Recap of Previous Chapter: Amelia helps Sookie puzzle over the message given to her by Pam: Know your neighbors. Together they head to the library, where they discover that Lorena Ball owns all the property around Sookie's, including L.L.'s house. Sookie confronts L.L., who gives her little additional information other than telling her that Leclerq submitted a development plan to Lorena. Sookie passes out.

A/N: So, did you catch that? I'm not sure how many people caught it, but that last line of chapter 13 is Sookie passing out. Moving right along, we're flashing back...

Chapter 14: Love Shack, Baby

Nighttime. Here in the loft of Eric's dune shack, the wooden slats of the ceiling hovered so close, that lying on my back, I could see the chewed, swirling grain. I'm sure if I looked hard enough, I'd be able to see things, like a bunny, or a snow cone, or a flower, or whatever it is that people see when they look up at the clouds in the sky. I could see those things if I tried, I suppose, but what I always noticed instead-what the ceiling here always called my attention to-were the toothy, splintery bits that no one had ever smoothed.

Not that it mattered. Here, this was just the way things were.

Oh, sure, if you were used to one of those beach motels, the kind with running water, the same kind whose front doors open onto concrete, you might call this place rustic. Or if you fancied a line-up of condos, situated on the bay, staggered in a step-like fashion to maximize your standard balcony view, you might call it unfinished. Or if you had enough money in your vacation fund to spend a week in a beachside mansion pretending you belonged to another lifestyle, you would call it crude.

Not here. Here, this was it, the way it was meant to be, the way it had been for nearly 100 years.

If I stretched my leg out and pointed my foot, I'd be able to graze my toe against this prickly ceiling. But I didn't need to reach out and touch it—again—to know how it felt. I remembered well how it had felt when I'd bumped my head a few times. Mm-hmm, and I'd pulled a splinter or two out of Eric's ass, though I won't even begin to try to describe how they had gotten there. (You're thinking about that now, aren't you?) So I guess both of us had gotten a little bruised, bumped, and scraped during our…enthusiasm. No matter. It didn't take too much trial and error for us to get the hang of it and figure out just where the limits were. Neither of us had suffered for it. In fact, it was a safe, comfortable place. Plus there was still plenty of room for creative maneuvering up here. Who knew the two of us could be so inventive?

Down below us, the kerosene lamp dangling above a table shone its thin, but steady light that made all the wooden surfaces of the walls and ceiling and floor glow warm and golden pink like the sunrise. Shutting my mind to the inky blackness outside, I could almost pretend that nighttime was morning.

Aside from the table, there were two simple, straight-backed chairs that at any point could be found scattered in miscellaneous spots around the shack, depending on the need of the moment. One functional, but rickety dresser held most of whatever possessions Eric had brought. Above a small stretch of green Formica countertop, open shelving hung, for things like plates, mugs, and glasses. Underneath the counter, Eric had stored cases of water. He'd also brought in his drafting table and set it up not near the window facing the water, but along the window facing the dunes, which stretched out unbroken so far they faded to nothingness. On clear days, nothingness seemed forever away. But on hazy days, nothingness pressed near, making you squint and pull back like you were trying to read a book that was too close.

Up in the loft, Eric lay next to me, his hand clasping mine by our sides. Lying next to him like this, I could feel the length of him beyond me, the top of my head and the tips of my toes tingling like he was some phantom body extension.

"Did you have to go into Boston today?"

"No. I was able to set up a conference call from a client's home. I think we got it all worked out. There were some structural issues that Sophie-Anne wanted to be addressed by an engineer. He gave us the go-ahead, which is what I had said all along."

"Is this the cape in West Falmouth?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Did they come around?"

"Yes." His eyes had picked up a spark. He turned to his stomach and pushed himself up on his elbows so he could sketch a rectangle onto the sheets. "So here's the basic shape of a cape. They wanted to add a simple addition out the side that would turn their house into a longer rectangle. That's boring. A lot of additions to old capes like this were added in piecemeal fashion over the years. So they often have a section that comes out the back this way." He drew another rectangle, creating a T shape. "And then if they wanted to add more space later, they often built in this direction." He sketched another rectangle at right angles to the first addition."

"Now it looks like a 'T' with an 'L' bottom."

"Exactly."

"I've seen houses like this with attached garages too. The garages come forward, though not as far forward as the front of the house. So it ends up looking like an uneven 'U.'"

"Right. That's it." He settled down, on his back, looking satisfied. "Now, if I'm reading this couple right, the husband is just along for the ride. She makes the decisions. And I think I can convince her to use some mixed, reclaimed materials to make it look like the addition was built in phases. Only problem is I don't know this contractor well and how he'll take to my…suggestions. I'll have to get a feel for that. But I think I'm close on this one."

He turned his head and looked at me with that driven, focused set to his face, the same one I'd seen on that day when he'd explored my home, the same one that would always snap a thrill in me. "What time did you go in?"

"Ten. Arlene was in a pissy mood because she couldn't get anyone to cover for her. I didn't have many meal guests, but I spent a lot of time trying to track down some size 4 diapers for a mom. I couldn't find an agency that could help her, so I ended up just buying them. But there's gotta be a better way."

We were quiet again, which made me notice how different the noises here were compared to my home. Here, the surf pounded hard and loud through the thick, salty air. When a stiff breeze picked up, the beach grasses whispered their secrets and said, "Shush" all at once. Real shutters—not the decorative kind—rattled loosely against the side of the shack. But there were no crickets. And no chorus of frogs. And no car traffic. And no TV or music or computer.

"Don't you use a computer for your projects?"

"Oh, yeah. Have to. But I always start on paper. That's what I like best."

He shifted to his side. I turned to face him.

"What made you want to become an architect?"

He raised his eyebrows at me and started to laugh.

"Ah…hmm…"

His laughing hesitation immediately piqued my interest. "Oh, come on. I haven't stumped you, have I?"

"No…no…"

He was still smiling sheepishly, which I took as a green light to go ahead. "I've never seen you speechless. Quiet, yes, but speechless, no. Now I'm really curious."

"Once I tell you this, there's no going back."

"Okay."

"You may never look at me the same way again."

"You're stalling."

"Not for me. For you. I'm giving you time to back out."

"You're still smiling, which doesn't scare me."

"Maybe I should be scowling then." He twisted his face into a grimace.

"Ack!" I pulled back, pretending to be afraid.

"I burned down my adoptive parents' shed."

Whoa. That made my heart gallop. Fire setting was so not a good sign. I sat up tall on my knees, nearly bumping my head. I was going to cut him off, tell him, "That's okay, don't let that particular cat out of the bag," when he continued.

"Well, it was their 'outer space house.'"

"Their what?" I asked cautiously.

"Exactly. Who calls a shed an 'outer space house?'"

"Sounds like a spaceship."

"I know. Didn't look much better, either. It was a huge, modern monstrosity, totally out of keeping with the neighborhood."

He waited. I was sure he was waiting for my prompt. Aw, hell, I was in this too far already, and now I couldn't help myself. I was really curious. "So you burned it down on purpose?"

"No! Not on purpose. Not really..."

I held quiet.

"It was more like… two adolescent boys curious about lighting their own... methane."

He stopped again, looking up at me expectantly with a cocked smile while I considered this news.

It took me a split second. "You were lighting...farts?" I stumbled over the word. Somehow saying it out loud, up here in the loft with him, made me feel again like that little kid behind the garden shed. Or an outer space house.

I took his silence as a yes.

A snicker escaped before I could stop it. Clamping my hands over my mouth, I looked at Eric, who— I was relieved to see—was starting to lose it too. There's nothing worse than sharing a personal story and then having someone point at you and laugh in your face. No, laughing was okay here, which was good, because by then, there was no stopping a snort. Okay, maybe another snort happened too. And then before I knew it, whatever tension had been coiling inside seized my gut, turning itself into one of those long, hard knots of a laugh. Rigid and breathless, I crashed down next to Eric, where I could feel his body shaking in unison with mine. I clutched at my sides, noticing from the inside out just how it felt to laugh this hard. It was the kind of laugh I hadn't felt in I-don't-know-how long. Sure, it was laced with relief and a dash of mania. I'd been a fool for treading so close.

But I hadn't gotten burned.

No…no. I wasn't going to let myself think too hard about this one.

Except for one thing.

He was watching me in amusement. I returned his gaze and took a big gulp of air. "Does that work?"

He laughed again. "For some better than others. I think my friend Clancy still has a few small scars on his ass. Apparently some of us have more methane than others."

I bumped against him. "Are you trying to tell me your farts don't stink?"

"I'm just saying what happened."

I settled back down, enjoying the afterglow that comes from a good, demon-chasing belly laugh. Almost as good as sex.

"Wait a minute. How do you go from lighting farts to becoming an architect?"

"After we figured out that no one was hurt—badly—my adoptive parents were pissed. They loved their outer space house and held me responsible for having it rebuilt. So to piss them off, I hired an expensive, highly-regarded architect. One thing led to another and…"

"That must have been some college application essay."

"Please. You know as well as I do how much bullshit goes into those things."

I didn't want to think about that too much, though the expression 'tip of the iceberg' popped into my head before I could stop it.

"Oh my gosh. Now I feel like we're even."

"Even?"

"For grabbing your…you know... on April Fools' Day."

"I've never complained about that moment. And if I had known it was a contest, I could have evened up the score much sooner."

"Shush." Enough. I silenced him with a kiss. And another. And some more. On our sides, facing each other, we kissed to our heart's content, with a little bit of groping too. It was a fine line we were walking there, hovering right on the delicious edge of frenzy.

Who knows how long we stayed like that. It might have been minutes. It might have been longer. At some point, whenever that was, I pulled him onto me. Looking up at the ceiling, grinning, I said, "I think this is probably safest, don't you?" The mass of his weight pushed down, melded to me. I felt like we might become permanent fixtures of that shack.

He pulled up to look at me. "I don't mind going with the flow."

I laughed. "Eric, when you go with the flow, I wonder what you're angling for."

"I'm saying I don't mind running a red light."

"Oh, I know."

"It's okay then?"

I had the feeling I was missing something. "You're going to have to spell this one out for me."

He was kissing his way down my body, stopping, finally, on my belly, where his hand was stroking circles.

"Period sex. Sail the Red Sea. Surf the red tide."

"I got it, I got it. Enough. And no, I don't have my period."

"You don't? I thought it was time." Eric had resumed kissing my belly, tugging my shorts down.

"No. In a few days." I pictured the two pills remaining in my pack and heard the rattle and snap of their plastic and foil.

But even as I was saying the words, I was mentally counting backwards. I remembered the last time I had gotten my period, on the first day of summer. It stood out in my mind. How many days are there in June? Dammit, which ones have 30 and which ones have 31? I counted them off on my knuckles, which is the only way I can remember. Knuckles have 31 days. Valleys have 30. January, February, March, April, May, June…June is in a valley. 30 days. Then I counted forward into July.

Shit. I wasn't just two days off. I was three days off. Had I started the pack late? I counted again.

Definitely late.

I knew I'd been distracted by Eric. Obsessed by his body was more like it. Had I been that distracted that I'd messed up my pills by three days? We'd stopped using condoms once we'd both been cleared. I felt ill.

"Hey, do you want to open a bottle of wine?"

But my lips were already back on his, fervent and desperate. Without breaking the connection of our mouths, I reached down to fumble with his jeans, undoing them with my hands and then using my feet to shove them down his legs. I pushed him over onto his back, and straddling him, yanked off my shirt and bra. Without a moment's hesitation, I lowered myself onto him, causing us both to gasp. Shifting and angling, I braced against the ceiling, gaining such force that I felt him deep within me as a punch in the gut. Still, I pressed harder, gripping the splintery beams, feeling their vibrating shudder. I wondered whether I might lift the whole roof off.

It wasn't pretty or sweet or tame.

It was fast and hard and explosive and loud. Wild and visceral. We were a grunting mass of writhing, slapping, shapeless flesh.

"Fuck, Sookie." My tangled, messy hair swept down over him.

"Come on," I said, barely giving either of us time to catch our breath. Climbing off his hips, I tugged on him to follow me, fully naked, down the loft ladder, out the door of the shack, and down the path that cut between the dunes to the water. The half moon lit our way well enough, shining on the sea like long smear of light. Wildly, crazily, I took on the waves, diving into them before they crashed onto me. Somewhere from behind, I heard a yelp from Eric before he pulled me close to him. Briefly, the moon lost its way behind a cloud, turning everything into a dark, womb-like slosh before finally, a surprise wave crashed over us, our hands slipping apart as we tumbled in the scrubbing surf.

And nothingness pressed itself right onto my eyeballs.

A/N: We'll find out what happens to Sookie in the next chapter.

So...how about Dead Reckoning? I loved it! *shivers* My brain's been working overtime thinking about it. Oh, I've got it bad- I've cracked out my highlighters for a color-coded re-read. ;)

Thanks, makesmyheadspin & peppermintyrose!

Disclaimer: All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England.

~Thanks for reading!~