But then the verbal diarrhea continues. “We’re going to be intimate on far more levels than just physical.” I’m quick to spill the sexy beans. “But believe me, the physical part will be pretty amazing. Like mind-blowinglyamazing.” I close my eyes for a moment as every last mind-blowing memory washes over me. Gage really is that good in bed. “Dizzying at times. Acrobatic, in fact. So freaking am?—”
My phone bleats, interrupting my sexual soliloquy dedicated to Gage’s body—or before I can give an honorable mention to that baseball bat of his—and, of course, I was just about to list the other nonsexual ways he’ll love me. The man has a standing order with the only florist on the island. There is an endless parade of lavender roses and peonies at my house, and it is all thanks to the dark-haired Oliver. I pluck the phone from my purse and see a text from Marshall.
Ms. Messenger
I flash it to Gage and shrug. “He always did have perfect timing.”
“Freaking Dudley,” Gage growls in response.
Come to think of it, that’s still his response whenever Marshall comes around, and seeing as Marshall comes around just about every single day, Gage spends a lot of his free time growling at the surly Sector. Typically, spicier expletives are employed, but in Gage’s defense, Marshall usually warrants them.
Before I can continue where I left off by spilling details of the future as much as possible for poor Gage, a pair of headlights shines in the parking lot up above, then another, and another. Soon, half of West seems to be trotting down this way with Logan grinning in the middle of the melee. And I have a sneaking suspicion he’s the leader of the pack. Why break up your wife’s romantic date on the beach alone, when you can bring backup?
Why do I get the feeling letting him know where Gage and I were headed was a mistake? Although, on the other hand, I’m pretty much absolved from trying to evade Gage’s sexual efforts. And to think all those years ago, it wasmewho was the aggressor. Though I guess being cockblocked by my own husband and his entourage beats having to explain why I’m not in the mood for beach sex. Teenage me would die knowing I’m actively avoiding what she desperately wanted.
Believe me, if I weren’t a happily married woman, I wouldn’t be regaling Gage Oliver with snippets about the future. I’d be regaling him with my body as we got down and dirty in the sand. These teenage hormones don’t care about my marriage certificate—they’re working with the original operating system.
Gage leans in and lands a kiss on my temple before brushing his lips over my ear. “Why do I get the feeling I’m being friend-zoned?”
My mouth falls open, but before I can answer, Brielle squeals as she lands on the blanket next to us, followed by Michelle, Lexy, Nat, Emily, and yes, even Chloe. I’ll let you guess which one sits closest to Gage.
Then out of the blue—or the gray, as it were—a beautiful blonde plops down beside Chloe as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and I gag on a river of words as soon as I see her.
“Kate?” I can hardly get her name out. Kate Winston. “Oh mygoodness,Kate.” I pick up her hand and kiss it again and again. “Oh,sweetKate.”
No sooner do I get the words out than everyone on the blanket breaks out in laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Logan calls out as he, Drake, and Ellis get a bonfire going. Logan does a double take our way and his eyes nearly fall out of their sockets as he spots her. “Oh, hey Kate.” He winces slightly before getting back to the task at hand.
As it turns out, in just a few weeks’ time, we’ll all go on a ski trip and I’ll accidentally lop her head off. It’s been one of my biggest horrors in life, and for obvious reasons, hers, too.
“Kate.” I pull her hand in close, and she does her best to extract it from my grip. “Whatever you do, don’t go on that upcoming ski trip.” I can’t get the words out fast enough. If I had a nickel for every friend I’ve accidentally beheaded, I’d have one nickel, which is still too many. Hey, maybe I should stick around in this timeline for this reason alone? I’ll not only be protecting my children, I’ll be protecting Kate’s primal apex!
“What?” She yanks her hand free, and the bitch squad dissolves in laughter once again—I’m counting Bree in that number for now. “I’m not going on the ski trip,” she says. “I hate skiing. I always stay home.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath before it hits me that no matter what I do here, I can’t change the past. And for Kate, that’s downright tragic. Because no matter how much she claims to hate skiing, Kate Winston was very much hitting the slopes all those years ago.
Chloe scoffs. “Winston, are you really going to let Messenger boss you around like that? You’re going on that trip, and you’re going to ski the life out of it.”
More like she’s going to ski the life out of herself—or more to the point, I’m going to ski the life out of her—with my actual ski.
Crap.
Kate looks from me to Chloe, then back again, swallowing hard. “You’re right, Chloe.” She takes a moment to glare at me. “You wishI weren’t going on that trip.” She makes a face. “And don’t even think of kissing my hand again.” She winks over at Gage. “You, however, can kiss any part of me that you want.”
A round ofoohsandahhsgoes off, with the exception of Chloe, who looks ready to decapitate Kate right now for daring to flirt so brazenly with her favorite Oliver.
Oh, for the love of all things that make Chloe Bishop homicidal.
It’s a wonder why I ever put up with the she-devil. It washerI should have decapitated.
Maybe I will this go-around—you know, just for funsies—but first, I need to figure out how to save Kate from a fate I’m apparently destined to deliver.
Because watching Kate laugh and flirt, so beautifully alive, I realize with bone-deep terror that some tragedies might be written in stone—even when you know exactly how to prevent them. And that, in and of itself, is a tragedy.
14
Skyla
