When we made it to her, he just raised a brow. “Yes, Mabel?”
“Well, I was thinking about that deal we made, and I was wondering if—”
“No.”
She huffed. “But you don’t even know what I’m going to ask!”
“Still no. A deal’s a deal.”
“Wait, what deal?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Beck said at the same time Mabel blew a raspberry and said, “Before he’d give me back my phone, he demanded that I never speak to you again.”
Beck scrubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, Mabel. I told you not to ask her specifically about the fire. That’s it. You’re not even recording right now. Why do you feel the need to embellish absolutely everything?”
She sniffed, tipping her face up, her nose in the air. “It’s the journalist in me.”
“You’re not a journalist. You’re a busybody.”
“I’ll have you know, I—”
Beck and Mabel continued squabbling, but I couldn’t find any words, my heart too full over what he’d done for me. I hadn’t asked him to, hadn’t said a word about not wanting to share that pain with anyone but him, but still, he’d known. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised. Beck had shown time and again that if something would make me happy and he had the power to take care of it, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for me. Even more amazing was that I rarely even had to ask.
“Are we done here?” Beck asked, though he did so in a way that didn’t leave much room for argument.
Mabel huffed. “Fine. We’re done.”
“Great, let’s go.”
“Wait!” I said, tightening my arm through his before he could walk away. “What do you sell?”
Beck exhaled a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why’d you do that?”
Mabel completely ignored Beck as her face brightened. She reached under a tablecloth and pulled out two huge baskets overflowing with bottles of what looked like—
“Lube!” she said, loud enough that the vendors across the street probably heard. “The fuddy-duddies on the town council don’t think it’s ‘appropriate’ for me to have these on display because it’s a ‘family-friendly’ event. How the hell do they think we got all these families in the first place? That’s what I want to know.” She set the baskets on the table with a flourish. “Anyway, we compromised. I’m still allowed to rent a booth, but I can’t show the products unless someone comes up and asks. And if you’re interested in the toys, you have to book a party.”
“The toys?”
“Oh yes! You know, lots of men are intimidated by a woman using adult toys to reach her pleasure, but they should really be looking at them as more of a partner. Some of my top sellers can be used on the clitoris during pene—”
“Oh, look,” Beck said loudly, talking over Mabel, “there’s Brady and Luna.” And then he tugged us away without a backward glance.
“Just call me whenever, sugar, and we can set something up!” she called after us.
“Holy shit.” I breathed out a laugh and stared up at Beck, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Mabel sellssex toys,” I hissed.
“Yeah. I told you not to ask. Now, I’m going to have nightmares for a week.”
“Well, maybe I should book a party since all my toys are ruined. Or are you one of those men who are intimidated by a little help?”
Beck’s eyes flared as he stared down at me. “You and I both know you don’t need any help when I’m around, but if you want to, I’m all for recreating Chapter Eight fromA Night for Her Pleasure. But unless you want our sex life to be broadcast on a Facebook Live, we’re not buying them from Mabel.”
“Noted,” I breathed, thoughts of recreating Chapter Eight with Beck floating through my mind, and my clit tingled in response.
“Get that look off your face,” he said. “I don’t want to talk to my brother while I’m hard enough to pound nails.”
With a laugh, I bit my lip and nodded, trying my hardest to focus on any and everything but Beck using a toy on me, but it was damn difficult.
