And it was glorious. Which made something else happen. Something—not butterflies, maybe small birds—flipped their wings in my lower belly, making my entire body tingle. We stared at each other for a beat, with intense, raw longing.
“Hello! Ready to check out?” The cashier popped the bubble we were both suspended in.
Ransom shook his head, turning to look at her, and smiled. “Absolutely.”
The next week was surprisingly bearable. Possibly because my family did not summon me to any more ‘casual’ dinners. Everyone was in D.C., where Craig’s family was from. No doubt frantic about appeasing Hera, who did not like it when life didn’t go according to her detailed plan.
I tried calling my older sister and inquiring about Craig’s grandfather’s health—apparently, he was still hanging in there—but was sent straight to voicemail each time I did.
There was no way to admit it without sounding awful, but each time I got to her voicemail, I let out a sigh of relief. I didn’t have any particular desire to speak to Hera, and I had no idea what to say about Craig’s grandfather.
My time was spent volunteering at national forests and FreeTree Society (Ransom wasn’t kidding, he really did sign me up for everything under the sun) and drawing nonstop.
Calluses formed on my middle finger and thumb. And yet I continued.
Even when my wrist hurt.
Even when my hands began to shake, so weak I could barely wash my hair, pick up my phone, cut my food with utensils.
Max had arrived in Dallas, armed with enough sunscreen to drown an army. He and Ransom took turns watching me. On one hand, I felt more comfortable with Max—he was chill, sweet, and never mean to me. On the other, every time Ransom was away, I was worried he was getting frisky with other women.
Why did I care? While it was true that Ransom and I were no longer at each other’s throats, we were a very long way from being buddies. It was more a case of my wanting to save my energy for the battles ahead of me, with Mom, Dad, Hera, and Craig.
“So let me get this straight,” Keller said. He was back in L.A. from Palm Springs, munching on a celery stick while we were on the phone. I was sketching on my pad. An elaborate tattoo of a sexy-looking Medusa, pouty and luscious, her snake hair curling over her throat, cutting off her air supply.Beautiful Death.“You’re currently protected by two seriously hot men, and you’re not getting D-ed by either of them?”
Keller didn’t know that I wasn’t in the business of hooking up.
“Correct.”
“Okay…why?” He seemed flabbergasted.
“Because it’s a bad idea.”
“And since when do you shy away from those?” He laughed.
“I guess I’m trying to do better.”
“By whom?” Keller demanded. “Not your vajayjay, that’s for sure. The younger one seemed into you at first, right?”
“Max? Oh, I think so. He’s sweet, but…I don’t know, too meek, maybe? And Ransom is hot, but also a massive jerk.”
“You mean, the type to release a sex tape of you two?” Keller asked dreamily. He had a thing for bastards. His ex-boyfriends were atrocious. From emotional abusers to serial cheaters, it was very easy to give up on happily-ever-after when I had a front-row seat to Keller’s love life.
However, Ransom was the opposite of a man who would air out his business to the world. I wasn’t worried that he’d land me in trouble. He gave me every indication he wanted to keep me away from it. He just seemed like a really bad person to put my trust in. So wildly disconnected from his soul, I wondered if he had one at all.
“Just trust me when I say they’re both off-limits.”
“All right, but I’m starting to worry about you, girl. I haven’t seen you with any arm candy for a while.”
The last man Keller had seen me with was Dash Rodgers, a Seattle Seahawks quarterback who needed a few dates in L.A. while he was negotiating a new contract. Truth was, he was desperately heartbroken from a recent breakup—his country singer fiancée had been caught cheating on him with her guitar player—and I needed a way to boost up my image to get more gigs. We both benefited from the arrangement and parted as friends. But when Keller had asked about him, I relayed my wild nights with Rodgers while he was in town, omitting what we actually did—played Monopoly and Patchwork while discussing a National Geographic documentary about whales.
“I’ll get back on the horse in L.A.,” I assured him.
“Just as long as you make sure the horse is well-hung.”
“Keller…” I closed my eyes.
“Too much?” He laughed.