whisper.
“Hey now, I am a treasure hunter .” He offers an arm, then leads me from the room. I wave to Gloria over my shoulder before we turn and head upstairs.
“Should I be nervous about this interrogation?” I ask. “If it requires privacy?”
He nudges me into my bedroom, closes the door behind us, and grins. “Very.”
“Fletcher,” I hiss as he closes the distance between us, grabs my face with both hands, and pulls my mouth to his.
He hums against my lips, and I can’t even pretend to offer resistance. I melt against him.
“We have a house full of people,” I murmur.
“Mm-hmm.” He kisses me harder and backs us up until I’m pressed against the wall. “We agreed to end the round in”—he pulls back to check his watch—“twenty-three minutes. I can get a lot done in twenty-three minutes. And there are no clues in here. I made sure to leave a sign on the door so people wouldn’t be in your stuff.”
My head falls back against the wall as he kisses me again. This is a bad idea …
“The lock on my door doesn’t work.”
He pauses, looks around, then grabs my hips and pivots us toward the bathroom. “What about this one?”
I laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
But he’s already tugging me inside. I’m still laughing as he closes the door behind us, locks it, and hurriedly pulls my face to his.
“I’ve been out of my fucking mind since the moment you walked down the stairs in this,” he says against my lips.
“Oh, you like this?” I lift the layers of my skirt. Before I can drop them, his hand covers mine, and he yanks them up farther.
“I do.”
My breath hitches as his hand slips beneath the fabric and his fingers glide along my thigh, higher, higher.
“You should see yourself.” He spins me around to face the mirror. His face dips in the crook of my shoulder, and his lips brush my ear as he murmurs, “Hands on the counter. And I want you to watch.”
I meet his eyes in the reflection, breathless as his chest presses against my back and he holds me to him with one hand around my waist, the other buried beneath my skirt. I jolt as his fingers reach my hip, and he trails them leisurely along the waistband of my underwear. A flush spreads across my skin as we watch each other, and I lift a hand to touch him too, but he freezes the moment I do, his hold on me tightening.
“Hands. On. The. Counter.”
Slowly, I put my hand back.
He rewards me by finally sliding his hand between my legs.
My intake of breath feels loud in the small space. Fire spreads through me, and his lips trail along the side of my throat, my shoulder. The slight stubble dusting his jaw scrapes along my skin, and the sensation is delicious . I want more of it—I want it everywhere .
As if he can read my mind, Fletcher spins me to face him and lowers to his knees.
“Fletch,” I gasp.
“Hold on to the counter.” He grabs one of my legs to prop over his shoulder, shoves the layers of my skirt up, and?—
The bedroom door creaks open.
“Fletcher,” Jacks singsongs.
“Shit,” he mutters, quickly lowers my leg and skirt, and pushes to his feet. He gives me an apologetic look as I whip around to check myself in the mirror.
“You two better not be boning in there,” she calls.
Jesus Christ.
Wait. I cock my head. Is she—is she slurring her words?
Fletcher throws the bathroom door open as Jacks launches herself stomach-first onto my bed like she’s diving into a pool.
“Have you been drinking?” he demands.
She rolls onto her back, her lower lip pushed out in a pout, and she squints as she pinches her forefinger and thumb together.
I curse under my breath and cross the room to close the door.
“Jacks, this is completely unacceptable.”
“Oh, puh-lease. You can put the dad face away. Like you never drank at eighteen.”
“We’ll talk about this more later, once you’ve sobered up,” he says.
She clamps a hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide.
Fletcher curses, grabs her arm, and hurries her toward the bathroom. Thankfully, they make it to the toilet before she retches. He kneels beside her and frantically gathers her hair out of the way. When she’s done, Fletcher sighs and glances at me over his shoulder.
“It’s okay, you can take her home,” I murmur. “I’ll handle everything here.”
His expression turns stricken.
“It’s okay,” I insist.
He joins me in the doorway as she flushes the toilet and leans against the bathtub with a huff.
“I’m so sorry,” he says.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“God, we haven’t—we haven’t finished the game. We haven’t even brought out the cake yet.”
“Fletch, it’s okay . I’ve already had the best night?—”
Something like resolve hardens behind his eyes. “No. I’m at least going to be here long enough to do the cake. Just hang on, okay? Can you stay with her for a minute?”
I nod, and he gently cups the side of my face before slipping past me and out of the room. Then it’s just me and a nearly unconscious teenage girl on my bathroom floor.
Sighing, I take one of the little paper cups from the cabinet, fill it with mouthwash, and walk over to her. “Here.”
She swishes it around, eyes still closed, and spits it in the toilet. I wince at the harsh stench emanating from her pores.
“Whiskey, huh?” I say lightly. “Hope you at least had something to eat first.”
“You can stop pretending to be nice to me.”
I blink and rock back on my heels. “What? Jacks—I—I’m not pretending.”
She peels her eyes open just to roll them. “I’m in the way. I get it. You think—you think you can patch me up, put me on my feet, then shove me out into the world so I won’t be a problem anymore.” She squints and taps her nose a few times. “And you’re good at it. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger for being so helpful .”
I blink rapidly, my eyes burning at the venom in her voice. Is that really what she thinks? Have I done something to make her feel unwelcome? “Jacks,” I force out through the tightness in my throat. “No one is trying to get rid of you.”
Footsteps grow louder as someone enters the room and heads toward us. Liam pokes his head around the corner, something between a smile and a grimace on his face. “I’m here to take over for you. You are needed in the kitchen.”
I push myself up on shaky feet. Jacks’s eyes are closed again, her head resting against the side of the bathtub. Of all people to leave her with, at least it’s Liam. It’s not like he doesn’t have plenty of practice at this from Asher.
“Thanks, Liam,” I murmur as I slip past him.
I force a smile onto my face as I reach the kitchen, where everyone else is already gathered around the counter. In the center waits a three-tiered cake that appears to be covered in every type of chocolate imaginable.
Fletcher smiles, takes my hand, and pulls me in front of it as the group descends into the obligatory Happy Birthday song. Casey squeezes in on my other side, standing on his tiptoes to see the cake.
“Make a wish! Make a wish!” he urges as everyone finishes the song and cheers.
I stare at the flames flickering on the candles for a moment. They cast a warm glow over everyone’s faces—faces that are smiling at me. No judgment, no impatience, no apathy. And I suppose if I have anything to wish for, it’s just more of this.
I close my eyes and blow out the candles, and the room erupts in another round of applause.
“Happy Birthday, Mom!” Casey throws his arms around my middle and hugs me as tightly as he can.
I squeeze him back. “You want to help me cut the cake?”
“Oh, I’ll do that!” Gracie steps in, giant knife in hand, and Leo spreads the plates out along the counter.
Fletcher presses a kiss to my temple. “Happy Birthday.”
He gives me a soft smile, but I don’t miss the tension in his brow, or the way his eyes keep flickering toward the stairs.
I squeeze his arm. “You can go get Jacks. It’s okay.”
He frowns and looks between me and the stairs again. “You’re sure?”
I nod. “Just let me know when you two make it home okay. And thank you for all of this, Fletch. Really.”
“I’ll call you later, all right?”
“You’re leaving?” Casey blinks up at him with puppy dog eyes.
“Yeah, bud. I gotta go.” He crouches down to give Casey a hug.
“We’ll save a piece of cake for you,” Casey promises.
Fletcher’s smile turns crooked as he rises to his feet and ruffles Casey’s hair. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“For the birthday girl.” Gracie presents me with a very generous slice, and Casey tugs on my hand to lead me to the table. By the time we’re situated, Fletcher is already gone.