Page 60 of Pretty Obsessed

River had showed up at my door, and whereas we'd called this fuck buddies, it felt like more every time he called me dearest.

"You figured this was?" he prompted when I didn't go on.

"A week thing."

He tugged me into his lap, fixing the blankets so the chill edging into the air in the cabin kept off our skin. "I want to keep doing whatever this is, why does it have to end after the cabin? I know we are both busy people, and you will have books to write, and I will have shows to play, but that doesn't mean you can't come spend a few days in my world."

His reasoning was sound. He had spent a few days in my world. "Okay."

"Good. When you're finished, send me a message and there will be a ticket waiting at the airport for you."

I laughed. "Just like that?"

"Yes, just like that. I don't need to mess around. I have the money and time. I'll leave it open-ended and when you need to be home you can leave." He smiled at me and I wanted to bottle it. Instead, I leaned forward to taste it. "Only don't tell Alice I'm at fault for any further delays."

"Simple too."

"I've found making things easy is the way to go. Why complicate what we don't need to?”

But weren't we complicating everything? "Maybe this will be the motivation I need to finish faster. Where will you be in a couple of weeks?" I draped my arms over his shoulders.

He reached for his phone searching for a moment before turning it towards me. "Depends. We have Asia and then Europe. NYC thrown in there for my birthday, more touring, and then we'll be someplace working on an album when the tour is over. I don't know which studios they've booked. That's up to Iris and Cas and where they feel comfortable working."

I studied the schedule like I'd have any idea when I could finish. I made calculations in my head if I did so many words a day and had so many words left, but it wasn't conceivable to do. I never knew how many words I had left. The book wasn't over until the book was over. I wouldn't know until I got there.

"That's a lot of travel." I offered him the phone back.

"I'm used to it." He set it aside.

"What if I can't write when I lose my mid-afternoon blow jobs, and my hours of nightly fucking?" I asked, feigning innocence.

"I'm going to text you, and you can't cum until you hit your word goals."

"My phone doesn't have signal up here."

"Okay, write them down on a piece of paper, and since you can't tell me when you're going to watch the videos we've made up here, you'll have to hit your word counts each day before you use them."

"Oh, so when I'm in the cabin I don't have to tell you when I watch?"

He shook his head. "No, you will have to keep a journal and compile a list."

"You wouldn’t really expect that…"

"I already do. Use one of those fancy notebooks you never write in." He grabbed my bulge. "I don't want to wait months to see you. You need to get your words in."

I squirmed in his lap. I didn't want to wait either. I didn't want to wait days. He could get laid any time he wanted. I, like a normal person, had to really seek out sex this good, and since I lived like a damn hermit and never went anywhere but the club, it was a little harder.

"I'm going to finish as quick as I can."

"Good, that's what I like to hear." He leaned closer, kissing me. “I have a few more days, maybe you can finish before I leave and come with me.”

“That seems a little far-fetched.” I mentally returned to my story. I was a hard-core pantser. I knew where my story was going, but I hadn’t connected all the dots in between. I liked to surprise myself as much as my readers. Writing would always be for me first.

“Why?” he asked.

“I guess it just depends. I don’t plot out my books in full. I write what I feel, and what excites me. I don’t know what it will take to get the characters emotionally where they are going until they are there. Or what will fuck it up in-between.”

He nodded and as another creative maybe he understood it in parts. I’d never done well trying to explain my process to someone who wasn’t another writer. They gave me blank stares and quizzical looks like I might be losing it. And I kinda thought most writers were losing it.

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