Page 40 of Love is an Open Book
“You meanforme.”
He steps forward until the toes of his sneakers brush against my sandals. “No more of that.” The words are a growl, a rasp of delicious friction. I forget to breathe as his fingertip slides along my jaw—soft, slow—then gently hooks under my chin and tips up my face. “You’re not the only one who wants this, Mia.”
His eyes hold mine, blue rimmed with gray, and a millisecond later, drop to my mouth. He’s going to kiss me. Hewantsto kiss me. And I want it so badly that I freeze, as if a single movement would shatter the moment. My whole being is fixated on one request.Kiss me.
He doesn’t.
With a deep inhale—and oh, I feel the tension in him, tightly leashed—he drops his hand. The bop of pop music and the squeak of shoppers’ shoes filters in where a moment ago only the sounds of our intermingled breathing reached my ears. We’re in the middle of a mall in the afternoon. This is my friend Gavin. And I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone more.
I wanted him to press his lips against mine with an ache that’s throbbing in my chest, even though nothing about this setting is romantic. Nothing about this moment is right. Not the fluorescent lighting or the fact that he might be moving and leaving me behind. Nothing else matters but the person standing in front of me. Maybe my other relationships haven’t worked out because he’s what I’ve been looking for all along.
That thought jolts me out of my lust-induced haze, propels me backward, putting more distance between us. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t doubt your commitment again?” It’s meant to be a joke, but I wince at the weight of the wordcommitment. Commitments can be broken.
“Never.” Instead of letting the moment pass, he catches it, holds on to this new thread of connection between us. “I’m in this with you until you tell me we’re done.”
I believe him, but I suspect I’ll never be done. Not with him.
Word Count Goal:85,000
Current Word Count:24,901
Backspace, backspace.24,899.
Fictionally, I’m back on track. My real life is in shambles—rogue feelings for a bestie who might be moving hours away and a deadline that’s now only four weeks away, but hey, at least my muse has returned.
Maybe I’m writing to escape. That’s how I got my start, after all. Bored with classes that left no room for imagination. Needing a place to let my mind play. Maybe in the last few years,between the success of my career and all my close friendships, I’d stopped feeling like I was missing something.
But when I found out Gavin might be leaving, the illusion that we’d keep up this perfect existence was shattered. What better way to forget that looming possibility than burying myself in the book where I can write the ending and make sure it’s happy.
The past three days I haven’t left my condo. I’ve survived on a bag of stale popcorn and the raisins and peanuts leftover in a package of trail mix after scavenging the M&M’s. Twice I’ve fallen asleep with my face on the keyboard.
Victor and Sydney are starting to notice each other in ways they never have. The fall of his hair over his forehead has her heart aflutter; the way she commits to the scenes has him wondering if there’s more to this than acting. Now my dilemma isn’t getting them to notice each other, but to make them do something about it.
Every time they’re done acting, they go back to their old routines. I could send them on vacation, but this isn’t a destination romance. What readers and the show’s fans alike love about Victor and Sydney is their easygoing bond, the cozy familiarity of evenings on the couch and favorite booths at restaurants.
Their relationship isn’t far-off travels and a whirlwind fling. It’s nights in and GIF-filled text conversations. How will they ever hurry up and kiss already when she opens her texts and finds a picture of him flexing by the pool with a temporary tattoo of a grinning starfish that he got at his niece’s birthday party along with the text,Next tattoo, or nah?
Even the goofy photo has Sydney swooning, which is a testament to exactly how far gone she is. I’m typing Sydney’s thoughts about Victor’s toned chest and a peek of nipple when something solid nudges my shoulder. Since Frank is the only other living thing in here and he’s not capable of sentient motion, I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Nipples, huh?” Not something. Someone. My sister.
Heart racing, I don’t dignify her with a response. Mostly because I’m breathless from the scare. Sneaking up on me while I’m deep in the writing zone has been one of her favorite pastimes since we were kids. She has a key, and this isn’t the first time she’s barged in unannounced.
She bends down to get a better look at the screen. Her short curls are glossy, and I catch the hint of lime from the leave-in she got me hooked on. “About time our girl Syd finally woke up to the hotness that is Victor Lark.”
If Sydney’s anything like me, she probably wishes she could go back to blissful ignorance of his sex appeal. “Yeah, she’s noticing, but instead of doing something about it, all she’s done so far is wax eloquent—internally—about how attractive he is.”
Kim sets down the bags she brought and takes a seat on the chaise lounge I found at an antique shop with Sera. It’s the perfect spot to collapse in a dramatic swoon when I receive bad publishing news. Nothing hurts as much when you pretend you’re on a fainting couch in a regency romance, poised to reprimand a handsome rogue who dares assume you need rescuing.
My sister shifts around, crossing and uncrossing her legs like she’s trying to find a comfortable position, and if she hadn’t stopped by unannounced, I’d tell her it works best if you embrace your inner duchess. “Can’t you just make them kiss?”
I refrain from rolling my eyes because she loves to claim that being the older sister means she’s more mature. “They’re not Barbie and Ken. I can’t just smush their faces together without good reason.”
“The pleasure of kissing is reason in itself.”
“In real life, maybe. But without motivation, the characters will ring hollow,” I reply.
She frowns. “Might help if you took my advice and left the house once in a while.”
