Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Wait, I need to talk to you,” I shout at his retreating form. “His timing really is amazing.”
“Well, good luck getting him back now.”
“Oh please, like I can shock him anymore. Remember when he had to undress me?” On our group trip to Scotland, Jess was about to get into the shower, and in response to my panicked Help me text, she sent River, not realizing my emergency was being stuck in my dress. To his credit, River came in, tugged the offending garment up and off without hesitation, and walked right back out again. The man is unflappable. “Anyway,” I continue. “As you can imagine, I will be unable to think about anything else until I touch it again.”
She’s already protesting. “You’re actively on the show now!”
“Yes, but it doesn’t have to affect the show! This isn’t about feelings, it’s a distraction. I have a taste for him now.” I sigh. “I am a hunter.”
She nods in understanding. “Like James in Twilight.”
“Exactly like James in Twilight,” I confirm.
“Except how Alice popped his head off.”
I slap the table. “Why do you always intentionally miss my point!”
“The point is that this is going to end in disaster.”
“I really don’t think so. This is purely sexual. It’s not like he and I are going to fall in love. I am a loud, romance-writing, adventure-seeking, opinionated woman. And he is a tall, sporty white man named Connor Prince III. I think we can all agree it’s just a matter of time before I do something too shocking, or he’ll do something to annoy and/or bore me.”
My phone buzzes on the table between us. Connor’s face lights up the screen and Jess sees it before I can flip it over and pretend it’s my brother calling.
“You even put his picture in his contact info?” Her disgust is totally feigned. Under that baggy sweatshirt and sensible shoes, Jess is a giant drama queen. She is living for this excitement.
With a bright smile, I answer. “Hey, boss!”
“Hey, you. You have a few minutes for a postmortem?”
“That depends. Am I the dead body?” Across from me, Jess gives me a disapproving frown. I tap my forehead to remind her that face will give her wrinkles. I’m such a good friend and she never thanks me for these things.
Connor’s laugh is a low vibrating tickle to my lady parts. “It’s just a saying, Fizzy.”
I hit Mute and whisper to Jess: “His voice is so deep. Did I always know his voice was this deep?” Returning to the call, I say, “I know, I’m only joking. Yes, I am free to examine a proverbial dead body.”
He laughs again. “Cool. You home? I can come to you.”
“I can be home in ten.”
With a quiet “Great,” he hangs up.
And shit. If we eliminate the possibility that I am excited to see Connor, there is no remaining explanation for the way I bolt up to gather my things.
Jess follows me to the door. “What are you doing?”
“He’s meeting me at my house to do a debrief.” I tuck my phone into my purse.
“Is that a good idea?”
“Is it a good idea to discuss the work we are doing together?” I pretend to ponder it. “I think so.”
“Discussing it at your house,” she says.
I open the door, stepping into my shoes. “Guess we’ll find out.” When her frown intensifies, I add, “Fine. I promise we’ll stay out of the bedroom.”
“As if you need a bedroom,” she says.
I pause with my hand on the knob. “That is a great point. Okay, gotta go!”
“Wrist diameter!” she calls to me as I jog down the stairs.
“I don’t need to walk tomorrow!”
“How’s the writing going, Felicity?”
“This is research!” I call back.
I can practically hear her aggrieved groan as she waves from the front door.
twenty-seven FIZZY
Connor beats me to my place and is waiting on the porch, one broad shoulder leaning against the column at the top of the steps. He’s changed from the nice dress pants and button-down he had on earlier and is my favorite version of soft Connor: worn shirt, worn jeans, worn sneakers. In the moonlight and with the diffuse cone of light from the porch lamp overhead, he looks like a Hallmark cuddle come to life.
“How are you?” he asks as I approach.
“I’m great.” I reach him and stretch to kiss his cheek before realizing that’s not a thing I should do with my platonic producer bestie. His expression when I pull away is a mixture of amused and concerned.
“Sorry,” I say, and why not be fully honest here: “I was happy to see you and unfortunately did not hit the mental brakes in time.”
His face does a weird blip through a laugh and a grimace and finally settles on blankness. “No problem.” Soft Connor is now stiff as a board. “I just wanted to check in to see how the first week of shooting went for you, and whether you needed anything.”