A/N-Okay, this is my Season 2 "What If" scenario. As always with these types of stories, I hope I don't venture too far from the characters as they were, but some license is definitely taken. I've decided to post this one separately because it's a little more off canon, and could go on a little longer (I have 2 different spots where I can end this story, and I'm not sure which one I'll choose).
Consequences
(Post Season 2 What If AU)
Chapter 1
Kate has had enough of…well…enough of everything. She ended a relationship that could have been good. Of course she didn't break off things with Demming for Castle, she promises herself that. Maybe she's just meant to be on her own. Nothing wrong with that.
It has been nearly a month since Castle waltzed out of the precinct with Gina. Since then, everything she sees at work irritates her, and when no new cases roll in before her weekend, she asks Captain Montgomery if she can take two weeks off. He grants her the leave (she asks for time off so infrequently), and she tells him and everyone else around her as little as possible about her plans.
The next afternoon when it is time to leave, Kate isn't in a rush. She's doing things at her own pace, every moment of this vacation will be on her terms, in her own good time. She is completely independent, under only her own influence…she is free. After packing a few essentials in her motorcycle-friendly overnight bag, she grabs her helmet and heads off to retrieve her bike from the garage where she stores it.
Beckett slings a leg over the bike, sitting for a moment while she starts it up, giving the engine time to warm up while she affixes the bag in place. As the engine's sputter regulates and evens, indicating the bike is nearly ready, she slides her black leather jacket on before donning her helmet.
Her only definite plan is that she will ride where she wants, when she wants, although she's not quite sure yet where those places will be. Maybe she'll meet a guy, enjoy a summer fling, someone very different from both Castle and Demming, someone who doesn't remind her of the NYPD, crime, or her real life back home. Maybe that's what she needs. Or maybe not.
When she's ready, she hits the throttle, lifts her feet onto the pegs and slides out of the space with a sense of excitement and anticipation.
She takes 95 North, knowing that will get her out of New York, and then she can decide where to go next. After riding for nearly 3 hours, she stops to fuel her bike and have a relaxing dinner at a taphouse with ocean views and a fantastic whiskey bar.
The server asks twice if anyone will be joining her.
She opts to crash in the relatively inexpensive but clean motel nearby to sleep for the night. She is pretty sure she's spoken less than ten words to anyone all day.
The funny thing is, she sleeps very well on that a-bit-too-firm mattress, her body happily in vacation mode. She wakes early, just after the sun, and brews herself a passable cup of coffee in the 4 cup pot in her room and takes a very long, very hot shower. The towels are too thin and almost wiry, probably a near cousin of steel wool, but that doesn't dampen her mood. After she puts on her black tank top and dark indigo jeans, she opens the heavy, busy-patterned drapes and looks out and sees the bright day that awaits her. It doesn't take her long to gather her things. Today she plans on riding for hours on end.
Just before she gets on her bike, she moves her cell phone from her pants' pocket to put it in her jacket where she can zip it safely away, and notices the blinking indicator light. Kate feels pretty damn certain almost everyone who knows her knows she does not want to be bothered, or is too busy in the Hamptons to text her, so she checks it.
Part of her thinks it might be Demming…maybe he wants to try to convince her to give things a go with him. But the text is from Castle, and reads: Come ASAP. 911. A second text from him lists an address.
She texts back: What's going on? and when he doesn't respond after several minutes, she taps and sends: This better not be a joke. On my way.
She tries not to, but she fears the worst.
The next thing she knows, she's back on her bike, heading to the Hamptons. The ride isn't short. She has a couple of hours to admonish herself for responding to him so quickly. The words beck-and-call pop in her mind, but she ignores them. He really irritated her before he left for the summer (maybe 'hurt her' is the more accurate description), but he is her partner, and if he is in trouble, maybe held hostage, or hurt…well she will never forgive herself if she doesn't look into it.
And if this is all a jackass prank, she will find a way to make him regret it.
She uses her phone's GPS and one earbud and finds herself at the address. She sees a car she thinks is Gina's, although it could be Castle's. He probably has a few cars she's never seen.
Beckett removes her helmet, tucking it under her arm, and walks around the periphery of the home. She realizes all too well that Castle has a bit more money at his disposal than she'd previously assumed. Nothing seems out of place, though. There aren't any broken windows or doors or signs of struggle.
Opting to knock on the door, she feels prepared for whatever she may face. She taps on the door first, then tries the doorbell, and then decides she needs to pound a bit more heavily. If he doesn't answer the door in the next minute, she's going to find another way in.
A few heavy steps from inside precede the sound of the opening lock, and she's face to face with Castle. He doesn't appear to be under any sort of duress. In fact, he's in his pajamas and robe, hair out of place enough to make her realize he was sleeping until she woke him.
"Beckett!" Castle declares with what appears to be complete surprise. He seems quite happy to see her. "What are you doing here?"
Kate shakes her head with confusion, digging her phone out of her pocket to make sure she didn't imagine the text.
"You texted me," Kate tells him.
"I did?" He doesn't look like a person who just successfully pulled off a really good prank. He just seems confused.
"I told you she'd show up the moment you asked," an enraged female voice says from behind him, storming closer.
"Because he texted me about an emergency," Beckett clarifies.
Kate stares at her phone, willing the texts to appear even though they seem abnormally difficult to find. She feels pathetic, imagining that Gina thinks she's jealous of the thought of Castle and his ex-wife together. Which is completely ridiculous, Kate reminds herself. What he does and who he does it with couldn't matter less to me.
When she finally sees the message, right on top where the newest text would be, she turns it to show them, just to prove to herself and them that she hasn't lost her mind.
Gina declares victoriously, "One text from you and she drops everything and shows up here in…" she pauses and looks over Kate's outfit, her lip snarling, "she shows up here in head-to-toe tight, black leather."
Kate gasps, "Hey." The only leather she is wearing is her jacket and her boots, she nearly clarifies. Focusing on the details that are truly important, she continues, "The text said 911. To me that means there's an emergency. Of course I came. I'd show up for any of the guys on my team."
"I'm on your team?" he grins, leaning his shoulder against the door. "Beckett, I'm touched. It's one thing to be a consultant, but I'm getting a definite partner vibe."
She closes her eyes, rubbing her fingers into her forehead. "Would you please tell me why I'm here? I am on vacation…so if there isn't an emergency, let me know and I'll get back on the road."
"I didn't text you."
"I did," Gina announces. "I proved my point."
"Which was?" Castle asks Gina.
"I told you something is going on between you two."
"Nothing is going on!" Kate and Castle shout in unison.
"You've barely noticed I'm even here for the last two weeks," Gina shakes her head, lifting her suitcase.
"You know how I get when I'm writing."
"I do. And after what I read yesterday, I know why you're so…distracted."
"It's no different from dozens of other things I've written."
"It is completely different. And I could have handled that…but you add that, plus how distant and disinterested you are, and then…then…what you said yesterday morning! How can you blame me?"
"What did he say? What did you say?" Kate asks each in turn, waiting for an answer.
"It was a dream! About a fictional case!" he explains quite adamantly.
"Fuck you, Rick," Gina argues, pushing her way through everyone and going out the door with her belongings. "I thought things changed. I thought you were serious about making this work. You can't use me as a placeholder when things don't work out with other women." Like a tiny tornado she swoops down the stairs, throws her suitcase in the trunk with surprising gusto, and gets into her overpriced luxury automobile. Rolling down the window, she adds, "Don't call. Don't text. Leave me alone." She backs up hurriedly, running right into Kate's bike as the pair helplessly watch it lean ever further until it tips completely. The fall is immediately followed by the painful crunching of metal as Gina backs up a little bit more.
"I'll fix that," he immediately offers as the car takes off, leaving puffs of sand and gravel hanging in the air.
"What did you do to her? And why in the hell does it involve me?" Kate gripes like an angry school teacher, hand propped on her hip and eyes flaring with anger. For the moment, she forgets the bike as she fights the desire to shove him for whatever he's done. And, yes, she's angry at Gina about the bike, but she knows how infuriating Castle can be, so her frustration is spread across multiple targets.
"Nothing! I didn't do anything!"
"You would think someone who's supposed to be so good with women would actually be good with women."
"You've heard that? Who told you and exactly what words did they use?" he says far too happily for a guy who was just dumped.
"Tell me what happened. Now."
"Nothing!" Castle repeats with innocence no right-minded jury would buy. Especially when he finally really looks at her and his eyes move over the tight jeans and tank top that is partly covered by her heavy jacket. His stare follows the dip in the tank to her cleavage. "Finally doing the cover of 'Hot Motorcycle Cops Monthly'?" he teases, eyebrow raising. "I could go with you…I hear those photographers sometimes take advantage of their models, so if you want me there to—" her stare interrupts him, and he decides silence is the best option.
She scowls, feeling absolute fury, and chooses not to let him bait her. "Thanks for getting me mixed up in your love life and ruining my vacation."
"Ex."
"What?" she snaps.
"Ex. As in 'ex-love life,' apparently. Doesn't seem to have worked out." He appears ambivalent about the blowup.
"I don't understand what I have to do with that fight."
Her fondness for him always seems to sit under the surface. She often chides herself for that. The part of her that was hurt when he left kind of hopes to tip the scales back in her favor.
Beckett holds off as long as she can, but without the breeze created by riding, the jacket is stifling in the summer sun. Sweat gathers and drips down her back, so she shrugs the weighty jacket off, drapes it over a chair on the porch with her helmet, and feels grateful for the ocean breeze.
Castle stares like he's mapping her body. "I really appreciate this biker chick thing you have going."
"Focus!" she disciplines.
"Believe me, I am," he scoffs, then seems to realize he isn't being subtle and she is not at all receptive to this line of flirtation.
"What did you say that upset her?" she states the phrase precisely and slowly, like she is speaking to someone who doesn't fluently speak her language.
"It was no big deal. I've been working on my book, writing. I dreamed about a case and talked in my sleep. She heard your name and completely overreacted. We're together a lot and reality creeps into the subconscious. You probably talk about me in your sleep, too."
"No one has mentioned it."
"How many possible contestants are we talking about here?" he asks, jealous interest rising.
She snarls to dismiss the question, which he plainly comprehends.
That question bypassed, she refocuses. "Something tells me that if you said 'Beckett, we've got a case' or 'how much pressure do you think is required to shove a chopstick through someone's temple' in your sleep, she wouldn't have been so suspicious."
"Eh," he blows off the questions. Acting like Beckett just casually stopped by, he offers, "Come on in. Have a cup of coffee. I'll call someone to come take a look at your bike."
"Forget it," she mumbles through gritted teeth, hurrying down the front stairs to her upended motorcycle. She bends at the knees to get low enough to right it. The bike is considerably heavy and she knows this will not be easy.
He comes down the steps after her. "Here. Let me help," he proposes, but she just glowers. She begrudgingly accepts his assistance, though, mostly because her hands are too occupied to push him away.
Once it is upright, she sees the fenders are ruined and the gas tank dented. Those things she could cope with. But worst of all, the front tire is deflated and the rim sharply bent. There is no way she can ride anywhere like this.
"Coffee?" he suggests again. "Come on. I'll call someone right now to come fix it. Or I'll get you a new one. It's the least I can do."
She walks toward the front door first, accepting his offer implicitly, already missing the feeling of being alone on the road with her machine and so much less stress.
Castle pours coffee. It smells good, but she can't seem to muster any enjoyment for it. He is on the phone, as promised, making arrangements for her bike.
When he hangs up, he announces, "As good as fixed. Well, almost. Soon fixed."
She is sitting at the kitchen island, chin in her hand, moping.
"I am sorry," he adds sweetly, with a genuine tone she takes to heart. "But they'll get it fixed up in no time." Clearly trying to cheer her up, he asks, "So what crazy plans do you have for your vacation?"
"I was going to ride…you know…go where I want. Answer to no one."
"Just ride around?" he says with disappointment.
"Yea. No plan, wait and see where the days might take me. Live in the moment, let life happen. See things and y—you wouldn't understand. You do what you want every day."
"Of all of the things you could do on vacation—" he pauses suddenly when he sees her rage. "Sounds fun, really," he encourages. "But how about this…I'll make it up to you. Today, while your bike is being fixed, I'll show you some of the things I do when I'm here…vacationing, not working. You can do research into my world. Like switching roles. It'll be fun."
"I don't think so, Castle."
A van with the phrase "Two Alexes Auto Body Repair," pulls up outside while Beckett unloads her few personal items from the bike and Castle is inside getting dressed.
Kate is already annoyed, and the damage to her bike seems to look worse the longer she stares at it. It appears that Castle called an Auto Repair shop to fix her bike, and she wonders if this place is familiar enough with bikes to fix hers properly.
The duo seem to know what they're talking about though. There's a man and a woman, both Alexes, supposedly. The female Alex speaks to Kate at length about the bike, and her expertise puts Kate at ease. The news, however, is not great. They will need at least a few days, maybe a week, due to some frame damage and ordering in parts. Castle comes out to join them just as they deliver the bad news.
Male Alex flashes a smile and Kate notices the way Castle seems irritated by the mechanic's rugged handsomeness. Alex is definitely the classic tough guy. The oil and dirt stains on his coveralls make his ruggedness seem more…rugged.
"If you're stuck here, we'd love to show you around some evening," male Alex offers.
Castle breathes in sharply, but Kate replies, "Thanks. Really. I'd like that…but I won't be staying. I'm going to get a ride back home."
"If you change your mind," he says, handing her his card.
Castle and Beckett watch them load up the bike and drive off. "They both totally want to have sex with you," he announces.
"No, they don't," Kate says, exasperated.
"They do. But…almost everyone wants to have sex with you. That's a fact. You're so used to it you don't even notice anymore."
She turns and scowls, "This is why you could never be a real cop. You can't create facts. You can't state whatever you want to state as if it's the truth, or add the phrase 'that's a fact' and declare it a fact. That's not how facts work."
"You seem really tense. Let me order you one of the best lunches you will ever have, and—"
"I don't want lunch. I want to get back to my vacation or go home. Let me borrow your car. I'll come back in a few days when my bike is ready."
"No can do!" he cheerily answers. "Gina drove me up here, so I am officially without a vehicle."
At the exact moment when she's ready to unleash her fury, he meets her gaze. His expression is full of remorse. "I really am sorry about your bike. If you want, I'll be happy, no, more than happy, to buy you a new one."
"That's not necessary."
"I feel bad about what happened…that you got mixed up in this."
A wave of regret passes over her. "It really wasn't your fault," she admits. "You didn't text me, or hit my bike."
"Still, I can't help but feel a little responsible."
This time when he turns and walks back inside, she walks beside him. He pours her another coffee and leans over the island as he talks. "I think I have the perfect way to make it up to you."
"Oh god."
"No, really. Tomorrow there's a picnic. Games, food, one of the absolute best fireworks displays you'll ever see. I already have tickets."
"You have tickets to a picnic?"
"It's a fundraiser."
"Trying to help recently impoverished hedge fund managers keep their fancy beach houses?" she jokes. "No thanks."
He walks over to a desk in the kitchen, opens a drawer and produces the tickets and a pamphlet. "It's for an organization that supports special needs kids. They run summer camps and help provide services," he explains. He waits for the realization to hit her, and then continues on, "Do you honestly not care about the children?"
She shakes her head and silently giggles as she reviews the documents. "Yes. I do."
He holds it up, pointing to a particularly adorable child with a beautiful grin and lively eyes who has leg braces. "How can you say 'no' to this face? Doesn't Anna deserve—"
"Yes, of course she does," she interrupts, half laughing. "I didn't know. So philanthropic of you, Castle."
"It's pretty cool," he replies without accusation, "all the things they do for these kids. It's a good cause. That will give the Alexes a couple of days to work on your bike, and you'll have fun and be part of something great in the process. Win-win." Sensing she still might say no, he adds, "Come with me. Please?"
"I don't have anything to wear to something like this. I packed 3 outfits that are essentially exactly like this one. I tried to bring as little as possible. Not much room for luggage on a bike."
"I'll buy you something new."
"I'm not trying on outfits for you."
"That would be absurd!" he teases. "I'd try them on myself. You have the completely wrong body type to try on clothes for me."
"You're not funny," she attempts to deadpan as she shakes away a smirk.
"It'll be fun."
"You have a guest room?"
"Naturally. Let me give you a nice vacation. Not the one you wanted, but hopefully fun." He holds up the pamphlet in front of his face and says, "Come on, Detective Beckett…for me?"
"That's low," she argues, hiding her chuckle, "using these kids to get your way."
"You are frighteningly bad at going with the flow…do you know that? I mean, you said the whole point of this vacation was to see what happened. 'Live in the moment, let life happen…' Your words, not mine. Maybe this is the vacation life had planned for you. So live a little. What's the worst that could happen?"
Things had not been going well with Gina. It didn't take long for Castle to realize that getting back together with her was not his most genius idea. Especially when he couldn't stop thinking about Beckett. That nagging voice in the back of his head reminded him how jealous he felt when he saw Kate with someone else. It was easier to move on with Gina than deal with how he felt about Kate. Besides, he wanted to finish his book.
But now Kate is here, at his place, and part of him wonders maybe if there is justice in the universe, perhaps things do work out as they should. He considers asking the Alexes to move slowly on the bike repairs, but opts instead to try to show Kate the best time possible while she is there. He also knows he doesn't want to look too invested. This is supposed to be fun, friends enjoying a vacation, and suddenly he's willing to put the book aside for a bit.
Castle calls his "fixer" to deal with food and clothes. Jackie, the woman he considers a fixer, doesn't deal in scandals or illegal cover-ups, she's an assistant he's hired on many occasions while at his vacation place. But fixer sounds much cooler.
Kate takes a bath since it will take a little time to get lunch. He isn't sure if she truly wants a bath, or just needs a few moments away from him. Either way, his home away from home rivals finer resorts for comfort and amenities, so perhaps some of these perks will help her enjoy this lucky little turn of events.
He is looking over the lunch spread set carefully in the outdoor seating area by the pool when he finds Kate in the backyard, staring out at the water. Her hair is still damp from the bath, longer even than when he left a few weeks earlier, and although she has on fresh clothing, the outfit is very similar to the earlier one. The clothes cling to her body so wonderfully, and he is happy for a chance to stare at her unnoticed. When she turns, he waves her over.
She sees Jackie, and for a second he notes an uncertain look. He wonders if it's jealousy. Correction…he hopes it's jealousy. Jackie is quite attractive, a woman in her early 50s with proudly unmasked greying hair. She's happily married, although Castle isn't going to tell Kate that.
Jackie smiles at Kate and asks Castle, "Is this the muse?"
"Inspiration," Castle corrects. "But yes. Kate Beckett, this is Jackie, my fixer."
"Fixer?" Kate asks, immediately investigating for signs of foul play.
"I'm an assistant," Jackie replies, "party planning, catering, that sort of thing. Rick, you're right…with a figure like that, she can wear pretty much anything." She leads Beckett toward a table covered by several plastic clothing bags with hangers jutting out of the tops. "We could make a garbage bag look good on you," Jackie compliments sweetly.
She shows Kate a few outfits, dresses mostly, lightly flowy and perfect for an upscale picnic. Castle really, really wants Beckett to step into the outdoor shower stall and try each one on, come out and pose for him to let him help her choose. What better opportunity to ogle and evaluate then when asked to do so?
But she takes three of the dresses she likes to the stall and tries them on without offering a glimpse in between. She doesn't emerge until she's selected the one she wants and is back in her own garments, refusing to even model the winner for him. She keeps the chosen outfit, still in the bag, and thanks Jackie.
Jackie looks at Castle, peeking around Kate, who is walking over to join him. Jackie smiles, and he sees her approval and what he can only interpret as a 'good luck' grin before she leaves.
"Find something?" he asks.
"Yea," Beckett replies, refusing to elaborate.
He wonders what she's thinking because she seems distracted, and finally she pauses, tilts her head and asks, "Why do you even go back to the city?"
Castle smiles, and once he starts, he can't stop. "You like it here?"
"Stunning. It's so peaceful. Like a different planet."
He can't believe how good this makes him feel, because frankly he thought he'd have to fight to get her to admit it wasn't horrible, and already she's taken with the place.
"So?" she asks. "Why go back to the city? Why not live here?"
"Alexis's school. Mother. The cultural, educational, and artistic possibilities are abundant for them in the city. And for me."
"Oh," she replies. He thinks she's disappointed.
He leans an elbow on the table and says, "Besides, the NYPD needs me."
"Do they?" she scoffs.
"I hope so," he answers and waits, finding no response.
It's infuriating and fascinating the way she can let an implication hang in the air without even acknowledging it. Would it kill her, just this once, to agree that they need him (or at least like having him around).
When she doesn't add any of the things he wants to hear, he says, "Besides…it's nice to keep a vacation spot special. Some place I can get away to, hide for a little while."
"I can understand that."
"So what's Demming up to?" Castle blurts out after clearing his throat.
He did not intend to ask, but he's been dying to the whole time. After all, if things with Demming were going well, he figured she'd want to spend her time off with him. The thought of Beckett with Demming makes Castle's chest tighten a little.
"How should I know?" she asks, reaching for a glass of well-chilled sangria, frozen fruit tinging against the glass, that was already waiting for her.
Again, no more explanation, no details offered to satisfy his curiosity.
"So what happened?" he probes.
"Nothing happened," she shrugs.
Castle is beginning to feel a bit irritated. He is an eager listener, and really wants to hear what she has to say, but so often she refuses to let him in.
Kate sits back as he hands her a dinner plate and pulls the covers off the dishes.
"You know it's funny, Castle," she says, "the way you love to ask questions."
"I'm a curious guy. Part of being a writer. And since you've helped to inspire me, I'm always willing to learn more."
"Conversation should be a two way street."
"I'm all for that. Converse away."
"No. I mean, you want me to answer your questions, but you don't answer mine. You make a joke or deflect any serious question I ask. So you want me to bare all, but you aren't willing to do the same."
"I'm looking forward to the 'you baring all' portion of the day."
Her face drops, looking midway between anger and sorrow as she says, "That's exactly what I mean."
"Okay, fine," he attempts to be more agreeable, "what do you want to know?"
"What really happened with Gina? Why was she so upset?"
"We both remembered why we're not good together."
"No," Beckett shakes her head with certainty. "If she felt that way, she wouldn't have baited me into showing. She wouldn't have been so angry at you. She would have agreed that it didn't work. She was upset. Disappointed."
Castle sighs. "I wasn't very attentive this last week or two. Probably longer. I was busy thinking about my book. She was curious, read part of it, completely without my permission by the way—"
"—exactly what you would do in her position—"
"No I wouldn't!" he argues. Then he ponders and capitulates. "Yea. I probably would. And she claims I was talking about you in my sleep. Which is possible. When I'm writing, it kind of takes over sometimes, invades all of my thoughts. Since you're my inspiration, I've been thinking a lot about you and Nikki."
"What did she read that bothered her so much?"
"I write scenes like that all of the time."
"Scenes like what?"
"Sex scenes, you know. She chose to get jealous. But, in her defense, I have been distracted. And that probably made her more suspicious."
"Wait, sex? With me?"
"No. A sex scene written with Nikki. Which was the very thing Gina failed to understand. It has nothing to do with you. It's a character. It's fiction."
Beckett nods. "So you're thinking about Nikki and dreaming about your story, but in your dreams you talk to me, not Nikki. So is Gina that crazy for feeling like the lines between me and the character get blurry sometimes?"
He winces, feeling like she's hit on something, so he deflects. "So, Detective Conversation Expert…I've shared. Now where's Demming?"
"I honestly don't know," she replies. "It just…he just wasn't what I wanted. No point in pretending if I already know that."
"What do you want?" Castle asks, feeling a sense of opportunity.
"I don't know yet," she answers, and he sees she isn't deflecting. It's the truth. "I figure I'll know it when I find it."
"Yea," he nods. "It was like that with Gina, I think. I knew it wasn't what I want, but…I probably could have handled things better."
"Do you know?"
"Know what?"
"What you want?"
"I'm not really sure either," he explains. Slipping into his announcer voice, he adds, "You and I, like the cop buddies of old, one a committed bachelor, the other a jaded divorcee, not tied down, married to the job."
Kate shakes her head with amusement. "Which classic cop duos featured one blatantly, shamelessly flirting with the other?"
"Hey, give yourself credit, your shameless flirting has become more nuanced recently."
Beckett scowls but there's that touch of a smirk yet again. "Do you really believe all the lies you tell yourself?" she teases.
"Only the really good ones."
Her smile cracks through, and she helps herself to some lunch.
"So, finally I get to see 'Vacation Beckett.' Hair down, free and wild."
"Yup. Here I am," she drawls in monotone. "Exciting, isn't it?"
"Exactly how crazy are we talking about here?"
She leans in, and whispers in that flirty voice. "Well…close your eyes. Think of your wildest Beckett fantasies, the things you've thought of that I'd never, ever do…multiply that by ten…and then…"
He leans closer, waiting.
"Pinch yourself," she victoriously declares. "My idea of a good vacation is a motorcycle ride without a plan. That's about as crazy as I get."
"Come on. We both know that's not true. You have a simmering wild side beneath your law-abiding exterior. You just constantly feel the need to dominate it. This is a safe place!"
She laughs abruptly. "Being here with you at your second home at the beach does not feel like a safe place."
"You find me that irresistible, do you?" She doesn't answer, but he swears that the look on her face qualifies as flirting, and he's half tempted to snap a pic and show her so she knows how she's looking at him. Just once he'd like her to admit that she flirts back. Instead he opts for, "Come on, Beckett…what happens in the Hamptons stays—"
"Don't say it!" she interrupts. "That saying is an excuse for people to do things they know they shouldn't do."
"Just you and me here. If we're the only ones who know, what's the harm?" He's playing with her, of course, teasing because he feels like he can study her and learn things, maybe get her to confess something without putting himself on the line.
She pauses, and he feels like whatever is about to come will truly be telling. But she chooses once again to shift the conversation. "Anywhere to shoot pool around here?"
"Here," he nods toward the house. "There's always poker, too. And if you're here the day after the picnic, I have an idea that may fulfill your need for high speeds and exploration. Not a motorcycle, but pretty fun nonetheless."
"Really?"
"Put yourself in my very relaxation-capable hands, and I will do my best not to disappoint. In fact, by the time you leave, you may even be grateful your bike got smashed up by my ex." She raises a doubtful eyebrow and he equivocates. "Fine…'grateful' may be too strong a word. But maybe you won't mind so much."
