“We’re going to need a couple tools,” he says, shaking his fingers out. “Does your grandma have a hammer?”
“Gramsisa hammer,” I say, trying the carabiner again. I know I can get it if I work at it a little more. “But I’m sure she has one inside.”
Beau heads inside, and Xena follows.
I want more than anything to get this carabiner unstuck by the time Beau gets back. It’ll feel so good to rub it in his stupid, sexy face.
The sound of kitchen drawers opening and closing meets my ears. It takes me a second to realize the problem with this. I go still, then swear softly and scramble to my feet.
I run, but everything shifts to slow motion when Beau opens the drawer next to the fridge as I charge inside. By the time I scramble around the island, he’s picking up the paper with a knit brow.
Each second splits into a thousand frames as his brow knits in a frown and the edge of his mouth inches up on one side. I grab at the paper, but Beau swipes it away as I collide with him.
His arm wraps around me, his hand pressing against my back as he stumbles, then stabilizes. My cheek hits against his chest, my hands clenching the fabric at the waist of his shirt.
“What’s this?” There’s a distinct smile in his voice.
I clench my eyes shut, not moving because if I move, I’ll have to face him. I’d rather take refuge in the valley between his sturdy pecs. Maybe if I’m lucky and stay here long enough, his body will just absorb mine. That’s a thing, right? Please say it’s a thing.
“Gemma?” Beau prods gently. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“That’s Grams’s,” I mutter into his chest, throwing her under the bus without a second thought. I can feel Xena at our heels, turning circles around us like she’s concerned. And rightly so.
“Mm,” he says. “You realize she’s had to fill out a lot of paperwork for me, right? And that I know her handwriting pretty well? It looks like a feral cat got hold of a pen.”
I don’t respond. What can I possibly say? I’m trying to remember what exactly I wrote on that stupid piece of paper. Something about his smile, definitely. His body was on the list.
“You wanna look at me sometime soon?” His hand is still pressing against my back. Gosh, he smells good. “Or do you plan on hanging out there indefinitely? I’m fine either way, for the record.”
“Please give it to me,” I say. “You shouldn’t go rifling through people’s drawers, you know. Don’t you learn this stuff at cop school?”
“Police academy,” he corrects. “Let me just ask you one thing, and I’ll give it back to you.”
I nod into his chest, my eyes still closed. If I open them, will I wake up from this nightmare? This humiliating, warm, delicious-smelling nightmare.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” He punctuates each word.
I clench my eyes as tightly as they’ll go, my brain sorting through the ramifications of whatever response I give. It’s notreally Beau I invented my boyfriend for. It’s the island. “Fine.” I pull back and meet his gaze, my chin lifted. “No, I don’t technically have a boyfriend.”
“Technically?” he repeats.
“Or actually. Or really. Or metaphorically.”
He smiles and hands me the paper. “I already knew that.”
I yank it from him. “How could you possibly know that?”
He shrugs and crosses his arms. “You’re not a great liar, GG. And I’m averygood cop.”
I roll my eyes and stuff the paper in one of my back pockets, jamming it to the very bottom. I will be setting it on fire later. Not that it helps. He already saw it. “We can argue that, but the important thing is that you please not tell anyone else.”
“That you’re a bad liar?”
I shoot him an annoyed look. “That I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Why?”
“Because. It makes things a lot easier. Less rumors to deal with.” My phone buzzes again, and I pull it out. It’s Grams, so I move away from Beau and put it to my ear as I head for the deck. “Hey, Grams. Everything okay?”
