Before Girl

by Kate Canterbary

"Honey, you're drunk." I laughed as I turned into our neighborhood. I was still learning the shortcuts and back ways to our new house in Cambridge. For the first time in my life, I lived north of the city. For a south-of-Boston girl, this was a big change. It was practically a different state up here.

  We lived a few blocks from Nick and Erin Acevedo now. We'd debated the merits of my little Cape house in Buttonwood Village over his postage stamp apartment in the city but the choice made itself when we decided we wanted to try for a baby right away. As cute as my house was, it was cute and small. And my husband-to-be is a man-brick.

  "I know I'm drunk. I drank"—he held up all his fingers and mumbled out a few numbers as he stared at them—"all the wine."

  "Thank you for doing that, Cal." I pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. "But you didn't have to drink so fast. That's why my dad kept refilling our glasses."

  "He's so happy when I drink the wine he buys," he argued. "I figured it would be a good distraction if you lost your appetite again."

  My parents were still obsessed with Cal. I wasn't sure but I think they still mowed the lawn and filled the window boxes before we visited. And my dad seemed to think this wedding hinged on plying my future husband with "the good wine."

  But I waved him off. "Like I said on the way over, we're getting married in a month and I'm allowed to watch what I eat. Can't risk the wedding dress not fitting. If anyone really pushed on the topic, I was ready with some spin."

  He held out his hand for the keys as he gifted me with a warm, lazy grin. "I cannot wait to fuck my wife."

  I dropped them in his hand, ran my fingertips over the inside of his wrist. "What about your fiancée?" The only answer he offered was a growl. "Your rumbles and grumbles are not words."

  He jingled the keys in his palm and reached for the door handle. "Stay there. I'm coming to get you."

  He rounded the front end of the car, his steps uneven. He really did drink all the wine for me. He helped me out of the car, grabbed my ass in the process, and then steered me toward the door. It took him a few tries to get the key in the lock but then he whisked me inside. He had me against the door before I could switch on the lights.

  "I love you," he whispered, his lips on the corner of my mouth. "I fucking love you."

  "And I love you," I replied, lacing my arms around his neck. "Fucking love you."

  This was it. The scary, strange, amazing thing we'd found on that trail more than a year ago. I hadn't wanted it and I hadn't believed it was for me, but now I knew better because a better man taught me.

  "I want to fuck you," he announced, his scruff doing the best things to my neck, "but I will need a nap before I can do anything but lean on you."

  "Then we'll nap," I replied. "We have all the time in the world."

  Thank you for reading! I hope you loved Cal and Stella’s journey. Are you ready for more of Nick Acevedo or Alex Emmerling? Keep reading!

  * * *

  Nick and Erin’s story, The Spire, is now available!

  * * *

  Rebel, runner, recluse, rich girl.

  Nine years ago, Erin Walsh ran away from everything.

  Home.

  Family.

  Secrets.

  Tragedy.

  Herself.

  The only permanence in her life is catastrophe.

  She travels from country to country, chasing disaster, teasing fire, playing with poison. She guards against real connections, and shuns the only family she has left.

  She holds everyone--even her siblings--at a mile-long distance. It's the only way to protect herself.

  But she can't protect herself from Nick Acevedo.

  He's the ice to her fire, and he's willing to sacrifice everything to bring her home.

  * * *

  The Spire is available now. Turn the page for an excerpt!

  * * *

  If you’re ready for more of Doctor Alex Emmerling and Riley Walsh, Preservation, is also available!

  * * *

  Two lonely hearts.

  Just once, Alex Emmerling would like to be someone's first choice.

  She's strong-willed and spunky, but she's left picking up the pieces from her ex's lies and manipulations, and daydreaming about taking a scalpel to his scrotum.

  Flying under the radar is what Riley Walsh does best.

  He's laid-back and loyal, but he wants the most off-limits woman in his world, and nothing will ever make that a reality.

  * * *

  An arrangement of mutual benefit.

  Two months, four dates.

  Five, if things go well.

  Five at the most.

  But possibly six.

  Definitely no more than six dates.

  Only the appearance of a romantic relationship is required, and they expect nothing more from their time together. There will be none of those benefits involved.

  * * *

  One wild weekend.

  After waking up in bed together—very naked and even more hungover—the terms and conditions of their arrangement no longer apply. Now they're faced with something riskier than exposing their fake relationship: letting go of the past and zipping up the future.

  * * *

  Some things have to fall apart before they can be put back together.

  * * *

  Preservation is available now. Turn the page for an excerpt!

  * * *

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  An Excerpt from The Spire

  Nick

  "Call me Ishmael," she said, following my gaze to Moby-Dick scrawled across her chest. She was the kind of girl who wore a t-shirt well, and she didn't seem to mind me noticing. "Funny story, Moby-Dick. It's all about chasing down the thing that haunts you, but in that chase, losing everything else."

  "Yeah, now that you mention it, I do see the humor," I said, failing to rip my eyes from her shirt. Yes, all right, it wasn't the shirt that had my attention. It was the woman wearing the shirt, and everything I could infer from the way she wore it. "Death at sea has always been hilarious."

  "Well, no," she said, shaking a hand at me. "It's revered as this tale of good versus evil, man versus nature, blah, blah, blah. But it's really just a swan song for the good old days of Nantucket whaling. A sermon to the sea, and all of its machinations. Most people blame the rise of petroleum, the depleted stock of whales, and the seizure of northern ships by the Confederate Navy during the Civil War for the decline of the American whaling industry, specifically the decline here on the Cape, but it was actually the development of more efficient Norwegian ships. Instead of catching up to the Norwegians and furthering the decline of the entire species, American interests turned to railroads, mining, conquering the west."

  I blinked at Erin while she studied the dark road before us. "Do you do that often?" I asked, scratching my chin. "Make odd observations about one thing and then drop a maritime history lesson like you had that information on the tip of your tongue?"

  She shrugged. "Sometimes."

  "Right, yeah. It was kind of amazing," I said, "and a little intimidating."

  "I told you," she said. "I don't do small talk." Erin looked away, out her window, but then cut an up-and-down glance back at me. It was quick, but the smile that followed was more than enough to telegraph her interest. Okay. So it wasn't just me. "Take Route 6."

  We rode along the far eastern arm of Cape Cod in amicable silence, and found a harborside tavern that screamed local-but-not-tourist. Not that I cared, but Erin knew what she wanted. As far as I was concerned, we could sit on a curb all night, so long as she kept talking and let me bury my face in her hair to find
that scent again.

  Once seated at the bar, I stole every opportunity to gaze at her. She didn't put much on display, but that didn't matter. When the Lord gave to Erin, he gave with two hands. She was small. Narrow, even. But that t-shirt showed off the curve of her waist in a manner that made my fingers itch. And her tits were a crime. They were that soup ladle shape that was too rare to be real, but there wasn't an ounce of artifice on this woman.

  What you see is what you get.

  Except it wasn't, not by a mile. I leaned back in my seat and draped my arm over the edge of hers. My fingers were drawn to her shoulder. No, that was bullshit. Complete bullshit. I was drawn to all of her, and touching her shoulder was an entry-level way of saying I dig you, darlin'.

  She glanced at my fingers and then back to me, her eyebrow arching. I didn't respond to her unspoken question, instead staring at her pink lips. She'd be sweet there. Sweet but tart, too.

  "What are you running away from tonight, lovely?"

  She shook her head. "Nothing new," she said.

  Her fingers tangled in the thin chains circling her neck, and she toyed with the small stone that sat in her jugular notch. "What is that?" I asked, pointing to the gem. "Onyx?"

  "Carbonado. Black diamond. It's the toughest natural diamond form in existence. I found this one in Brazil."

  "I've never heard of those," I said, my gaze drawn to her neck. I wanted to taste her there. I wanted her in nothing but that necklace. I wanted to wrap my fingers around that necklace and feel her pulse thrumming against my skin while I moved in her.

  Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. I could not think about her naked. Not here. Not yet. And it wasn't about the touch-and-go nature of public erections. No, it was that I wanted to do this right.

  "It's not quite clear how they came to exist," she continued, her voice taking on new authority. Her words were clear and efficient, and even her gestures rang with professional fascination that bordered on obsession. "They possess no mantle minerals, and that's fucking weird, but what's more strange is the lack of high-pressure minerals, like hexagonal carbon polymorph."

  "No hexagonal carbon polymorph?" I asked. I had no idea what we were talking about. I mean, sure, I knew my share of chemistry, but this was beyond my share. "That's crazy."

  "I know, right?" she said. "Fun fact—their isotopic values are low, which isn't how diamonds are supposed to behave. Some researchers have suggested that radiation was involved in their formation, given the presence of luminescence halos, but that calls into question a spontaneous fission of uranium and thorium."

  "Right," I murmured, nodding in thanks as the bartender placed two beer bottles in front of us. "The luminescence halos. Of course."

  She held up her index finger, pressing pause on the black diamond mystery while she sipped her beer. "Oh, sorry," she said, tapping her bottle to mine. "Here's to…surviving this weekend."

  Here's to evading your big brothers. What they don't know won't hurt them. Right?

  "To surviving the weekend," I said. I took a sip, but then returned the bottle to the bar top. Reaching over, I pulled her chair closer to mine. Fuck cool and friendly.

  "Right, right," she said. She was looking down, inspecting the way I had us pressed together, and then back up at me. "What's this about?"

  "You." I pressed my thumb right there, to the tender hollow where the stone sat. It was just a moment, a fleeting touch. A second longer and my hand would've moved up her neck and into her hair, and then we'd never hear the end of this wonky explanation because my mouth would be fused to hers. "You were telling me about this," I said, my eyes locked on her lips.

  "Yeah…"

  She eyed me for a wary beat, then pushed her glasses up her nose and leaned into me. Leaned the fuck into me. Her shoulder was on my chest and her head was tucked under my chin, and this, this was what I needed after the week from hell.

  Patting my knee twice as if I was a well-behaved golden retriever, Erin blew out a soft breath. She relaxed in pieces, her shoulders sagging first, and it moved down her body. Back, hips, legs. I imagined her toes uncurling inside her boots. From this angle, I could see her lashes brushing against her cheeks, and I didn't even think about it when I pressed my lips to her temple. It was natural, for both of us. This was what she needed, too.

  "So, carbonado," she said, patting my knee again. God, she was fucking cute. "The theory that keeps me up at night is this one—that it was formed deep inside an early generation giant star, one that exploded forever ago into a supernova. Which makes this"—she tapped the stone—"an artifact of forever ago. Of a time before words and thoughts and anything at all."

  "That's…incredible," I whispered into her hair. Her voice did things to me. Really good things. And the nerdy science talk? Oh, shut the fuck up. I was done when I saw her, and I was well done now.

  Her tongue darted out and ran along her top lip as her shoulder jerked. "Whenever the world is too much for me, I remember that this rock might have been thrown out of interstellar space when time began. Before the world was anything, this ball of carbon was flung into earth's atmosphere in one of the cosmos's greatest tantrums. I've had a lot of bad days, but never one as bad as this rock."

  She really did know things I couldn't begin to comprehend. I hadn't expected it to involve black diamonds or supernovas but the means didn't matter. It was the method that had me entranced. And I wanted—no, needed—to know her.

  "Is the world too much today?" I asked.

  A quick nod. "A little bit, yeah."

  She offered nothing more, and that was okay. The world was kicking my ass right now, too.

  I tapped the tiny stone winking at me from her nose. "And what's this?"

  "Diamond," she said. "The kimberlite variety. Nothing interstellar here."

  "Boring," I murmured, and that earned me a hearty laugh. "Hawaii. Italy. Grad school. Volcanoes. Tell me everything. When do you finish?"

  In other words, when can I keep you forever?

  * * *

  The Spire is available now.

  An Excerpt from Preservation

  Alexandra

  He pointed at the plate between us. "These are my favorite pretzel bites in the city. Try some."

  I shot him a sharp look. "Are you just trying to get me in a good mood?" I asked. "I did eat lunch today."

  "Oh yeah?" he asked, dipping two pretzels in the accompanying sauce. "What did you have? Based on you yelling at me about noticing your shoes, I'd say it was an iced venti skinny latte."

  "Almonds," I replied. And an iced venti skinny latte but I wasn't copping to that just yet.

  Riley tried to fight a laugh, failed. "Almonds?" he repeated.

  "Chocolate-covered almonds, yes." I folded my arms across my chest. "It was an appropriate amount of calories, fat, protein, and carbs."

  He shook his head and ate another pretzel. "I don't want to live in a world where a few almonds—chocolate or otherwise—are lunch." He pointed to the plate and pushed his beer toward me. "Eat. Drink. Please."

  I glared at the pilsner and pretzels. I hated being told what to do. Just fucking hated it. But then my stomach growled—goddamn digestive muscles—and Riley shot me a pointed glance.

  "People think that a rumbling stomach is the sign of hunger," I said, reaching for his glass. I drained the beer and then selected a pretzel for dipping. "It is not. The muscles of the stomach and small intestines are always contracting, and those contractions make more noise when the organs are empty."

  Riley gazed at me, his expression flat. It gave me a moment to study him while choosing another pretzel. He was wearing jeans, a tailored shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows, and a pinstriped vest, and his hair was a wreck. It looked like he'd been tugging the dark strands in every conceivable direction. His eyes were rimmed with a bit of red and his lids heavy, as if he'd been rubbing them or hadn't gotten much sleep. Perhaps both. There was a small notebook beside his phone, and a mechanical pencil tucked into the spiral bin
ding.

  And he was still more attractive than I knew how to handle. Even tired and irritable, and ordering me to eat his pretzels and drink his beer, he was hot as fuck. I bit into another pretzel and offered him a small smile.

  "Would you say the chip on your shoulder is massive or epic?" he asked. There was no hint of amusement in his tone, and he was staring at me with more ice than I'd believed he could muster. It didn't feel like we were sniping at each other anymore. "It might be semantics to you but I'm trying to get a feel for what I'm dealing with here."

  But then one of his big hands found my leg under the table. He squeezed and rubbed his thumb along the hollow of my knee, and I started to believe I'd been all wrong about this man. There was the player and there was the overgrown kid, but there was so much more than that.

  * * *

  Preservation is available now.

  Also By Kate Canterbary

  Standalone Novels

  Coastal Elite

  Fresh Catch

  Hard Pressed

  Before Girl

  The Walsh Series

  Underneath It All – Matt and Lauren

  The Space Between – Patrick and Andy

  Necessary Restorations – Sam and Tiel

  The Cornerstone – Shannon and Will

  Restored — Sam and Tiel

  The Spire — Erin and Nick

  Preservation — Riley and Alexandra

  Thresholds — The Walsh Family

  * * *

  Get exclusive sneak previews of upcoming releases through Kate's newsletter and private reader group, The Canterbary Tales, on Facebook.