On the Run (Whispering Key #2) - May Archer Page 0,60

an enormous coffee can wrapped in construction paper in the center of the table beside the fliers. “No donation too small.”

“Wow.” Dale nodded, impressed. “Great idea.”

I blinked.

“I can give Bubba and Lety a stack of fliers and a can for the Concha, and I bet Scotty will put a can at the Bean,” Lorenna said.

“Wait.” I frowned, shaking my head. “Wait, sorry, how much is the bridge going to cost?”

“Big Rafe says it’ll be about six million, give or take? Plus a couple thousand to get a survey done and whatnot,” Jonquil said cheerfully. She refilled her margarita glass from the pitcher. “But he’s fronting half a million of his own money from the treasure, and he’s paying for an architect to design it all up, so we’re halfway there, really.”

“Hmm.” Math wasn’t my strong suit, but I felt like it wasn’t Ms. Pepper’s either. “I know some people back in the city who might be interested in donating to a good cause.” For example, me.

“Really?” Jonquil’s face creased with a smile. “Trey, that would be amazing!”

I waved this away. “But I don’t see your website on this flier. Or how to donate.”

She tapped the can with the bottom of her glass. “This can right here!”

I pursed my lips, trying to figure out how to say this nicely. It was safe to say that “nice” was not my specialty.

“Jonquil, precious, you can’t collect 5.5 million dollars a quarter at a time unless you have over twenty million people donating. No one in their right mind will make a big donation to an organization spearheaded by a retired kindergarten teacher with a coffee can. You need an actual board of directors. And you might need to talk to a legal representative about becoming a recognized charity so that donors can get a tax deduction for their trouble. And while you’re at it, I think getting an artist’s rendering of the actual proposed bridge would add an air of legitimacy and generate considerably more interest in… um…”

I looked up to find the entire table staring at me with wide eyes. Possibly I’d underthrown to hit “nice,” but Jesus, what did people expect from me?

“Sorry,” I began. “I have a habit of giving advice—”

Jonquil interrupted me. “All in favor of having Trey be the head of the Whispering Key Bridge Committee, say aye!”

A chorus of ayes filled the bar, including some from the Cooter Key table which should totes not get a vote.

“Oh, but I… um… I’m not a resident here,” I reminded them. I looked at Beale a little desperately, hoping for a save. “I’m only here for the week.”

“Psssht. You’ll be back,” Dale said confidently, just as he had when I tried stepping away from the Facebook group, and I felt overwhelmed both by the feeling that I was not remotely the man they thought I was… and also the feeling of really wishing I were.

Needless to say, margaritas were my friends after that—my very, very best, best friends, and I loved them above all things—and the rest of the night passed in a blur.

I got a bunch of trivia questions right. I also got a couple wrong.

I vaguely remembered arguing that no normal human knew what a neap tide was and doubling down when Beale said he did by loudly proclaiming that Beale was a “fucking big-dicked superhero and mortals can’t be judged by your standards.”

I was also pretty confident that at one point I told Lorenna obnoxiously that we could not be friends if she didn’t know the words to at least one song from Hamilton, then leaned over and gave her the login information for my music account so she could “educate herself.” She’d laughed and called me a good egg.

I knew for sure, though, that with every question I leaned a little further into Beale’s side and enjoyed the scent of his cologne a little more. I knew for sure that I was transfixed by the way his thumb rubbed soothing circles on my neck, and the way his breath felt against my ear when he whispered that he couldn’t wait to get me in bed. I knew for sure that I hadn’t felt this comfortable or safe in approximately ever, and that I was going to miss the fuck out of this when it ended.

So, when CelebTV News flashed on the television above the bar during a commercial break, showing the back of my head and that ridiculous tattoo poised above the crotch of “pop-folk star