“Congrats, sweetie. You deserve this,” she says. “I’ve got to head into a meeting, but I’ll have my assistant email you in a few.”
Rosalie ends the call, and I sit in stunned silence, letting it sink in. I’ve been rejected dozens upon dozens of times before, and I certainly expected a “no” from one of the most prolific publishing houses ever to exist.
My body is electric, energy humming from every extremity. I send a mass text to everyone… Rhett, Viv, Bostyn, my mom, and a few other writerly friends, and within seconds, I’m flooded with congratulatory messages.
I let myself gloat and revel, unable to wipe the smile on my face, and after an hour or so, I force myself to sit down and work. This second book isn’t going to write itself. Closing out of my current project, I open up a blank Word document. I have no idea where to start or what I’m going to write about.
The best friend in Hard Hearted was loosely based on myself, and now I’m tasked with making her fall in love and giving her a happily ever after.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
I’m staring at a blank screen for God knows how long when my phone buzzes with a text.
* * *
Rhett: WANNA CELEBRATE?
Me: NO TIME TO CELEBRATE. GOT TO WRITE BOOK TWO!
* * *
Rhett: LOCKE IS OUT FOR THE DAY. COME OVER.
* * *
Me: WORKING…
* * *
Rhett: WHY DO YOU FIGHT ME? YOU KNOW I’M GOING TO WIN. ALWAYS DO.
* * *
Me: COCKY MUCH?
* * *
Rhett: CAN YOU SPARE ME THE SMART ASS TEXTS AND JUST COME THE FUCK OVER IMMEDIATELY SO YOU CAN SIT ON MY FACE? YOU KNOW YOU NEED A CELEBRATORY ORGASM.
* * *
Me: POETIC.
* * *
Rhett: CUM OVER. NOW.
* * *
Me: I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE.
* * *
Rhett: ENOUGH WITH THE CUTE SHIT. SHUT DOWN YOUR COMPUTER AND COME OVER. WE’VE GOT THE PLACE TO OURSELVES FOR AT LEAST THREE HOURS. I’M CONFIDENT I CAN GIVE YOU AT LEAST FIVE CELEBRATORY ORGASMS IN THAT AMOUNT OF TIME.
* * *
Me: FIVE? THAT’S RATHER AMBITIOUS, DON’T YOU THINK?
* * *
He doesn’t respond. Maybe I’ve frustrated him. I’m not intentionally playing hard to get, it’s just that I need to start this novel. And now his silence is concerning. He’s probably using some kind of reverse psychology on me where the chaser becomes the chasee, and it’s kind of working.
I love it when he wants me so badly he begs and tries to bribe me with orgasms.
And I know an hour from now I’m going to be sitting here with wet panties and a throbbing core desperate for the featherlike, feverish strokes of his brilliantly talented tongue.
I call him, and he answers immediately.
“You win,” I say.
“Always do,” he says. “See you in an hour.”
Twenty-Eight
Rhett
* * *
“Where are you from?” Ayla sits up in bed, propped on her elbow as she studies me.
I can’t stop touching her, and I can’t imagine ever getting sick of seeing her naked in my bed.
“Grew up in Toledo, Ohio,” I say. “You?”
“Grew up all over the place,” she says. “Mom settled in southern California when I was in high school. You have a big family?”
“Just a younger brother,” I say. “Mom and Dad are still married. Dad’s a retired used car salesman. Mom stayed at home. Grew up in a modest little ranch house with a one car garage and a tree fort in the backyard.”
“Idealistic childhood?”
“Hardly.” I place my hand on the bend of her hip, where minutes ago I gripped her flesh as she came on my cock. “My parents were weird.”
“How so?”
“Controlling, never let us have friends over, wouldn’t let us stay go anywhere without them…” I say. “Want me to go on?”
Ayla wrinkles her nose. “Why were they like that?”
“They were just paranoid that something bad was going to happen, I guess?” I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t know. It’s how they were. I don’t even think they knew why they were like that half the time.”
“So you were sheltered?” she asks.
I bite my lip. “Yeah, I guess. Only time I left the house was for school or hockey. Only took up hockey so I had an excuse to be around other kids. Turned out I was really fucking good at it.”
She smiles, laughing through her nose. “So it all worked out.”
I nod. “Yeah. What about you?”
“It was always just Mom and me,” she says. “We moved a lot. My mom is the most free-spirited person you’ll ever meet.”
“I bet that was rough, moving so much?” I pull her into my arms, letting her body heat meld with mine.
She nuzzles against my shoulder. “Yeah. I was always the new kid. Didn’t help that I was extremely nerdy and all I wanted was for people to like me, so I let them walk all over me. Made me an easy target. Kids can be such little shits sometimes.”
“I’m sorry.”
She blows a breath past her lips. “I’m over it. Now. It got better once we settled outside of LA and stopped moving around so much. I had some nicer friends in high school. Even got me a boyfriend.” She nudges me, teasing. “It worked out.”
“I’d have dated you in high school. I’d have dated the shit out of you.” I kiss her forehead. “But my parents would’ve probably chaperoned.”
She laughs.
The door to my apartment slams, followed by the sound of Locke calling for me.
I groan, and Ayla sinks back into the bed, releasing a frustrated breath. I thought we had all afternoon.
“Rhett,” Locke calls out again, his voice growing closer. He must be on the other side of the door.
“One sec,” I call out, slipping my clothes on.
He’s pounding on the door, ignoring my request for patience. “Rhett, I got the deal. They’re buying my app. Five million, baby! Let’s go celebrate. Drinks. Right now. On me.”
I zip my fly, fasten the button, and yank the door open, keeping it closed enough so he can’t see Ayla.
“You have someone over?” he asks.
I give him a look that says, “No shit.”
“That girl?” he asks. “The one from the other day?”
I nod.
“Come on Rhett’s girlfriend, let’s go grab some drinks. I just made five million bucks,” Locke says, trying to press his face through the opening in the door.
“Fucking weirdo, get out of here,” I say, shoving him back.
“You guys coming or what?” he asks from the now-closed door.
I turn to Ayla and she shrugs, trying not to laugh. “Sure.”
“Yeah,” I call out. “We’re coming.”