“Cool and puzzles aren’t two words that really go together.”
“Says the guy who was doing the puzzlebeforeI showed up.” She puts the book down. “I just learned that the first puzzles weren’t even called puzzles. They were called ‘dissected maps’ because this cartographer in the 1700s used to mount maps on a wooden board and then cut along the national boundary lines to create geography puzzles. They used them in schools. How cool is that?”
“Again, not using the word cool correctly,” I inform her, but I sort of love how excited she gets about these random topics. And truth be told, she does make them sound cooler when she explains them.
Her phone vibrates, and she leans forward to check it. Her face brightens. “Oh, nice. Little Spencer sent me a link to the latest episode of their podcast. I’m getting a sneak peek.”
“Is this podcast just the two of them sitting around talking about ghosts?” I pause for a moment. “Honest question—are we sure thesedudes won’t break into our house in the middle of the night and try to kill us in order to create ghosts?”
“Pretty sure. But if they do, I’ll make sure they kill me first to buy you some time,” she says graciously.
I snicker. “Thank you. I appreciate that, freckles.”
“And the podcast isn’t exclusive to ghosts. It’s about anything supernatural, really. And it’s just Little Spencer talking.”
“He talks to himself?”
Blake grins. “Well, he talks to the audience. But yes. Big Spencer doesn’t like how his voice sounds on tape.” She picks up her book. “Anyway, I want to keep reading. What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“Writing. I’m gonna hole up in the sunroom. Probably skip dinner.”
She raises a brow at me. “Is it finally coming to you?The song?”
“Starting to,” I admit. “But don’t get your hopes up.”
“Nah, I’ll get my hopes up for the both of us. Go get that song, Graham.”
She flashes me one of those unbridled smiles, and I force myself to look away because I have no willpower when she smiles at me like that.
We go our separate ways for the rest of the afternoon. I grab my guitar and escape to the sunroom at the side of the house. Fueled by a smile, I scribble lyrics and strum the melody I’ve been hearing in my head since we hiked to the sex tree. It’s got so much potential that I do something I rarely do. I pull out my phone and record myself singing it, then send the raw file to Cole for an opinion.
Because holy shit.
This song…might be good.
Later that night, I reward myself for a solid day’s work by swiping a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet. It’s my mom’s favorite and stupidly expensive, but I don’t think she’ll mind if I indulge.
Balancing a tumbler on my knee, I settle into a chair on the deck and gaze out at the quiet lake. A faint breeze carries the scent of pine and campfire smoke. Someone is having a fire nearby. But all I can smell is the sharp, warm burn of whiskey.
“Can I have some of that?”
Blake curls up in the chair beside me, holding out an empty glass. I eye it for a second before shrugging. Whatever. I can’t keep policing her. Besides, from what I’ve seen so far, she barely drinks, and when she does, she knows her limits. I slosh some amber liquid into her glass, then sip mine.
A comfortable silence settles between us. We drink our whiskey, staring at the water. Our floating swim dock is barely moving, that’s how still the lake is tonight.
“What were you thinking about when you were jerking off?”
I almost choke on my drink.
Shit. Here I was, mentally patting her on the back for handling her alcohol so well. Turns out you give Blake Logan one whiskey and she’s asking about my jerk-off fantasies.
“Yeah…” I keep my gaze straight ahead. “Not telling you that.”
“Come on, tell me. What were you thinking about?”
You. On your knees. Sucking me dry.
I take another gulp of whiskey. “Nope,” I say firmly.
