On the Run (Whispering Key #2) - May Archer Page 0,31

a party anymore. Best to cancel it.”

“Are you kidding?” Rafe shook Beale’s shoulder, but he looked at me. “Can you believe this guy? Cancel the party? Not fucking likely! Now we’ve got even more to celebrate. You two need to come down to the Bean—that’s Bean Me Up, our breakfast spot,” he explained for my benefit. “Everyone will want to meet you.”

“Golly gosh darn it all to heck, I would love to, but we can’t.” I spread my hands helplessly. “Beale has plans for us today with, um… nature.” I was pretty sure he’d said something like that.

“Oh, that,” Rafe scoffed. “Beale’s volunteering can wait while he introduces his soul mate to the town.” He draped an arm over my shoulder. “And Scotty’s coffee is incredible.”

“Coffee?” I repeated, looking from Rafe to Beale. I was about a quart and a half low on caffeine, and herbal tea was not cutting it, especially in light of recent developments.

I had no desire to show my face to “everyone” at the Bean… but judging from the looks Beale was giving me, sticking around here wouldn’t be a picnic either. Plus, with no phone, no internet, and no television, it would be impossible to know whether anyone was looking for me by name unless I got out of the house. “Yeah,” I told Rafe. “I could do coffee.”

“I’m not sure why you’re mad at me,” I huffed as Beale and I flew down the road in his doorless, roofless Jeep at a speed entirely incompatible with a decent hair day.

Beale had a blue bandanna tied around his head with his messy golden-brown hair hanging over top, which should have made him look like he was about to go all Karate Kid and sweep the leg, Johnny, but instead just made him look hot as fuck.

Because of course it did.

Because this was my life now, being fake soul mates with Florida’s only hookup-hating gay giant, doomed not only to phone-lessness and penury, but to unending sexual frustration.

Yay, me.

“Really?” Beale shot back as he slowed down to make a turn. “Not a single clue why I’d be annoyed, Trey?”

I would like to say that I totally did not notice the way his thigh muscles bunched and flexed beneath his cargo shorts as he worked the clutch or the way his biceps flexed to enormous proportions when he shifted gears… but that would be a lie.

“Hey! If anyone else talked to Mason and told them Toby showed up, he’d come home, right? And I didn’t come up with the idea of being your soul mate. I just…” I paused. “Ran with it.”

“And you couldn’t have run in another direction?” Beale demanded. “Literally any other direction?”

“How was I supposed to know you didn’t do hookups and whatnot?” I demanded right back. “Not that asexuality isn’t perfectly valid, obviously, or that being sexual should be the default, just that it would’ve been nice to know.”

“I’m not asexual.”

“Fine, then. A serial monogamist.”

“I’m not a serial monogamist either,” he mumbled. “I’m just a monogamist. Period.”

“A monogamist,” I scoffed. “That would mean having sex with one person ever in your whole entire life, and since you don’t currently have a… a…” I trailed off and stared at Beale’s gorgeous blushing face, and his enormous body, which was curled in on itself slightly like he was waiting for my judgment. Puzzle pieces finally connected in my brain.

Beale Goodman was a virgin.

An actual, real live virgin.

Holy hot damn.

If you asked Aunt Hagatha, she’d probably stress how important it was, after a person has admitted something like this, to express your support and validation. To be encouraging. But Aunt Hagatha had never been riding shotgun while her fake soul mate revealed himself to be not just a gay unicorn with an enormous cock, but a big gay virginal unicorn with an enormous cock that no one had test-driven ever.

So what came out of my mouth was something slightly shittier and less supportive, like “Sweet, slow-fucking Shawn Mendes, are you serious?”

Beale gave me a look. “Do you ever shut up?” he demanded. “Like, ever ever?”

No lie, this stung just a little, even if I maybe deserved it.

“Fine,” I said sitting up as straight as I could and folding my arms over my chest. “Then I won’t speak.”

“Great! Starting now? Or…”

“But for the record—”

“Okay, so not now.”

“For the record, I waited to see how you wanted to handle the situation, and you didn’t do anything, so I did. If you wanted to have a say in how