Page 18 of Grace on the Rocks

“I came here to write,”Gracereminded them both.

“Sure.Butwriters need a muse.You’vesaid yourself you’re stagnated, right?”

“I don’t think that’s exactly whatIsaid,”Graceprotested, butWeswasn’t listening. “Hedoesn’t like books.”Shefrowned at her glass of wine so hard the bartender took it back to look inside. “Whodoesn’t like books?” she asked, and the bartender handed her drink back with a shrug.

“My point is, when did you last get laid?Maybea no-strings island bang is exactly the inspiration you need?—”

“What?”Gracespluttered, choking on her wine, and wishing her friend would crank the volume down a decibel or ten.

“Answer the question.”

“I’m not going to answer the question.”

“That, in itself, is an answer,”Wessaid, smirking like she’d won some sort of game.

“There’s nosexin my book!”Gracewhispered the wordsexand glanced quickly at the bartender, who raised his eyebrows.

“So?”

“So how could it possibly be an inspiration for a book aboutminors?”

Wes snorted. “Thefact you don’t think minors are having sex tells me everythingIneed to know.”

College.Collegewas the answer toWesley’sannoyingly intrusive question.Gracehad last slept with her college boyfriend about eight years ago, and then he went home toJacksonand she stayed behind inKnoxville, entering a long dry spell, which, honestly, she preferred.

Besides, she’d been very busy, first in grad school and then working the equivalent of two full-time jobs, as a school librarian and an author.Anauthor who was about to be in breach of contract if she didn’t deliver a second book by the end of this trip.Atrip which wasn’t a mistake, no matter how long they had to share their accommodations with a grumpy landlord and his bee tattoo.

“I wonder what his tattoo means,” she mused aloud.

“Who’s tattoo?”

This timeGracechoked on a french fry. “Mycharacter.”

“I thought your characters were all minors.”

“It’s just an exercise.Like, ‘Whatkind of tree would you be?’Besides, he’s an edgy artist and he’s already designed the tattoo he’s going to get the minute he turns eighteen.”Thiswas good.She’dhave to remember to write it down later.

“So you’ve designed it, but you don’t know what it means?”

“No,”Graceanswered, thinking quickly. “Ijust imagine itwouldmean something.”Lyingwas exhausting.

Wes nodded. “Orhe could be a dumb teenage boy and it doesn’t mean anything except he likes pizza.”

“Speaking from experience?”Graceteased, eyeing her friend, butWesley’sink wasn’t visible.

She grinned and shrugged. “I’venever been a teenage boy,”Wesreplied coyly.

“The thing aboutYAis the characters are usually really deep and brilliant.They’rethe embodiment of every mature thing the readers wish or believe themselves to be.”

Nodding once more,Weswhispered into her pint. “Ibet your readers would be thrilled to have a hot holiday bang.”

Grace sighed again and shook her head.Whenher editor had asked her to consider adding a romance to her sophomore book, she’d genuinely considered the idea before rejecting it completely.Whenher editor then explained how she could only offer a contract onGrace’soption if she added the romance, she’d given in, complete and utter sellout in need of a more reliable car that she was.

And it wasn’t because she’d grown upCatholicor because she was maybe a little bit of a prude, or any of the other things.Itwas because she didn’t want to do a disservice to her young readers by conditioning them to an idealized fantasy about sex and happily ever afters.Nowshe was stuck, her draft was a year and a half overdue, and they were threatening to revoke her advance.

“I’m really tired.Youready to bounce?”

“I mean,Iwas hoping to sing a duet, but it’s your tripIguess.”

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