Page 51 of The F*ck-It List

Joanie gives me the finger, but no one argues. Dad gets up from his seat and starts shuffling behind me, squeezing my shoulder as he stands behind me. “I’m getting our drinks, what’s everyone’s poison?”

“Gin and tonic, please darling,” Mum says.

“Rum and Coke, please,” Joanie answers.

“Vodka and cranberry, please,” Bea says. “I can give you the money.” She reaches into her pocket again, but Dad is having none of it.

“Your money is no good here. You’re our secret weapon tonight, the least we can do is keep you refreshed.”

Bea laughs a little. “I worry you guys are vastly overestimating my trivia knowledge.”

“I’m sure you’ll knock it out of the park, but remember, it’s just a bit of fun, the same donation goes to tonight’s charity no matter how many questions you get right.” Dad pats my shoulders and I know he’s smiling at Bea like she’s one of the family just by the way she grins back, looking so happy to be a part of it. “Beer, my boy?”

“Please,” I say over my shoulder, and he disappears.

Ninety minutes later, it’s abundantly clear that we had in factnotoverestimated Bea’s trivia knowledge. What I hadunderestimated, was her competitiveness. Sweet, bubbly, sunshine Bea is a beast. Her and Joanie arguing back and forth over answers and keeping personal scores of who was right more often. Spoiler alert, it’s going to be Bea. There was even a Literature round, which we’ve never had before, so I can only assume Eli added it in just for Bea.

I usually tolerate these evenings, showing up for Eli and because I know my family enjoys getting together, but tonight I’ve laughed more than I have in the last five years. When I throw my head back and let out a belly laugh after Bea loudly cursed Eli when he called out an answer she’d answered incorrectly, I look back to the table to find my family all staring at me with varying levels of bemusement.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Joanie says with a smirk. “First you get my brother on a horse, then you get him to laugh like that.” She shakes her head, disbelieving. “You certainly are shaking things up around here, Bea.” Joanie sips her drink looking across the table at me with mischief in her eyes.

My cheeks heat and Bea, blushes, looking down at the table. But when she peeks up at me through thick lashes, her bottom lip pinched between her teeth, my throat dries.

I can’t stop staring at her the rest of the night, and when I walk her back to her front door, my palms are sweating.You deserve to be happy, August. You should be with someone who makes you happy.Maybe it is time to leave the past behind. I could kiss Bea goodnight, feel her lips on mine, and see if we spark. I could take a chance that Bea would be different. I could—

“Thank you for walking me home.” She smiles up at me. “And thanks for being my friend, August, I really like spending time with you.” She rises up to her tiptoes, stretching her neck up but still not able to reach me, so I bend down to her, and she pecks a quick, gentle kiss on my cheek. She disappears through her door while I’m still reeling from the innocent contact. My brain is running laps, my heart pumping hard, so I go home and pace.

sixteen

No. 7: Take on a BIG challenge

Bea

Ifeel a sense of loss when I close my front door, and although I’ve had a fantastic evening filled with laughter and good-natured banter, my shoulders slump when I take a look around my empty home. Well, empty aside from Heathcliff on his cat tree, tail swooshing lazily where it hangs off the edge. It’s not overly late, but I decide I’m ready to curl up in my bed with my current read, wanting to leave this realm to join my swashbuckling rogue and the mischievous mermaid he’s helping for a chapter or ten.

I’m de-glammed and in my pyjamas in hardly any time, fluffy socks keeping my feet warm as I potter around my kitchen to make myself a camomile tea and fill a hot water bottle. The stonework of the cottage keeps the place cool throughout the warm day but by evening, I’mneeding a little extra warmth. It’s dark, and I haven’t bothered turning on the lights, using the moon’s glow through the picture window to guide my way.

I startle when there’s a knock at the door but the butterflies taking flight in my belly aren’t fear, because somehow, I know who’s on the other side. I slide the deadbolt free and open the door to find August on the other side. He’s in a plain white tee with—heaven help me—grey sweats, his feet are only in socks, meaning he’s crossed the road with no shoes, and his hair is slightly wild like he’s been pulling at it. He looks nervous, chest moving with heavy breaths, and I worry something’s wrong.

“August, is everything—”

“I don’t want to be friends,” he says, his voice cracking slightly.

“Oh.” Hurt and disappointment cloud whatever residual joy I had from the evening until he steps forward and cups my jaw in his large, work rough hands. My secondohis breathier and more surprised.

“I don’t want tojustbe friends,” he says softly, bending over me until his lips ghost mine. I think my knees might give way, the feel of his hot breath fanning my face and his fingers digging into the hair at my scalp, it’s sensory overload. My grumpy neighbour, who I’ve wanted more and more with each moment spent together, is here, at my door, touching me, wanting me.

“Okay,” I whimper kind of lamely, but words are not wording and the tug in my lower belly is distracting me from any cohesive thoughts I may have had.

His lips are on mine, a hard press, his arms coming to wrap around my waist until he can straighten to his full height and bring me with him, my legs hanging a foot above the floor. I’m vaguely aware we’removing and the door slamming shut behind us, then the cool kitchen countertop is pressing to the backs of my thighs. I bend my legs, spreading them wide until my knees are hugging his hips, my butt resting on the counter.

August tastes of spearmint as I lick at his lips, my fingers sliding into his tousled hair to hold him close to me, not that he seems inclined to go anywhere. My back arches, pressing my breasts to his chest, my nipples rubbing against the cotton of my ribbed tank top, the friction sending pulses of pleasure through my body. I’m wet, I can feel it soaking my underwear and my pussy throbs with the need to rub against something—preferably August’s something.

His hands drag down to the globes of my arse and pull me closer to him until I get the contact I’m craving, the length of my slit sliding over the length of him. Theconsiderablelength of him. When his tongue slips between my parted lips, I moan at the invasion, sucking lightly on him. He groans, pulling away to rest his forehead on mine.

“If you don’t want to take this any further, tell me now. I’ll kiss you goodnight and call on you tomorrow,” he says, voice rough and low. “Otherwise, I’m taking you upstairs and spending the night in your bed.”

“Option two,” I breathe over his lips.