“Oh, hell no,” I say flatly, visions of Bambi floating across my brain.
“I thought that would be the response.”
“I mean, I don’t want to do a murder.”
A pregnant pause. “You do eat meat though.”
“I didn’t say eating meat was murder. I said hunting would be. In that it’s killing with malice aforethought.” The literal definition of murder. “It’s legal murder and I get it, but still. I don’t want to do it. Not my idea of fun.”
“But. What? What’s eating meat then? Isn’t it murder too?” Poor confused Old MacDonald.
“At worst? Accessory after the fact. I’m okay with accessory after the fact. I can live with that. Totally different crime.Lessercrime.”
“No hunting. Got it.”
I think he’d agree to anything to be out of this conversation.
“Don’t you have to work? Don’t feel like you have to entertain me.”
“I want to.” Beau rubs my back, dropping a kiss on my head even though I just called his sister a legal murderer. “And the mulch guy is working on the issue. They just needed to see me in person and now they’re finding all sorts of mulch that they said wasn’t there. I’ll go to the store later this week to look disappointed some more.”
But his presence isn’t helping me keep things as light or casual as I want them to be. So it would be great if this giant mulch emergency that dragged him out of New York and out of the no-thinking-about-the-future bubble we were in could be a little more urgent than a two-day fix.
Damn, inconvenient mulch.
His arm tightens around me and he moves to lean over me. “I know exactly where we should take you.” He looks happy at whatever solution he came up with, which is only slightly worrying.
“What’s the plan?”
“How do you feel about NASCAR?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
After Beau’s mysterious question about NASCAR, which he refuses to explain at all, he pulls me back to his side and says we can sleep in, because we’re going to an evening event.
When we finally get up, Beau makes breakfast. The cinnamon monkey bread is delicious and very messy. Then we both have some laptop time, getting some work done on holiday. I even show him more pieces that I think will do great in his new offices, and he bids on them right there. I can also show him some pictures I’m being sent as pieces are delivered to his office space. It’s slowly coming together.
And then I send the info to Priya, so she knows this interior design division can be good from a financial standpoint. I guess I’m not done with that idea.
I get this in response:
How is the trip? Is it Zeus and anyone but his wife or is it more Medieval Abelard and Heloise?If she wasn’t talking about me, I would be impressed with the on-point references.
...those images are equally terrifying.
But you haven’t answered the question!
Somewhere between wild bull orgy and flirty letters from monastery to nunnery.
That doesn’t give me any details.
It’s more the frescoes that show one couple in Pompeii in the brothel. It is NOT the reliefs on the Khajuraho Temple.Those were some frisky sculptures.
Lame. Get on it, single girl.
Marrieds are terrifying. She wasn’t this sexually adventurous when she was single, but now she’s all about it. Or all about wanting to hear other people getting it in adventurous ways.
I look over to Beau on his desk, chewing the side of his lip as he answers some emails. I’m seeing the allure of getting it on in adventurous ways with this man.
