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No. Never mind. Deacon and Brooke finally moving past this, whatever it was, was weirder than secret underground fuck-benches.
“I’m going to go edit this video and turn it into something,” I said. “Several somethings. You’re cool with me uploading all of it?”
Deacon nodded. “Mention the shop if you can.”
“Always.” I’d be hurt he thought he had to ask, but given the way he was looking at Brooke, this wasn’t about me, anyway.
I left the two of them to do what they weren’t going to do, and headed back upstairs. Ideas spilled through my mind about the best way to spin this find. I had a YouTube channel that changed focus as often as my brain did. Not a lot of subscribers, but I had fun making the videos.
The contents of Deacon’s basement could be an entire series, though.
A giggle drifted up from below, and I cringed. Why was this rubbing me so wrong?
I should’ve filmed the search for the hidden trap door yesterday, but I could at least get shots of everywhere we looked. I wandered through the back of Deacon’s shop, filming the same path we’d followed when we were exploring. The series could focus on aspects of the journey, mixed with the different types of things we’d uncovered, and finish by pointing people to Deacon’s and Aubrey’s places, since she’d have the clothing we found.
It was awfully quiet down there. Which it should be. I wasn’t close enough to hear the conversation, and there was absolutely no reason for me to hollereverything okay?
Nope. I was going to work on my videos, revel in the excitement of this discovery, and get over this bothered feeling about the exchange between Deacon and Brooke this afternoon.
SEVEN
BROOKE
Despite my qualityalone-time last night, thoughts of Deacon’s place hadn’t left me alone all day. Of what we’d found in his basement and that he seemed to know exactly what it was all for and how to use it.
We spent a few hours going through everything he and Adam had uncovered, and I made mental notes about what I could do restoration on, what I could add new details to, replace pieces of, and more. And every other piece, Deacon had a comment about purpose, or demonstrations of use, or something equally enticing that had my pulse hammering in my ears.
I reached a point where my skin wasn’t cooling and the throb between my thighs was impossible to ignore. I was used to a direct, teasing Deacon, but this was a whole new level of temptingly explicit.
“How do you do it?” My question slipped out before I could decipher what I meant.
He looked at me, puzzled. “Do what?”
“Treat sex like it’s no big deal.” That wasn’t quite what I wanted to know, but it was close.
“You misunderstand.”
“Help me get it, then.”
Deacon grasped my fingertips and pulled me toward some normal chairs on the other end of the basement from the stairs. He nudged me into one and sat across from me. “It’s not that it’s no big deal, but when you take the emotional attachment out of it, sex can be really incredible or just plain funny. Think about it. It’s sticky. It’s messy. People do the most ridiculous things to get it.”
I’d never thought about any of that. To me, sex was this thing people in love did that felt good. “I am so screwed when it comes to dating. But not, because I don’t get any of this. I feel like a freaking forty-year-old virgin.”
“My experiences are different than yours—it doesn’t make yours bad, only different. You’re in a small town in Utah, and you’re far more likely to find people with your experiences than mine. You can find—”
“A nice Mormon divorcé or widower who’s only ever been with one woman and wants me to be his second wife, so he can parade me in front of the congregation?”No, thank you.“Would you want that?”
“I see your point.” Deacon smiled through his scowl. “Though if said widower were parading me in front of the other people at church, I’d be highly amused.” And there he went, making a joke of things again.
“It’s not that I want to go out and screw around, but there has to be a middle ground between celibacy and doing everyone.” Did I imply… “Not that you are. I didn’t mean that.”
Deacon didn’t look bothered. “There is a middle ground. You just have to find it.”
“How?” Why was I pursuing this conversation here and now? Because letting the questions bounce in my head wasn’t helping, and he wasn’t shutting me down. And part of me wanted to see what kind oflessonshe could give me. A large part of me. “Can people really enjoy sex without being emotionally attached?” I asked.
His eyes grew wide, reflecting my surprise at what I’d said aloud.
“Adam and I do,” he said.
