Page 139 of Tangled Like Us
It doesn’t take long to find the screenshots. It’s trending on Twitter.
My eyes breeze through them.
Can we do that thing we did last time? ;) –Kara
Sure, baby. Call me? I don’t love texting. –Beckett
Can’t call. I’m in a lecture. Do you think that I could bring my friend? Chelsea. She’s super sweet. Open to threesomes. You’ll love her.– Kara
As long as she signs the NDA. Sure.– Beckett
Won’t be a problem. Are you going to the party? It’s leather night.– Kara
Yeah– Beckett
That’s the last text. But it’s enough for the public to decide that Beckett is not only into threesomes, sex parties, and leather, but he’s also a shortrudetexter to a girl he’s supposedly sleeping with.
Maybe they missed the fact that he said he doesn’t like to text.
Beckett has always been the most private ofallmy siblings. Of the seven of us, he’s the only one who doesn’t appear onWe Are Calloway, and he refuses to do interviews unless the ballet company requires him.
Beckett may have suggested and participated in the FanCon, but he did so for me. And that was a great leap out of his norm.
He barely posts on social media, and if he could, he’d have chosen to grow up so far away from the spotlight.
It feels so utterly invasive to post texts, but for Beckett, this is a gross violation of his trust. I look to Thatcher before I click back into FaceTime.
“She broke her NDA,” I say, eyes burning.
Thatcher nods. “Legal is on it.”
Tom must hear Thatcher’s voice because my brother asks, “Is that your fake boyfriend?”
I leave the internet and click back into FaceTime. All four are in the screen, but Charlie and Beckett are scrolling on their phones. Tom has a shit-eating grin on his face, and in the wake of true chaos, he’d of course find something else to light on fire.
“We’re not discussing me,” I remind Tom.
“Tell my fake brother-in-law I saidhi,” Eliot smiles like he’s both clever and wicked.
God.Don’t look at Thatcher.
“Jane, I don’t hear you,” Eliot says quickly, teasing me. “Why aren’t you relaying my message?”
“Because he can hear you, Eliot,” I say. “He’s in the room.”
Thatcher crosses his arms over his chest.
“Knew it,” Tom says and taps a pair of drumsticks on the edge of the coffee table.
“Beckett.” I catch my brother’s attention. He glances up from his cell. “I’m so sorry this happened. It’s terrible, awful luck.”
“It’s not luck. I fucked up,” Beckett says. “I shouldn’t have texted. I knew I shouldn’t have—”
“Dude, we’re in the twenty-first century, you can’tnottext,” Tom says.
“Not about this shit,” Beckett refutes and runs a hand over his head.
Charlie sets down his phone and glances at him in concern before looking to me. “Jane, we called to ask you a favor.”
