Page 49 of The Beekeeper

“A…” My mouth snapped shut. A fling. And then I laughed. I had to. “Do you want to see my brothers murder a single father—murder your sister’s brother-in-law?”

“Oh please.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re an adult. You can fuck around to find out.”

I choked on my own saliva. Only Frankie… And still, her idea took root in my mind, burrowing deep into the fertile soil of longing.

It had been days since we’d pretended that kiss never happened. As though the blackout were a black hole that swallowed up everything that was done and said inside of it. I went back to my bees. Blaze focused on Paisley and the lawsuit. And we both came to a wordless understanding of mutual ignorance, pretending we didn’t notice when each other was caught staring. Pretending we didn’t feel the invisible, electric tether that charged every time we touched.

Pretending that, two days ago, I hadn’t run back inside to grab more water for Pais and myself as we were checking on all the hives, and heard groaning coming from upstairs. That I, a naturally concerned citizen, hadn’t crept upstairs to make sure the man with a history of drug and alcohol use wasn’t suffering a medical emergency while in the shower. And then, hearing my rasped name, hadn’t made it all the way to the cracked bathroom door thinking he was in need before the sight in the mirror made me realize just what kind of need he was in.

Maybe it wasn’t the equivalent of Blaze learning I’d had his face plastered all over my bedroom walls when I was younger, but when he caught my eyes in the mirror and realized I knew he was masturbating to my name, it sure seemed like it came close. Especially when seeing me pushed him over the edge.

We definitely pretended that hadn’t happened.

Oh, and then also last night when I’d stayed up too late reading and then reached for my lemon. I hadn’t even heard him come downstairs until I panted his name with my orgasm and then saw the shadow moving through the light on the other side of my door.

It felt like I could hear him breathing on the other side of the wood—like a bull wounded and panting and deciding if one more charge at the person tormenting him was worth risking his life.

It wasn’t. The shadows had shifted and then his bare feet walked heavily back upstairs.

“Earth to Harper.”

I blinked and stammered. “Sorry.”

“Yeah.” Frankie pursed her lips. “This is definitely an emergency situation. You both need an emergency fling.”

“I don’t think⁠—”

“Unrequited longing can absolutely turn into an emergency,” she insisted, unwilling to hear otherwise. “Can a queen bee survive without her drones?”

My eyebrows rose. “I don’t think you understand how bee sex works.” Or how many males a queen mates with.

“And I don’t think you understand how your bees should be a model for your predicament,” she returned, and I couldn’t tell if she’d put emphasis on the dic in predicament or if I’d imagined it because she was right, and I was slowly going insane. “It can just be sex, Harper. Especially if that’s what you both need it to be, that makes it even easier. And the fact that he’s living with you⁠—”

“That makes it more complicated,” I interrupted, hoping I didn’t have to elaborate that usually when couples were sleeping together and living together, it signified a much stronger relationship than she was suggesting.

“I meant because him living with you isn’t permanent,” she clarified. “He’s only there for a short amount of time and then what? He’s going to move back to Hollywood or somewhere the press isn’t as crazy. Maybe Europe. That seems to be all the rage for the A-listers right now.”

“Yeah,” I croaked. Why did it feel like she’d pushed on a bruise when she reminded me that his intent was never to stay?

“That’s why your situation is perfect. You both can indulge in this situationship while he’s here and then there’s a natural expiration date, so no one has to worry about things getting complicated.” She walked back to her warmer and checked on the wax temperature again.

I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, chewing on it while I searched for some flaw in her plan.

“He’ll never go for it,” I pushed back. “He might want me, but he doesn’t trust me—doesn’t trust anyone. He’ll never believe that it’s just sex—that I wouldn’t try to take advantage of him somehow.”

She stirred silently for a few seconds, and I was just about to quip that I was right—that this was hopeless, when her head snapped up and twinkling eyes met mine.

“Easy fix.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Just write up a contract. And an NDA,” she said and grinned. “Lou told me how he was always a big fan of those.”

A…

“A contract for sex?” I groaned. “That sounds even more desperate.”

“It sounds practical, Harp. I mean, look at you.”