Well Played (Well Met #2)(66)

Last night with him had been perfect, in every single way. I wanted to tag every second of it with our names.



* * *



? ? ?

In some ways it was weird that my relationship with Daniel became so intense so fast. I wasn’t usually the kind of girl to sleep with a guy so soon into a relationship—Dex aside, but let’s be real, I’d never thought of him as a relationship when we were having sex—but those months of emails and texts had laid so much groundwork. Now that we’d gotten used to seeing each other in person, we could skip the awkward small talk portion of things and go straight into being . . . well, not in love. We weren’t using that word. Not yet. But we were definitely together.

Daniel fit into my life like a puzzle piece I didn’t realize had been missing. There were the same good-morning texts and late-night chat sessions. But there were also the flowers he sent to my work on Wednesday, and the pizza I had delivered to his hotel room Thursday night while we spent the night binging on bad reality television.

The week flew by, and before I knew it, it was time to get back in costume for the weekend.

“Beatrice. A word?” Simon called my name—my Faire name— as we were just about to leave the Hollow to go up the hill to start the next Saturday at Faire.

Emily and I both turned at his approach, and to my surprise he seemed more interested in me than in his new wife.

I inclined my head. “Captain,” I said in my Beatrice voice. “What is your will?” Emily raised her eyebrows next to me; she wanted to know too.

“I need you today.”

“Captain!” My grin was wide and flirtatious, and it only got wider as Simon looked increasingly uncomfortable. “I’m flattered, sir, I truly am. But I have it on good authority that you are newly wed to this good lass here. Therefore, any needing should be in her direction, aye?”

“Indeed.” Emily put her hands on her hips and tried to look offended, but amusement danced in her eyes. “Tired of me already, good husband?”

“That’s not . . .” He swept off his hat—a black leather monstrosity with a large red feather that had been part of his costume since the early days—and raked a hand through his hair before glaring at the both of us. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He’d dropped the accent, which surprised me. That wasn’t like him.

“Do we?” Emily’s smile widened, and he scowled in response, stepping a little closer, his attention all on Emily now.

“I’ve a mind to take you home right this moment, and let you know just how very not tired of you I am.” The accent was back, and his voice was a growl. Whoa. He and Emily had always been flirty in character, and later as their real selves, but this was a little more . . . intense than I was used to seeing from him.

Emily’s eyes flared, then she laughed and shoved him away with one hand planted in the middle of his chest. “Off with you,” she said in her Faire accent. “Beatrice and I have much to do today.”

Simon had fallen back a step when she pushed him, but now he stepped back to us again, hat still in his hand. “I actually really do need to talk to you a second, Stacey,” he said, his voice all Simon-the-Faire-organizer once again.

Oh. This was actually serious, and not just character banter. “Sure, Simon,” I said. “What’s up?”

He shifted his hat from one hand to the other and ran a hand through his hair again, stealing a glance over his shoulder. “Any chance I can get you to sing with the Lilies today?”

I blinked. Of all the favors I had expected, this was the least of them. “Well. I mean, I haven’t sung since, what, college?” When I’d turned twenty-one I’d shed the Gilded Lilies costume as fast as I could, trading that yellow dress for a wench’s costume. It had felt like a rite of passage—being an adult at last. That summer Simon’s older brother Sean had dubbed me Beatrice, a name that I still held on to in his honor.

“Not true,” he countered. “You spent a lot of time practicing with Caitlin during rehearsals. I heard you with her at April’s house.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t count.” I shook my head. “Why do you need me?”

Simon didn’t answer; he just looked at me and waited for me to get there. And I did, a moment or two later. “Oh.” I put my hands on my hips. “I told you.”

“You did.” He had the grace to at least look at little shamefaced.

“I told you.” I all but shook my finger at him. “I told you that Dahlia would flake on you.” Dahlia Martin had been the best singer we’d had try out, and since she was a college student she had that little bit of extra maturity that meant she could lead the Lilies’ rehearsals with minimal supervision. But I’d had a chat with Ms. Howe, who was still teaching and directing the chorus at Willow Creek High, about our crop of Gilded Lilies this year. While she’d approved of the talent we’d chosen, she had warned me that Dahlia in particular was likely to lose interest and stop showing up after a couple weekends.

And here we were. Simon held up a defensive hand. “You’re right. But she’s a strong singer. I had to give her a chance.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, she didn’t show up this morning. I figured she was just running late, but she texted a few minutes ago that she couldn’t come today. Like she’s calling in sick to work. Like . . .” Simon clenched his jaw, and there went that muscle in his cheek again. Poor guy. We all had his back these days, but there were still the occasional moments like this, where it seemed like he carried the whole Faire on his shoulders.