Chapter 51

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

LAKE

48 bobas left until we both die …

“Wait, you’re leaving?” I ask Joules over the phone, standing in Tam’s kitchen as I consider what sort of cake I want to make for his birthday. He’s out of the house again, doing God only knows what. An interview, I think? But I’m not sure.

All I know is this: he tossed me a package on his way out the door and said all he wants for his birthday is me. Upon opening said package, I found the same apron that I wore back home, the one I borrowed from Lynn. It’s pink and frilly, and it says Mrs. Tam Eyre on the front of it.

Cheeks flushed, I slipped it on over my head and I’m wearing it even now.

Hey, Tam didn’t hold the Chloe thing against me. And, he let us sit on his roof to watch fireworks on the Fourth of July a few days ago. My first ever Fourth away from home. My second ever without Joe. Tam has been great, so if he wants me to wear an apron for his birthday …

“Kaycee wants to meet Mom. What else am I gonna do?” Joules asks, and his voice sounds both gruff and pleased at the same time. Either I’m right and Kaycee is his Match or else he’s simply fallen hard for her. I hope it’s both things, and there isn’t something else that he’s lying to me about. “Besides, I saw you with Tam the other day. Are you sure that the curse isn’t broken yet?”

I lift my left wrist up for inspection, but there it is in all its red-stained glory. The curse mark stares back up at me, glimmering gold at the edge in defiance of my relationship with Tam.

Despite his reservations and his fears, he didn’t come for me when the video was leaked. He didn’t blame me for it. Instead, he held me and comforted me, let me sleep in his arms in his bed with nothing expected in return. We didn’t even have sex that night though sex is pretty much all I can think about right now.

Tam.I just want Tam to come home, so I can show him this apron, and the cake I’m about to make. That is, as soon as I commit to the actual baking process. Heh.

“That’s great, Joules,” I tell him, even if the thought of him going home to Arkansas makes me feel a little lonely. My first thought is: I can’t stay in Los Angeles all by myself. But then, my brain immediately redirects to Tam, and I don’t feel that way anymore. Things are changing in my life, and I don’t know how to process them all. “When are you leaving?”

“Last day of Kaycee’s drama shoot,” Joules confirms. “Well, the day after. We’re going to hop in the SUV and start driving.”

I hesitate before I respond, because I love my brother more than anyone else in the world. I’m also happy for him. I’m also worried about him. If Kaycee is his Match, then I don’t want to do anything to stand in the way of that. If I were to survive the curse, only to find out that Joules was going to die soon after, I would never forgive myself.

I take a sip from the boba that Tam left for me this morning, just to fortify myself.

“Hey, Canoe …” Joules says gently, before I find the right words to respond. I go very still, fingers tightening around my boba cup until it dents beneath them. He sounds like he’s this close to telling me the truth about what’s going on. I brace myself for impact. “When I get home, I’m going to pay our female relatives to beat Chloe Lindt up, okay?”

“Joules Frost!” I warn, but he hangs up on me. “This bastard,” I growl out, miming throwing my phone. Of course, I don’t go through with it because, well, I need a means with which to communicate with my family. Ahem. I take another sip of boba, cheeks flushing when my mouth floods with little chewy tapioca pearls. Ahhh. Sunshine in a cup.

Chloe.

Sigh.

She hasn’t spoken to me, Ella, Luna, Maria, or Lynn. We were able to confirm that she’s okay by calling her mom, but Mrs. Lindt didn’t seem to have any clue that something had happened between us. I squeeze my eyes shut against the betrayal. It could’ve been bad, yes, but Tam handled the situation like a true gentleman. Unfortunately, no matter how sweet he is to me in private, I don’t dare look online for fear of what people are saying about me. I know it’s bad, based on what my family is telling me.

Also … also … my parents … I open my eyes and fight the urge to gag.

“Would you let me fuck you, Lakelynn?”

That’s just lovely. Exactly the sort of emotional vignette that I wanted my grandma to view online along with millions of others. Just peachy.

Maybe I should let Joules hire our cousins to—

“No, shit.” I shake my head, set my boba down, and push the sleeves of my sweater up. Tam and I both seem to have a thing for each other in soft, fuzzy sweaters. The way he puts his hands on my waist, skims his palm over my breasts, I— “No, shit. Focus Lake.” I give a double fist pump. Head in the game.

I am going to bake Tam Eyre a birthday cake.

When I messaged him this morning to ask what sort of cake he likes, he sent back: sugar-free and low-calorie. Haha. *skull emoji*

I was thinking more along the lines of strawberry, chocolate, red velvet, that sort of thing.

Oh well.

Maggie went out to grocery shop for me since there are too many paparazzi outside the gates to get in and out of the estate easily. I’m not ready to face them. My poor family though … Tam asked Daniel to assemble a security team for them as well. What is wrong with people? Crowds showed up to take photos, and groups of teenage boys came to spray-paint horrible things about me on the garage. That’s okay though because Uncle Rob chased them with a baseball bat and smacked them in their asses while their girlfriends filmed. The entire thing got posted online (of course) and it was nice to see the stupid punks get what was coming to them.

Anyway, here I am with a counter full of ingredients I barely recognize, trying to prep myself for making a sugar-free, low-calorie cake in the shape of a watermelon slice. I’ve got real watermelon, too, and I’ve already taken the time to slice it into rings. I’m going to use star-shaped cookie cutters on the sweet, red flesh, and then I’ll stick straws into them so they’re like popsicles or something. I have a jar filled with a colorful mix of beans, just for the look of it. I’ll put the watermelon pops into that, an aesthetic bouquet of fruit that Tam Eyre isn’t supposed to like.

Damn though, was Joules right about not looking him up online or what? He is nothing like his public persona. Too grumpy. Too in love with watermelon. A bit bossy in the bedroom.

I bite my lip.

“No, shit.” Third time’s a charm. I refocus on my task and manage to get the batter whipped up. I’m using soy milk, apple cider vinegar, Greek yogurt, applesauce, vanilla, whole wheat flour, monk fruit sugar, lil’ bit of salt, some baking soda. I’ve never made a cake like this in my entire life. I know what my mom and grandma would say, what GG Louise would’ve said if she were still alive. “That a cake or a shelf at the health food store?” I chuckle as I quote her, swaying my hips to Tam’s music on the impressive sound system that covers every square inch of the house.

Once I’ve got the cake baking, I hit the frosting next. I’ll do a regular cream cheese frosting, but I’ll halve the powdered sugar, and I’ll only frost in a very thin layer. I’ve got beet powder to turn the frosting red without using artificial dyes. For the green rind of the watermelon, I’ll use matcha powder. And to make the black seeds? Well, fine, I had Maggie grab some dark chocolate.

A text pings on my phone, and I suck a bit of cream cheese off a finger before I pick it up to check.

It’s my mom.

Uncle Rob used his shotgun on a drone that was flying around the backyard. God, almighty, what is wrong with these Tambourines?I chuckle at her text even as I’m realizing that I never considered drones before. Oh dear.

I pad over to one of the glass walls and lean in toward it, peering up at the sky. With as popular as Tam is, I’m surprised that I haven’t seen any drones yet. I turn and lean my back against the wall, tapping out a reply.

Oh, Uncle Rob. Hey, did Joules tell you he was coming home early? I leave the message purposefully vague, fishing for information. But if Mom knows that her only son is cursed, she doesn’t let on.

I’m excited to meet his new girlfriend—your Aunt Lisa is a huge fan of Kaycee Quinn—but I’m still worried about you. Lake, there’s not a lot of time left.

There’s not. I know that. But what more could Tam and I possibly do to break the curse? He’s so sweet to me. He’s … we have brilliant chemistry when we’re naked. He’s letting me live in his house.

I turn my phone screen off and set it aside to check on the cake.

Ah, all done!

I pull it out to let it cool, snacking on one of the watermelon pops while I sway to Tam’s music. I’ll admit, I wasn’t a fan at first, but it’s growing on me. My new favorite is this horribly embarrassing song called “Our First Night” which is about a couple’s first time in bed together. He wrote this when he was still a virgin and yet, one would ever know listening to it.

I take the cake out of the pan and then I cut it into thirds, stacking them together with a bit of the red frosting. I put green on the rind, red on the point, melt the chocolate and drip it onto wax paper in the shape of seeds.

When I’m done, I have a nice-lookin’ cake shaped like a slice of watermelon.

I snap a few pictures to send to my family, and my face falls when I remember that I booted Chloe from the group chat. God. What a mess.

Another text comes in, and I see that Tam has sent me a selfie with a face mask on, sunglasses pulled low on his nose, a ballcap on his head.

OMW. That’s all it says.

I sprint upstairs—okay, I walk because it’s basically a hike to get there—and I give myself a little peptalk in the mirror. I have a plan for how I want to handle this birthday thing, and I’m not letting my inexperience or tendency to be awkward hold me back.

“You can do this, Lake.” I point at myself, and I don’t think about my complete and utter lack of game. Remember the restaurant in Portland when Tam pushed my hand off his knee? That was … ugh. But this is going to be different. My lips curve as I remember Tam’s words to me from the other day. “Lake, we will never just end, okay?”

I can do this.

I strip off the apron along with all of my clothes—and then I put the apron back on. Just the apron. Tam assured me that despite the glass walls, I’m safe in here. We have our privacy. When I asked him why he had glass walls in the first place, he just gave me a look and raised brow, all cocky and shit. “Because the view is nice?”

What an arrogant ass.

I slip on some fuzzy pink slippers that look nice with the apron, and I force myself out of the bedroom door and down the stairs before I lose my nerve. If I let my gaze slip to the side, I catch images of my bare-naked ass in the glass walls.

Lovely.

I forge onward, until I find the kitchen again. This morning, when I woke up—warm and cozy in Tam Eyre’s bed—I found a hand-drawn map waiting for me by the lamp.

This a quicker—but much less fun—way to find the kitchen. xoxo Tam

God, I like him. A lot. I genuinely enjoy his company which, if I’m being honest with myself, is not something that I was expecting. When I first found out that I was matched to him, I was really just trying to avoid the reality that I might die.

When I get downstairs, Tam is already there, mask pulled to his chin, sunglasses about to fall off his nose. His ballcap has been discarded, leaving the sweet, chaotic mess of his hair to catch the sunshine. He’s peering at my cake with that cute little divot between his brows, a soft smile on his lips.

“You’re back,” I blurt, jumping a little. I didn’t expect him to get here so quickly. I was going to fortify myself with another watermelon pop.

“What—” Tam starts, turning to look at me. And then he doesn’t talk anymore. All of the blood leaves his face, and his body gets this strange, supernatural stillness to it.

“What … the fuck?” I finish for him with a little laugh. “If that’s what you were going to say, I’ll answer for you.” I throw my arms up. “Happy birthday!”

I know what I look like, naked and wearing a frilly pink apron that reads Mrs. Tam Eyre. See? Maybe I do have some game? He looks like he’d much rather eat me than that cake. Which is … that’s probably good since I didn’t taste it. I didn’t want to cut into the cake and ruin the potential perfection of the watermelon slice design. It could very well taste like sawdust.

“Happy …” Tam doesn’t seem to know what he’s saying or what his original question was. His pupils are blown now, and I like the way he takes off his sunglasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “Lakelynn Frost,” he says with a little chuckle, tossing the glasses onto the counter and making his way toward me with a stride that is pure, carnal intent.

I make a sound as he wraps an arm around my waist, hauling me off my feet with no visible strain. Only my toes are touching now, but there’s no pressure on them at all. Tam stares down at me with a face built to be famous. He really is handsome, there’s no denying that.

The expression on his face doesn’t hurt, this miasma of desire and blatant expectation.

There’s only one reason your girlfriend greets you naked at the door.

Tam kisses me, like it’s my birthday instead of his, walking us both backwards until my shoulders bump into one of the sun-warmed glass walls. With his free hand, Tam threads his fingers into my hair with that gentle, prayerful reverence of his. I love that, how he can worship me with one hand, and command me with the other.

“Did you bake me a cake, Kayak?” he murmurs against my mouth, teeth grazing my lower lip. I wrap my arms around his neck, using my fingers to toy with the soft strawberry strands of hair at the back of his head.

“Low-calorie and sugar-free,” I assure him earnestly, just wanting to get back to the kissing and hopefully, if things go well, the wild fucking that comes next. But Tam looks confused. He snorts a surprised laugh and then uses his hand to rub at his adorably baffled facial expression.

“That was a joke, Mrs. Tam Eyre.”

“Mrs. Tam Eyre?” I cock a brow as Tam pushes a knee between my thighs, spreading them and simultaneously pinning the bottom of the apron to the glass. Between his arm and that knee, I’m thoroughly captured.

“I mean, it says so right here.” He traces the pink lace neckline of the apron, long draws of that rough fingertip over my clavicle. I make a small sound as Tam shifts his knee up a little, brushing my already wet sex with the fabric of the apron. “Anyway, you’re naked in my house. You baked me a cake. You cut watermelon into the shape of stars.”

“They’re watermelon pops,” I tell him, and he cuts me off with a kiss, lifting me up with that arm around my waist. There’s a quick, deft undoing—never a fumbling—of Tam’s pants, and then he’s shoving the apron up and pushing his hot, hard body into mine.

His mouth is on my neck as he thrusts my ass into the window, slamming his own palm into the glass for leverage. In the background, his music continues to play, and I find myself hyper-fixated on the layering of rough, sex-drenched groans against slick, melodic croons.

And then … oh.

“Break Up With Me” starts to play.

The best part is that Tam doesn’t even notice, doesn’t care, because he’s so invested in me, and I can only hear it because I am so goddamn invested in him. I writhe against him, clutching at his head, pressing his mouth to my neck. My eyelids are just barely cracked, hooded with desire and lashed in fluttering sweeps of black that bat under the heavy weight of pleasure.

I spot the curse mark on my wrist.

You’re not in love yet or else the curse would be broken.

That’s a tough pill to swallow, but it’s also … it’s early in our relationship. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.

I banish any further thoughts of the curse mark.

I dig my fingertips into Tam’s hair as he moves his mouth from my throat to my lips, tasting the lingering sweetness of powdered sugar from the frosting.

“My birthday, right?” he murmurs, like he’s trying to ask me something. Pretty sure I hum an affirmative, and then Tam is setting me down and spinning me around. He pulls on my hips, and I put my palms up on the glass to brace myself. I even get on my tiptoes to make it easier for him, but if poor Tam wants this, he’s going to have to even the height differ—

Oh.

Tam pushes himself into me, his hips hitting my ass. I curl my fingers against the glass and lift my head. The very first thing I see is his rapt attention, fixed on my face. Our reflections stare at each other, and then he begins to move.

It’s so bright outside, so easy to see everything.

The indentations of Tam’s fingers in the soft pale skin of my hips, the way my breasts sway with each forward-and-back, forward-and-back. Sea green hair falls gently into my face, and I exhale, stirring it with my breath.

Tam’s eyes and mine never leave each other, and I have the privilege of watching his orgasm face in real time. So beautiful. I don’t know how he does that, turns something so embarrassing into performance art. His gaze is half-lidded, but I can still see the shift of his green irises as his eyes roll back. Porn star mouth parted, rolling his lower lip under his teeth, the tense strain in his strong arms.

Tam slides out of me and then hits his knees right behind me. He’s still panting when he re-grips my hip with one hand, slipping two fingers into me with the other. Pushing his release back into me.

I close my eyes tight, drop my head. I end up sliding down the wall until I’m on my hands and knees, Tam’s fingers still buried inside of me. I put my own hand to my clit and relieve the pressure while he smiles at my reflection.

When I get too close to a climax of my own, I find it impossible to keep my fingers moving. Tam takes over for me, one arm coming around my waist and dipping to my clit, the other still firmly buried in me. He takes me right back to that edge, and when I start to fight him, he just uses raw strength to hold me still until that wave breaks.

I tremble and then collapse, caught around the waist with Tam’s arm and hauled into his lap.

We can still see each other in the glass. Him, sitting with his legs straight out and spread. Me, tucked up against his bare body. His pants are still rucked down to the center of his thighs.

Tam keeps his arm banded around my middle and then rests his chin on my shoulder, watching me with lazy, sated pleasure in the reflected glass.

“Favorite birthday of all-time. Hands down.”

I rotate my wrist so that the curse mark isn’t visible, and then I turn my head to look at Tam.

“Is this what you expected when you gave me the apron?”

“Actually, no. I sort of assumed you’d wear it over your clothes. Then again, you didn’t wear clothes over your lingerie, so I guess this is sort of your style.”

“I assumed the hot dog costume would be hot!” I protest, wiggling away from him. I stand up, and … there’s a mess. A mess of Tam Eyre. “Let me go clean up. Have a watermelon pop while you wait.” I move away from him while he’s still droopy and sexy on the floor, watching me. I can feel his eyes on me until I turn the corner, and only then do I let myself smile as wide as I want to. I might also giggle, but I made Tam promise not to watch the security cameras unless there was some sort of threat. He won’t know about this.

I take a cool shower and study the apron. Seems salvageable, so I put it back on, wearing it downstairs to find Tam sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen island, frowning.

I pause to study his expression, and he turns a look on me that tells me I’m in trouble.

“What the hell is this?” he asks, pointing at the ceiling.

Oh.

My playlist has clicked over and we’re now listening to “NIGHT DANCER” by imase—a Japanese pop star that I have a huge crush on.

“Don’t you love him?” I ask absently, getting out some plates so that I can cut the cake.

Tam leans in across the counter, wearing an oversized cotton cashmere T-shirt that he admitted spending four-figures on. It’s a pale coral color that makes his eyes look like a supernatural shade of emerald. Still, his pupils are too big. Still, my body gets weird when he looks at me that way.

“Love him? No. My girlfriend prefers some other guy’s music over mine. My ego is wounded.” He drops his head in mock defeat, and then lifts it up with a predator’s glint in his gaze that makes me shift on my feet. Touch me again, I think, and then Tam is standing up and coming around the counter.

He reaches behind my neck and unties my apron. Does the same to the waist. I’m naked before him, holding the knife I’d intended to cut the cake with.

“I seriously can’t function with you like this. I’m sorry, but …” Tam tears his fancy shirt over his head and then yanks it over mine. He lets the fabric fall into place, and it hits me just below the ass. He puts the apron back on, and we’re both breathing hard and acting really weird. “Is it just me or do you think about fucking me all the time?” he asks, and I’m struck by his boldness.

“Um, all the time,” I admit, and Tam retreats back to his stool like he needs the space to survive.

“Good. Not just me then.” He smiles at me as he ruffles up his hair, other hand on the stool between his legs. Sunlight hits the well-worked planes of his upper body, and I forget all about the cake again. Tam takes one of my watermelon pops, and watching him bite into the fruit’s sweet flesh is basically pornography.

“There’s something I want to ask you about.” I shake my head and then realize that I have no idea how to cut a cake that’s already in the shape of, well, basically it’s a giant cake slice already. Hmm. I cut the tip off the triangle, put it on a plate, and pass it over to Tam.

“Ask away,” he says, accepting the plate from my hand and breathing the smell of the cake in nice and deep. “Screw my diet. I’m eating all of this.”

“Low-calorie, sugar-free,” I remind him, cutting my own slice. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you about drones.”

“Drones?” he asks, sliding one of the two forks I grabbed across the counter. “What about drones?”

“Do people try to spy on you with them?” I plop my own cake slice onto my plate.

“Every damn day,” Tam says with a laugh that clearly tells me he’s not amused. That’s his grump-laugh. “We have eagles that are trained to take down the drones.” Tam cuts a bite off the end of his cake as I stare at him. He’s messing around with me, right? Eagles? Did he just say eagles?

“Eagles? As in, birds of prey? Am I understanding this correctly?” I’m still holding the knife that I used to cut the cake. I toss it into the sink as Tam looks up to meet my eyes.

“Yeah, birds. Live birds. I have a security guy who lives on the property; the birds are his.”

“That’s … Okay, then.” I rub my forehead. “You have a man that you pay to live at your mansion in Los Angeles, and he keeps birds who are trained to attack drones? Am I … is that what you’re trying to say to me?”

Tam grins, licking a bit of watermelon juice from the corner of his lip. Oh. My heartbeat flickers strangely.

“Kayak, we get dozens of drones here every week. Dozens of them. If I didn’t pay someone to help me with that, I’d never get a minute that wasn’t recorded and shared online.” Tam’s smile falters a little, and I can see that as much as he loves his job, that he also wishes he had privacy. Falling in love with him means giving that up for myself. I will never just be Lakelynn Frost ever again—I will forever be referenced in connection to this man.

That hurts a little bit, I admit.

“There are no laws against spying on someone with a flying camera? Seems like there should be.”

“Ehh, California has some anti-paparazzi laws, but all it really says is that the videos can’t be used for commercial gain. Most people just want a viral video.” Tam shrugs, like it’s no big deal. It is. I can see it in the tense set of his shoulders. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought this up on his birthday? “Anyway, we collect the downed drones and hold them at the gatehouse. Usually takes two-to-three days for the owner to get the proper paperwork in order, and then they can come and pick them up. My legal team reimburses them for the damages.”

“You reimburse these fuckwits for spying on you?!” I blurt, and Tam cringes a little. But then he laughs again, ruffling up his hair.

“That’s how we keep such good records of the people doing it. Too many times, and we can get them in court for harassment. My mom handles all of those things for me.” Tam stares down at his cake, a tender sweetness coming over his lips as he looks at it. Because of me. That tender sweetness is for me. He looks up and makes absolutely no effort to hide that fact from me. “I don’t have the stomach for it. What I do have the stomach for is your cake.” Tam winks at me. “Any special reason you asked about drones?” He stops with the cake bite halfway to his mouth. “You didn’t see one here today, did you?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” I assure him, and he finally finishes putting the cake into his mouth. He goes a little quiet as he chews, so I try to distract myself from my fears over the taste. “My Uncle Rob shot a drone out of the sky with his shotgun today.”

“A drone at your parents’ house?” Tam asks, and then he curses, setting his fork down. He stares at the countertop and makes a face. “What the hell, Tambourines?” Before I can stop him, Tam grabs his phone and lifts it up to record himself.

Shirtless. With my cake in front of him.

“Hey, Tambourines? Can you please leave Lakelynn’s family alone? I know you’re curious, but we’ll tell you more soon, okay?” He finishes, and then I get a notification from TikTok that Tam Eyre has posted. Ah. I see. Me and one-hundred-and-seventy-million of his closest friends.

“Is that going to be okay? You won’t get in trouble for it?” I ask, because I know this is one of the things in the beginning that made Tam the most nervous about dating me.

“I have fans who respect me, who genuinely care about my music. They’ll stop if they know they’re hurting me by doing it. As for the handful of crazies … the security team that Daniel set up should be able to handle it.” Tam picks up his fork again and takes another bite of his cake.

I smile.

Must be good, right?

I cut a bite of my own cake, and put it into my mouth, expecting—if not a flavor explosion, then at least a flavor sprinkle. Instead … it’s … wow. There’s no taste from the beet powder in the red frosting, but the green part tastes like, well, green tea. Like matcha. Ah. Um. The cake itself is chewy and gummy and horrible.

I look up at Tam, and see that he’s chewing thoughtfully, eyes shifted to the side, and he’s trying really, really hard not to laugh.

“It’s horrible. It’s awful.” I set my own fork down. “Stop eating it, Tam. It’s disgusting.” I’m so embarrassed right now, cheeks flaming.

“No,” he says after swallowing, hand shaking on the fork, still not looking at me. “When you’re like me, you get used to diet food after a while. I know what a low-calorie, sugar-free cake is supposed to taste like.” A little bit of laughter slips from his lips. He puts a fist up to his mouth to stifle it. “It’s delicious.”

“You fucking liar,” I whisper, opening the trash compactor with my foot and tossing my cake slice into it. “Be honest with me right now.”

Tam looks back at me and then picks up the rest of his cake in his fingers, putting the entire thing into his mouth as he winks at me. He chews it slowly, thoughtfully, and then licks his fingers clean in a dramatic show afterward. His nipples are hard as well. Couldn’t miss that. Not for a single second.

“You have tears at the corners of your eyes. It was so gross that you’re crying.”

“I loved every bite,” Tam tells me, and his words reek of honesty in a way that makes me fall a little harder for him. He means that. Just because I made the cake for him, he means that. “You took exactly what I said, and you baked me a low-calorie, sugar-free cake in the buff. You made watermelon pops because you know what a filthy liar Tam Eyre is. In the span of an hour, you’ve made me come, you’ve made me cake, and you’ve made me laugh. Lake, I will write many songs about you.”

“Oh, please. You can’t pull that pop star shit on me and expect me to swoon.” I’m swooning.

Tam stands up and makes his way over to the fridge, opening the doors and then purposely canting his gaze over to mine. He cracks a seltzer water, drinks it in a way that’s as pornographic as him eating watermelon. Finishes that can. Opens another. Chugs that.

Just like I did after I sucked him off.

I narrow my eyes, but then Tam is crushing that second can and tossing it aside. He closes the fridge doors.

He comes for me.

He takes me again in the kitchen, still wearing his shirt.

He lied to me about loving that awful cake.

Because sometimes people lie to protect the ones they love.

People like … Joules.

Like Joe.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” Tam says, fingers stroking through my hair as I lie on his chest in the dark. I’m still wearing his T-shirt, but we lost the apron somewhere. I feel the urge to apologize about the cake again, but I choke it back.

Because I know what I need to do.

Tam can’t truly fall in love with me if I don’t give him every quiet, private part of myself. And I want him to. I want Tam to fall in love with me. I want to break this awful curse.

I exhale, and he stiffens up a little underneath me.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice colored with concern.

“I’m fine.” I curl one of my legs over Tam, and he shudders like I’ve just rubbed a hand along his erection. Am I that exciting to him? I smile at that. “I just thought that if we want to break the curse … I should tell you more about Joe.”

“Your cousin,” he says, and I nod. He can feel my hair moving against his chest, and goose bumps spring up on his arms. I smile a little more—despite the subject matter. “He passed away last year?”

“He did. More like a year and a half ago now.”

“With his Match, Marla.”

“So you were listening at the steakhouse? I was certain that I was alienating you further and further with every word coming out of my mouth.”

Tam shifts, tightening his arm around my waist and encouraging me to lay more fully on top of him.

“Well, it was a close call. I won’t lie. But Lake, when I caught you crying over that Styrofoam tombstone, my heart broke a little. I don’t know. I could just tell you wouldn’t make things up about Joe.”

I sniffle and close my eyes.

I hate telling this story.

I’ve only told this story to the grief therapist I went to afterward. Didn’t help. I left that appointment, and I threw up in the trash can at the end of the sidewalk. Never spoke about it again. Everyone in my family was there anyway, so it’s not like I need to talk about it.

They know.

We all know.

497 bobas ago – aka fourteen months ago

I’m standing in the entryway, heart in my throat.

I can’t fucking breathe.

Aunt Lisa is pacing in front of me. Joules is leaned up against the wall on my right, arms crossed over his chest. My gaze slants to his and our eyes meet. Joe went out to meet Marla more than three hours ago. It’s almost five-thirty, and Joe has until eleven-twenty-two Central Standard Time to make her fall in love with him.

If he doesn’t then he’ll … I can’t. I won’t let my mind go there. It’ll be okay. Joe can pull off a Hail Mary. It’s happened before, with plenty of our ancestors. Hell, it happened thirty-two times in one year, back in 1823. I wring my hands in front of myself, waiting. Waiting.

My mom and my grandmother fiddle around in the kitchen. My dad and my uncles sit on the couch, a show on that they’re not watching. It’s on mute, and I’m not sure anyone’s even noticed. Maria and Lynn sit at the dining room table.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The front door opens, and there’s Joe with his blond hair and green eyes. Smiling. He’s smiling.

I run past Aunt Lisa and throw my arms around his neck, sure that he’s figured it out. He’s broken the curse.

“Hey, hey, Canoe,” he whispers with a little laugh, pressing a kiss on my cheek. That was my third-to-last kiss from Joe, so I remember it well.

“Please tell us you did it,” I blurt, pulling back from him and reaching for his left wrist. He lets me take it, almost as if he’s too ashamed to say the words aloud. I shove his jacket sleeve up as Aunt Lisa stumbles over to us, Joules strolling cautiously behind.

The mark is still there.

I jerk my gaze up to meet Joe’s.

He won’t look at me. Won’t look at his mom. Won’t look at my brother, his best friend in the entire world (besides me, of course).

Bile riles in my throat, but I choke it back.

“I … I’m freaking Marla out now. She asked me to leave several times. I was scaring her. I … couldn’t stand outside and scare her, could I?”

“Joe, this is your life!” Aunt Lisa screams at him, voice raw with panic. “Do what it takes. Whatever it takes. I don’t care how that bitch feels.” She has tears streaming down her face, but Joe is angry now.

“Don’t call her that,” he says, voice rough but determined. “It’s only been a year since the man she loved died right in front of her. She’s doing her best. I’m doing my best. We’re just … doing our best with a curse we don’t know anything about.”

Aunt Lisa collapses, but Joe catches her, and then my uncles and Dad are helping to get her seated on the couch. Joe’s mom puts her face in her hands and weeps.

I’m stuck in place, feet frozen to the floor, struggling with the sharp, acidic burn in my stomach and throat. Fear. That metallic twang is fear.

“What are we going to do?” Joules ask gently, standing just in front of Joe. He hasn’t moved away from the front door. He’s wearing a scarf. I will forever remember the expression on his face. Distant. Like he was already dead. He knew. He knew from the moment he walked in the front door that this was going to be his last time coming home.

Joe turns suddenly, and then he kisses me on the forehead. Once. Twice. His breath stutters out as he hugs me tight, and then Joules is there. It’s when my brother puts his arms around our cousin and squeezes him that I know for sure this isn’t going to be okay.

No miracles are going to happen.

My cousin is going to die.

At eleven-twenty-two Central Standard Time.

And Marla, his Match, she’ll die with him. No matter where she is. No matter what she’s doing. No matter how unfair this whole thing is. That’s why it’s a curse, right? Nobody said a curse would be fair.

“Look, it’s probably a bunch of shit, right?” Joe teases, forcing a smile when Joules and I give him some space to breathe. He smells like this special cologne that Marla made for him, ash wood and cinnamon or something. She likes to mix scents. It’s her hobby, to sell perfumes in locally owned stores around the city. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Joe knows that he isn’t going to be fine, but he takes off his scarf like normal. Hangs up his jacket like normal. Walks into the dining room like normal.

All of his favorite foods are laid out across the surface of the table. Homemade macaroni and cheese. A supreme pizza from his favorite place. The cake that Marla baked for him a few days ago, when we all still had hope that they’d break the curse. Gram’s curly sweet potato fries. A casserole that Aunt Lisa made and probably burned, but that Joe will pretend to like.

“All this for me?” he teases, and my aunt shoves up from the couch. She stumbles in her haste to get to her son, and then she hugs him and rubs his back. For ten minutes. Ten straight minutes. Nobody else moves until they’re done, and then everyone is kissing and hugging Joe. They’re all crying and laughing, and people are trading stories like this isn’t the worst day of our entire lives.

I stand back from the group with Joules by my side. We clutch hands. We squeeze.

“I can’t live without him,” I whisper, eyes wide. I’m in shock. I am absolutely in shock.

Still, some part of me can’t give up this fantasy that the curse is, indeed, a bunch of bullshit. It’s not real. How could it be real? There’s no magic anywhere else in the entire world, but my family is cursed? That’s dumb. That makes no sense. Joe is going to be fine. He’ll live right past eleven twenty-two Central Standard Time. Marla will live past eleven-twenty-two Central Standard Time. It’ll all be fine. It’ll be just fine.

We join the family for a meal at the table, Joules and me on either side of Joe. We take a lot of pictures. Too many pictures. I still can’t look at any of those pictures.

Joe asks if we can bring some mattresses downstairs, put them in front of the TV, have a sleepover and a movie night.

We do.

We drag my mattress down three flights, drag Joules’ mattress, my parents’ mattress. We make a nest out of blankets and pillows, and we all cuddle up together. Aunt Lisa is behind Joe on the couch, occasionally running her fingers through his hair. I’m on Joe’s right. Joules is on his left.

We turn on a movie.

Nobody is watching it.

The clock says eleven-eleven, and I make a wish. I close my eyes, and I wish with my whole entire heart for Joe to be okay. I will give up my own life. I beg the universe. I plead. I make bargains. Surely, if the curse is real then I must be able to trade my life for Joe’s?

It’s eleven-nineteen, and there are several people who are crying. I’m one of them.

“I’m fucking scared,” Joe says, and is his breathing already slowing down? “I’m so scared,” he whispers, and there are tears in his eyes. I brush them away with my thumbs, and I cuddle nice and close to him. I hold him. I let him know that he isn’t alone.

“We’re right here, Joe,” I tell him, and then I kiss his cheek. That’s the last time I ever kiss him. I’ll die clinging onto that memory.

It’s eleven-twenty. Aunt Lisa has called for an ambulance, but it won’t matter. It won’t change anything.

“I love you, more than anything,” Joules says to Joe, and they’re looking at each other. That’s when Joe starts to breathe a little strangely. He keeps looking at Joules, and Joules is looking at him, and they’ve both read every book in the archives dozens of times over. We all have.

The rules are clear.

Get matched. Three-hundred-and-sixty-five-and-one-fourth days. Death.

Becoming dirt. Growing a tree. A tree. A tree.

Joe gasps and grabs onto the front of Joules’ shirt.

“No!” That’s me. Joe is coughing. Joe is gasping. He’s pulling at Joules, and my brother is taking action because that’s what he does.

“Help me, Lake!” Joules shouts, and my uncles and cousins are there. Aunt Lisa is screaming. We’re lowering Joe to his back, his head between my legs, my fingers stroking over his forehead. Joules starts CPR while Joe is gasping for breath, while his eyes look up at me in pleading.

“Marla,” he whispers, and I hate her. I hate the curse. I hate this fucking curse.

That’s the last word that Joe ever says.

Joules is still performing CPR, breathing into Joe’s mouth for him, pumping his chest. I’m holding his head, looking down at his beautiful eyes, watching them glaze over. The front door is opening. Paramedics. Joe is taken away from me.

Aunt Lisa is screaming in my mother’s arms.

Joules is pulling his own hair, tears streaming down his face, lips parted in shock.

He lifts his eyes to mine.

We stare at each other.

Joe Frost is pronounced dead in the ambulance, and in forty-five days he is dirt and there is a tree growing in what was once my cousin.

So, the curse is real.

The curse is so fucking real.

48 bobas left until we both die – aka present day

I’m choking on my tears as I sit up suddenly, struggling to breathe. Tam rolls over and procures yet another handkerchief—a blue and white one this time—and then passes it over to me. I blow my nose, trying to pull myself together.

“Lake …” Tam’s voice is so soft, so private, so beautiful. I don’t look at him. I can’t. Because I’m worried about Joules. Because I’m worried about us.

Forty-eight days is not a lot of time. It’ll be over in the blink of an eye, and there are no special bargains to be made, no falsehoods to prove.

“No matter how much I think I like you Tam Eyre, no matter how much you think you like me. This …” I hold out my wrist. It’s dark in here, so it’s hard to see, but I know he’s aware of what I’m trying to show him. “This mark will kill us both on August twenty-fourth at eleven-twenty-three p.m. Central Standard Time.”

Tam takes my wrist, rubbing his thumb over the mark. It flares gold, a very obvious oddity in the dark bedroom. Tam exhales in surprise.

“If the curse isn’t broken, Lakelynn, then …” Tam takes a minute to collect himself, and then he reaches over to switch on the bedside lamp. When he turns back to me, Tam takes my face gently between his hands and leans in like he’s going to kiss me. “If the curse isn’t broken yet, then it’s not on my end.”

I let out a stuttering breath, and then Tam kisses the tears off my cheeks, kisses my lips.

“Do you hear what I’m trying to say?” he whispers, and I nod. I kiss him back, and I don’t let him say the actual words just yet.

Because no matter how deep his infatuation for me goes, he isn’t in love with me.

If he were then … I push the curse to the back of my mind, fall into the pillows, and take Tam Eyre with me.