Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“What’s there to talk about?”
Beth laughs and puts up a full-stop hand. “I have hundreds of questions.” Her eyes are dancing with excitement.
So this is what’s she’s on about. Anya. I tilt my head at her. “This is the story you want? Not my story, our story.”
“Maart, I’m gonna be honest with you here. I’m dying for that fuckin’ story. I’ve been playing it cool, but I need that story.”
I chuckle a little. “Why though? I mean, who cares?”
She exhales slowly. “It’s like… I dunno. I think it’s a…”
“Fuck’s sake. Spit it out.”
“It’s like… a really good erotica. I think I could write a novel about this.”
I guffaw.
“What’s so funny?”
“You want to write a novel about us?”
“I can see the promo now.” She pans her hand across the space in front of her, the way a movie director might when he’s describing a scene. “‘Based on a true story.’ I’d call it Sick Hope.”
“Sick Hope?” I make a face. “I don’t like it.”
“What’s wrong with Sick Hope?”
“It’s a play on Sick Heart. I don’t like plays.”
“What would you call it?”
“Jungle Sex. Supply Ship Sex. Rock Sex. Any of those would do.”
“Is that all it was to you? Just sex?”
I sigh. “No, Beth. That’s not all it was. I don’t know what it was. It was…”
“Sex.”
“Yeah, but—”
“With your best friend. Did you ever do that without Anya? Or any other girl between you?”
“You do know that Rainer was there a few times, right?”
She bites the back of her hand. Like she’s trying not to scream.
“What?”
“The three of you and her.” Beth leans back in her chair. “I think I need a cigarette.”
I laugh. “Well, what kind of sex life have you had?” But then I immediately regret the question. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
We’re both silent for a moment. And I’m just about to start apologizing again when she interrupts. “I don’t have a sex life, Maart.”
There’s nothing to say to that. So I just nod as I stare out at the ocean.
“I just…” She pauses.
I look at her. “You don’t have to tell me this, Macks. It’s none of my business.”
“And you don’t have to call me Macks. Beth is just fine.”
I huff a little, but I’m also smiling. She’s so… in control. But I saw a crack there, didn’t I? And that’s what she wants from me. A crack. “Anyway,” I say. “Back to Cort and me. I love him, he’s my best friend, we’ve done things—sexual stuff. But it was never about… I dunno. It was just…” I just stop, because I don’t know what it was. “But with Anya, that was just the prize, ya know?” I look at her now.
“Go on.”
“You know they breed them, right? The fighters? They’re like stallions. Studs. So every fight came with a girl for a prize so the owner could preserve the…” I sigh. “The bloodline. It was just a pedigree in the end. That’s all.”
“OK. But… obviously, that’s not what it was.”
“Well, that was all Cort’s doing. He took Anya out to the Rock and…” I shrug. “We all spent time together. And… life was just different.”
“And now?”
“And now? Now they’re in love. Like real love.”
“Not the kind of love you have for them.”
“Yeah, a different love. I love them, but I’m not interested in being part of some poly thing that’s just gonna fall apart. Cort’s tired of the world. She’s tired of the world. They like it out there in the jungle because they just want to be left alone now.”
“And you’re not tired of the world?”
“Sometimes. But generally, no. I’m still playing the game, Beth.” I look at her, stare into those brown eyes of hers, and smile. “I feel like I’m just getting started. In fact, I said those very words to Cort just last week.”
“And what about me?”
Ohhhh. She’s gone there. I really wasn’t expecting that. I could play it off, make it a joke. A part of me still thinks I’m playing her to get help with Irina.
But, honestly. I like her. So that’s what I say. “Beth, I like you.”
She smiles, chuckling. “I like you too, Lance.”
So I smile back at her, feeling like we’re on better footing now. “Tell me something.”
“Shoot.”
“Do you really want to write a novel? Or were you just trying to figure out where I stand with Cort and Anya?”
“Both.”
“Have you written a novel before?”
She sighs. Loudly. Like she’s frustrated. “About ten of them.”
“Really? Did you publish?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because, Lance, they’re personal.”
“Oooooohhh.” I see. People work through their shit in different ways. Some train, some go to school, some get therapy. Some make music or art. And Beth… Beth writes books. “Can I read them?”
“Hell, no.”
“Why not?”
“They’re awful.”
“Come on, now. They can’t be. You’re… you. And your writing is so brilliant even Paulo was transfixed by it.”
“Let’s move on.”
“Oh. I found something real, didn’t I?”