Page 14 of Backed By You
“Next Saturday at Tavern Nine. Beer, poker, the whole brother bonding experience. Dad’s stopping by, Uncle Jim, some young guns from Butch’s company.” He chuckles. “Should be a riot.”
Should be a nightmare is more like it, but there isn’t much I can do to get out of this one. “I’ll be there,” I say begrudgingly.
“You better be,” he says. “I’d hate to have to show up here and tear you away from…” He gestures vaguely at Callie’s cabin, then at me. “Whatever this is.”
My brow furrows.
At my glare, he adds, “Just saying what I see, bro.”
“Don’t bother,” I deadpan, already hating whatever the hell nonsense he’s mentally brewing over the single encounter he witnessed between Callie and me.
He laughs, waving me off as he strides to his truck. “I’ll see you later at Ma’s for dinner.” He starts the engine. Rolling down the window, he shouts, “And Beau? Maybe ease up on the shoe policing. Most women don’t take kindly to that kind of mountain man safety flirting.”
I flip him off, which just makes him laugh harder as he backs out of the driveway.
As his truck disappears down the road, I find myself glancing toward the trail where Callie vanished earlier.Tennis shoes. I shake my head to clear her from my thoughts and get to work.
The next morning, however, she’s gone.
Five.
Callie
“Trythesheerbodiceone next,” my best friend, Shea, calls from outside her closet in her ocean-side condo here in Long Beach.
“I wore red last time, though,” I say, eyeing the five dress options she has me choosing from today. I’m on the hunt for a dress for the upcoming premiere of the final chapter in myDevil’s Lakemovie trilogy. And whenever I need to dress for the red carpet, Shea is my go-to and well worth a trip back to California.
We met in college. She went for fashion and design while I was studying film and photography. We ran into each other one day on campus during the first week of classes. She complimented my flats while complaining about her heels killing her feet. We swapped shoes—which we laugh about now as being gross and far too trustworthy—and the rest was history.
Ten years later, her opinion is still the only one I’ve ever taken to heart.
She’s the reason I moved from sunny Los Angeles to a little remote cabin in the mountains of Whitetail. It was her idea, given her father owns the infamous Winton’s Resort on the other side of the small town. She knew I needed the break. I wasn’t in the right headspace to be making any major decisions on my own. And I trust her.
Something that doesn’t come easily for me.
Shea pops her head around the corner, her bouncy ringlet curls framing her face and complementing her rich, brown complexion. “And you looked hot as hell,” she retorts. “So stop whining and try it on.”
I groan sarcastically, earning a laugh from her as she slips into her bedroom to await another failed model walk by yours truly. “I was thinking something more dramatic this time,” I say, running my fingers along the fabric of the sheer red gown with subtle silver threading. “Something that says ‘final chapter’ without being too on-the-nose about it.”
Shea hums from the other room. “Well, you know I love dramatic looks. And youhavepoured fifteen years of your life into this trilogy.”
Has it been that long?
I started writing short horror films for YouTube with some friends in high school—none of them took it as seriously as I did. From there, my little hobby grew and never stopped. It wasn’t until I was in college that the short films began to take off. I got recognized by one of my professors, who then introduced me to some huge-name producers in the horror genre.
One day, I was showing them my latest screenplay with safety pins holding my purse together, and the next…I’m cashing checks worth millions.
I shimmy into the dress, having to hold the strapless breast cups to my chest as I shuffle out of the closet. I smile at the sight of Shea sitting on the edge of her bed to pet Hulk sleeping soundly on the bulk of it. “Zip assist, please.”
“Oooh.” Shea whistles when I offer my back to her so she can secure the dress. “Your body in this dress is stunning, Cals. Seriously.”
I step toward her floor-to-ceiling mirror in the corner of the room and take in the full-length gown. It has a true mermaid style fit to it and complements my figure in more ways than one. I turn to the side and inspect the back. “I don’t love the silver accents or the red, but this shape is perfect.”
“Pause!” Shea leaps to her feet, scurrying to the closet before emerging with a similar vibe to the current dress I’m wearing. A sheer corseted, mermaid sequined gown, exquisite beads and crystals with a high slit design in a dusty pink. “What about this one? It has that rich, haunting vibe that matches theDevil’saesthetic.”
I can’t help but smile. This is why I love Shea. She doesn’t just see clothes; she sees stories, moods, statements. While I was at my writing desk trying to capture the mysterious waters ofDevil’s Lakethat made the trilogy such a hit, she was building her reputation as one of the most intuitive stylists in the industry.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I hurry past her, taking the dress as I do.
