Page 109 of Summer People
“You don’t have to come.”
“If you think I’m letting you deal with Brad yourself?—”
I shake my head. This isn’t up for debate. “I don’t want the media to get wind of us. If they do, then they’ll know where I’ve been and they’ll never leave us alone.”
“Libby,” he says, his voice low and filled with frustration.
I roll my hips over him and press a light kiss to his lips. “Did you release Brad’s emails and texts?”
He nods, his expression solemn. “It was that or fly out there and kill him.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “He’s not worth it.”
With a hum, he runs his hand through my hair and settles it on my cheek. “I know that, but you are.”
My heart floats like one of those buoys offshore. “I’m happy right here, Hacker.”
“Obviously.” He smirks, already hardening inside me.
I roll my hips and shudder, my clit still sensitive from the first two orgasms he gave me.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“Yes, Hacker. Fuck me like you love me.”
“I do, you know.” He cups my other cheek too. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too. Now less talking, more fucking.”
With a laugh, he bucks up into me. Who woulda thought that I’d be begging for this man of so few words to shut up?
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
libby
Good Neighbours’“Home” blares from my phone as Putt-Putt bounces over a rock on the path toward the theater. Laughing, I veer to the right, waving in apology to Farmer Todd, who’s crossing the street to the town meeting. Oh shoot, I’m supposed to meet Fisher there.
With one hand on the wheel, I pause the music and hold the button on the side of my phone down to dictate a text so he knows I’m going to finish up at the theater and plan to meet him later. The play is in two days, and the car needs one more coat of pink paint.
Gotta makemyPink Lady proud of her car counterpart.
I smile at the thought of the boat on stilts in Fisher’s yard. We have yet to get it out on the water, but it makes a great spot to lie out in the sun and read with Sutton. It’s become vital to our new afternoon routine.
I peer at the church where they’re holding today’s town meeting since the theater is a bit of a mess, but I don’t see my man. He’s probably still taking care of things around the island. The meeting doesn’t start for another hour or so.
As I open the door to the theater and inhale the familiar scent of new paint and old, worn chairs, I smile. This place brought back my love for acting, and I don’t even have a part in the play. Like everything else on this island, this simple building has helped me discover another facet of who I am. Next week I’ll head to Boston to begin voice training, but I’ll be bringing more than a piece of Monhegan with me.
And because my two favorite people will still be here, I’ll be back often. This island holds my heart.
“Libby!”
I spin at the sound of one of my favorites.
Sutton’s dressed in a pair of jean shorts and a peach T-shirt that saysIsland Girlon it. I have one that matches. It’s hanging in Fisher’s closet. We got them in Boothbay. I don’t know why they don’t sell them here.
Behind her, Kennedy and Lindsey appear. Kennedy’s long blond hair is pulled up in a messy bun and she’s got on a pair of ripped jean shorts and a tank top. Her daughter is in a bathing suit, her little tummy popping out, revealing the most adorable outie belly button. Every time I see it, I want to poke her like the Pillsbury Dough Boy.
“No peeking!” I shout. I wantsomeoneto be surprised by the set, and Kennedy might be the only resident we haven’t dragged into painting because she’s always busy working.
