38. ThirtyEight: Tuesday

Thirty-Eight

She opens her front door in her underwear.

Castle lifts both eyebrows, stunned in the hallway, and she rolls her eyes at him and tugs him inside.

"Jeez, you're hot - wait. It is hot. In here. It's roasting."

"Air conditioning is out."

She locks the door behind him and he pivots to watch her, the long line of her torso, the smooth flare of her hips. He finds his hands reaching for her automatically, instinct, loving the hot burn of her flesh against his palms.

She slides away, flashing him a look that is either follow me or don't you dare - he's still not managed to figure out the difference, but he's going with the follow thing, because he really wants to follow.

"When's it getting fixed?"

"Not sure. The maintenance guy showed up before I even knew it was out."

"Building-wide?"

"Yeah, he's working on it," she says, looking at him over her shoulder as she heads for the bedroom. "You coming?"

"You putting on clothes or taking them off?"

She laughs at that, comes back to him, taking him by the hand. "You said you wanted to show me something."

"Yeahhhh. . .now I want to show you something else."

Kate presses a hand to his chest, fingers thrumming as she regards him. "And I do want to see it. . .but maybe later?"

He sighs, putting a hand around her waist to touch the bare skin of her back. He slides his palm up, lets his thumb tuck under her bra, stroking along her ribs with his fingers. She holds herself away for a moment more, and then shifts closer to him, no longer resistant, and presses her mouth to his throat.

"What happened to maybe later?"

"It's later."

So they missed it, but he can take her some other time.

Castle steps out of her shower and dries off, the muggy air already cloying. It's his second shower since he got here, but after the first one, she grabbed him - indecently - and pulled him back into her bed and so-

Ahem. Yes. A second shower was necessary.

They thoroughly missed it, but this is just as good. Or better.

Castle rubs his hair with the towel and drops it over the bar, then pokes around her products littering the counter, searching for-

Ah, this will work. Moroccan oil - just a little bit. He runs it through his wet hair and then searches the bathroom for his boxers and shorts, pulls them on. He swipes at his brow with his arm, sweating again, and finds his tshirt at the foot of her bed.

Then he stands in her bedroom doorway and studies her in the lines of light coming in through the shuttered windows.

He likes watching her curled up in the chair in her black underwear, a white tshirt pulled on over her green bra. He likes that it doesn't match, that he can see the outline of her bra, that she hasn't yet put on makeup, that she's dipping her foot in time to some internal beat as she reads.

"When'd that come?" he asks.

"Last night." She looks up from the manuscript. "I got home and a stack of ten were at the door. They called me this morning, while the maintenance guy was here, told me to read them in two weeks and write a one-page summary on each one, letting them know if I thought it was worth pursuing."

"So. . .what do you think?" He moves through her living room and sinks down into her couch. His head rests against the couch cushions and he lets his eyes follow the lines of her body, all angles as she begins to unfold from the chair.

Kate drops the manuscript on her coffee table as she comes towards him; she slides a leg over his hips as he slouches on the couch. Castle steadies her with his hands at her waist, waits until she's settled, straddling him, sitting back on his thighs.

"Dutton Books - they were the first ones to email me back, Monday, but I wasn't sure - still I told them go ahead. But Castle - they sent over young adult manuscripts - they have more unsolicited mail coming in than they know what to do with, and this was the genre they needed help in."

"Dutton. . .Dutton. . ." He tries to remember who it was he contacted at that publishing house, but it's hard to concentrate with Kate sitting astride him, her arms looped around his neck.

"Castle. Young adult. I thought you said it would be police procedurals, something I know-"

"Oh, well. I just sent around a general query; honestly, you're not going to get - usually not - just one genre to read."

"Well. I'm reading a stack of unsolicited mail - and really, Castle, I don't know that it's worth it."

"You don't have to read the whole thing, you know."

She shrugs and her knees squeeze his hips; he drops his hands to her thighs and rubs up and down, liking the smooth play of skin. She must have just shaved, because the night before-

"I feel like I owe it to - whomever, the writer - to read the whole thing," she sighs, glancing over her shoulder at the abandoned manuscript.

"I don't think you need to feel that way," he says, making an effort to follow the conversation. "You can always tell within the first five pages if it's going to be worthwhile."

"But what if it's just because I don't know young adult literature? I mean - I have no idea what passes-"

"You read Harry Potter, right?"

She nods. "And I liked it. But other than obvious magical properties, how am I supposed to judge these when I'm not an angsty teenager?"

"Don't think about it like that. Young Adult isn't a crap genre that gets all the authors who can't write well enough for adult fiction. In fact, I'd say you have to be better if you write for teens. You have to stand up to a lot more scrutiny, a lot more apathy. I mean - jeez - young adults are going to turn on you if you're even a bit disingenuous. So read it as a person who expects a good story, a character that rings true, an absence of parental involvement, and then, yes, some angst."

She leans back from their spot on the couch, her muscles taut with effort as she snags the manuscript, coming back up to hand it to him. "So this one. Read the first page, tell me what you think."

He's still a little dazzled by that acrobatic display, and the strength in her body, the feel of her knees as they squeezed him so she could hold on, the clench of her thighs, and he takes the pages reluctantly, his eyes riveted to hers.

She smirks. "Read it, Castle. We already did that."

"We could do that again."

"Later."

"How later is later? Because I'm getting the sense that your definition of later and my definition of later are somehow-"

"Let's finish this conversation so I know what I'm doing with the young adult stuff, okay? Then we can ponder the semantics of later."

He sighs and turns to the book, his eyes reluctantly moving away from her. As soon as he begins reading the words, the opening chapter, he realizes why she's hesitant about reviewing these unsolicited manuscripts.

She knows he was rejected a lot before he was published; she also knows the power a story can have in someone's life. She doesn't want to screw someone out of their one opportunity just because young adult novels don't hold that same sway over her that others do. (His. Like his do.)

She's trying to be fair, yes, but she's trying to leave room for the miraculous, the mystery, the power of words to open the reader's heart and make a lasting, amazing impression. To change a life, just as his changed hers.

He scans the pages, just to indulge her, and then lifts his eyes back to hers. "With great power, comes great responsibility."

She breathes out in a rush, sitting back. "Yes." Her eyes glance to the pages, then back up at him. "That's exactly it."

"You're being very responsible, Kate. Too responsible. This book is crap."

She laughs unexpectedly at that, an eyebrow quirking at him, and he tosses the manuscript over her shoulder and back onto the coffee table.

"But you knew that," he adds.

She sighs, still smiling, and shakes her head. "Yeah, I did. It jumps character point of view in the first ten pages, changes verb tense, and there's still no actual conflict. Not to mention, I can't even begin to care about this boy."

He grins. "The verb tenses - that's the editor's job. Don't worry if the writer can't spell or if the verbs are messy. With that one, well, yeah, it totally detracts from the story but-"

"There is no story."

"Right. It detracts from the writing, and honestly, I don't think anyone wants to listen to a sixteen year old boy moan and whine about taking the ACT for the second time."

Kate brushes her fingers across his shoulders, down to his elbows, rests her palms against his forearms. "I sure don't. But I think I need to do a little research. Just to - get a sense of this."

"A sense of moaning and whining? Of sixteen year old boys? Because I can do whining and moaning-"

She squeezes, fighting a laugh. "No. Of young adult books. I might check some out of the library. Or ask Alexis. I know she's probably too old-"

"Oh no. Nope. Not too old. I caught her re-reading Twilight a couple nights ago. Twilight, Kate. I'm - I'm so ashamed."

Kate does laugh at that, then shifts on his lap and puts her knee into the couch, gets off of him. He sighs in remorse, letting her see it, and Kate leans back in to brush her mouth against his, light and teasing.

"Come on. Since we missed whatever it was you wanted to do, let's go get pizza and take it back to your place. My apartment is burning up."

"I'm all sweaty again; I'm sticking to your couch."

"You are. And I might have a source of income once more - limited thought it may be - but I am not paying for you to take another shower."

He's proud of how easily she gets along with his daughter when she's not trying so hard. She's naturally reserved, but Alexis can be too, and when it's real - like what he told Kate about the young adult novels - then Alexis responds.

They spend most of dinner talking about young adult literature - the stuff that Alexis has read and why she liked it, going so far as to dig down deep and expose the roots of a good story, why Harry Potter was so great, why others aren't.

Which means that Castle can't keep his mouth shut and let them have this moment; he's got to put in his two cents on the idea, let them know what he thinks attracts a reader and holds him.

After the pizza has gone cold, and the wine is room temperature, and Alexis has run upstairs and brought back down a host of novels for Kate to read - background information, she says - they move to the living room and start thumbing through some of the books.

John Green, Margaret Peterson Haddix, Laurie Halse Anderson - honestly, Castle hasn't read these, but now he's interested. He wants to read them with her and see-

Ah, no. She would probably not - yeah, he can't see Kate going for that.

"Oh, read this one-" he laughs, holding up a white book with a rainbow of feminine silhouettes along the top. "An Abundance of Katherines. I like it already."

Alexis laughs, Kate gives in with a roll of her eyes and takes the book. "Fine. I'll read this one first-"

"Wait, wait," he cautions, holding her by the wrist and glancing to Alexis. "Is it sad? Will it make her cry?"

"Castle," she hisses.

Alexis looks back and forth between them and then shrugs. "Most of his books made me cry. So. I don't know. Yes?"

Kate sighs, Castle sighs, and their eyes meet. She smirks at him, an eyebrow raised. And then she turns to Alexis. "Your dad's book made me cry. And now he's rubbing it in my face."

"Dad!"

"I am not," he retorts, tugging Kate by the wrist to pull her in close. "I'm - okay. A little bit. Sort of. But I tease because I love."

"Funny way to show it."

"Yeah, I've heard that before," Alexis huffs at him, but her eyes are bright - really bright - and she's basically vibrating with excitement.

And then he realizes she's happy for him, happy because Kate is here and with them, happy because they're sharing this, and happy because Castle off-handedly said he loved her, and Kate just accepted it without a flicker of hesitation.

"Castle?"

He glances over at her and she's asking him questions with her eyes, the set of her half-smile. Instead of answering, he leans in and presses a kiss, gentle and quiet, to her mouth.

She lifts two fingers to his jaw, a thing of hers, a way of guiding him that he's starting to like - no, love - and she kisses him again, just as quiet, just as certain.