Page 48 of The Pretenders of Copper County
“Three out of ten,” a bored male voice corrected. “I couldfallin and look cooler.”
What the hell? I stopped short, just out of sight of the dock, and crept forward cautiously, staying behind the tree line. Scanning the scene, I found my protectee, still wearing his green T-shirt and athletic shorts—though both were now damp with perspiration and clinging to him in all sorts of pleasant ways—leaning against the railing of the Wrigley Campground dock in the sunshine, watching as a teenaged boy with long limbs and a smile like Watt Bartlett’s hauled himself out of the water.
On the dock near Chris’s feet, two teenage girls in bikinis and a smaller, dark-haired boy in shorts were seated cross-legged on beach towels, helping themselves to seltzers out of our soft cooler and snacking on something that looked suspiciously like one of Chris’s charcuterie boards.
Where the fuck did he keep coming up with the damn things? Was he magic?
“Three out of ten? Please,” Mini-Watt scoffed, rolling his eyes at the other boy. “I’d like to see you do better, Zach.”
Zach yawned and leaned back on his hands, tilting his face up to the sun. “No way I’m getting in there. It’s practically October. The water’s too fucking cold.”
“You shouldn’t sayfuckin front of an adult, Zach,” the blonder of the two girls scolded. “For fuck’s sake.”
It seemed to take Chris a second to realize he was the adult in question. When he did, he shook his head so hard his glasses slid down his nose. “Oh, no, don’t mind me,” he insisted, pushing them back up. “I don’t mind fresh language at all. I’m used to it. You should hear Reed.He’s all eff this and eff that. He effseverything.” He paused and added darkly, “Well.Almosteverything.”
“Reed’s your husband, right, Chris?” the darker-haired girl asked eagerly. “I overheard Theo—my uncle’s boyfriend—telling Uncle Bennett that you guys were here on your honeymoon.”
“Oh, um, yes,” Chris agreed. “Reed is my h-husband. Who I’m married to. No doubt about that.” His fingers fluttered in an anxious, half-assed impression of jazz hands, and I snickered.
Such a shit liar, but why is it so cute?
“Don’t mind her. Vega is a sucker for romance,” the blonde girl explained.
“And Mary-Kate thinks romance is for suckers,” Vega returned, giving her friend a good-natured shove. She turned back to Chris. “Theo said your husband washandsome. Nearly as handsome as Bennett himself.”
Chris smiled. “Oh, yes. Reed’s gorgeous.”
“And Mr. Lattimer said he was tall,” she continued.
“Yeah.” Chris’s smile grew.
“And Liam Mason said he was grumpy,” Mary-Kate chimed in.
“Yea— Wait, what?” Chris frowned. “That’s not very nice.”
“I think he meant it as a compliment,” Vega explained. “Luke’s husband is super grumpy, so I think he enjoys grumpy guys.”
“Oh.” Chris shrugged and smiled, soft and relaxed. “Well, Reedisgrumpy. Sometimes.” A pause. “Or… okay, maybeoften. But he’s also very brave. A-and trustworthy. And smart. And funny. And loyal. And thoughtful. He makes me a bagel every morning, even though he doesn’t make one for himself, and he insists on me wearing his pajama pants, even though Ihave my own, and sometimes when I do things for him—just tiny, small things like throwing together dinner—he’ll give me a sweet, lopsided smile, like he’s really pleased and doesn’t know how to show it, and itmeltsme. Oh, and don’t get me started on his forearms because… um…” Chris paused again and cleared his throat. “Anyway.”
I gripped the tree in front of me so hard the rough bark dug into my fingers.
Was this part of his husband act? But no, it couldn’t be. I knew when he was lying. Anyone with eyes knew it. And this… this was truth.
“You’re so lucky,” Vega sighed. “He soundsperfect.”
“Perfectly lame,” Zach said.
Chris shot him a disappointed look that had Zach closing his mouth quickly, looking a little shamefaced.
“I didn’t say Reed was perfect,” Chris told Vega. “But if you go into a relationship thinking your partner will be John Ruffian, you’re likely to be disappointed. Reed’s a wonderful man, but he has his flaws.”
Did I?
“Does he?” Vega echoed.
“Heck yeah. He’s stubborn—once he gets an idea in his head, it’s cemented there. He’s overprotective in a way that veers perilously close to bossiness. He’s a really terrible singer who makes up his own lyrics,” Chris said, but he smiled that soft smile again when he said it, like he didn’t really mind it all that much. “And he’sloud. He wakes me up every night when he gets into bed because he has to fix the blankets just so.”
I stared at him without blinking while some nearby woodland creature inhaled and exhaled in a noisy wheeze.
