Page 135 of Smut

“No,” I tell him. “I came here for you. To tell you I’m sorry.”

His brows come together. “For what?”

“For being a twat. For not returning your messages. For blowing up at you like I did.”

“Amanda,” he says. “You had every right to be mad. I knew it was our secret and I wasn’t thinking. Clearly. I get it.”

“No,” I tell him. “I shouldn’t have freaked out and left you. I just didn’t know what to do. You know…being with you…it scared me so much to imagine losing you, I couldn’t handle it. It’s almost like I made it happen so it wouldn’t have to happen down the line.”

“That is such a guy thing to do,” he says.

“Don’t be sexist,” I tell him, punching him in the armor. It kind of hurts. “Girls are allowed to do stupid shit too.”

“I don’t know if you’re allowed to do them, but you do them anyway,” he muses.

I raise my fist. “Don’t make me punch you again.”

“Hey, you’re Phoenix. You can change the whole damn world with your mind, just as you can with your writing. Why do you think I wanted you to come dressed as her? You can do anything you put your mind to, whether it’s making a fortune on erotica or writing something very dear and personal to you. You’re practically a superhero. And you’re really good in bed.”

I swallow hard, the butterflies in my chest taking off. “So…it’s not too late?”

“For what?”

“For us,” I say feebly. “You stopped calling me.”

“Just because we write about stalkers doesn’t mean I am one. I wanted to give you space and time to figure your shit out. I wasn’t going anywhere. We’re writing partners.”

“And sex partners.”

“And friends.”

“And dorks.”

“Speak for yourself,” he says, raising his head high. “I’m the king of mischief.”

“Well, the queen of mischief needs a beer,” I tell him.

He grasps my hand. “My queen,” he says gallantly and we head toward the beer garden. The battle rages on and Blake fends off a charging warrior with a fell swoop of his staff. We keep walking.

“My hero,” I tell him as we step over the fallen, writhing soldier.

We give each other the nerdiest smiles, and my heart feels like it’s a big, bright balloon, too large and grand for my chest.

“Hey, is that Ana?” Blake says as we approach the bar.

I look over to see her putting blue body paint on some buff, half naked Avatar. She’s giggling and he’s flexing, and it looks like she’s having the time of her life.

“Is that Kevin and your dad?” I ask, because further down the line of people who want Ana’s face slash body paint, there they are. “I didn’t know your dad was coming.”

“Neither did I,” Blake says. “Just as well. Now we can enjoy these beers.”

We find ourselves a spot at a picnic table between some wenches who are completely hammered and Neo and Trinity from the Matrix, and we drink in the sunshine, talking and catching up over everything that happened during the last week, from family, to our new fame, to book world drama (there’s always book world drama).

Two beers in though, and we’re both feeling pretty loose.

“Hey, come with me,” I tell him, grabbing his hand and leading him from his seat and out of the beer garden.

“Where are you leading me, my queen?” he asks, playfully smacking me on my ass.

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