Page 49 of Loved Out Loud
I watch as she enters her room and trades her Kindle for her laptop. She also toes off her shoes and puts on a pair of slippers that look like they’ve seen better days. I’m pretty sure there’s a hole in the toe. The last thing she grabs is her key, but interestingly she looks at and then leaves her phone behind.
“What are you reading right now?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“A thriller. I don’t read in my genre when I’m writing.”
“Is it any good?”
“It’s definitely a page turner. I could have stayed down there and finished it if I didn’t need to write tonight.”
I open my door, holding it open for her to enter first. Dragging a deep breath in when she brushes against my body, I drink in her scent. The urge to press her against the wall and fuck her is so strong. When she finally gives into this, I know I’m going to embarrass myself.
I still can’t believe I came in my pants. It should be embarrassing, but instead it was the hottest moment of my life. The memory alone of breathing in her sexy, little whimpers as she climaxed just from grinding over me fully dressed has me hardening. I’m not going to push her for anything more tonight.
As much as it pains me to do, I’m letting her make the next move. I need to be sure I’m not unknowingly pressuring her. That’s the last thing I would want to do.
She looks around my suite, pretty gray eyes widening at the large windows and balcony I have.
“May I?” She gestures toward the french doors with her head.
“Of course.”
I follow her over to the doors and then outside. There are two chaise lounges and a small patio table with four chairs. Large hedges line either side lending privacy from the other suites’ outdoor spaces.
“Can we work out here? At least for a bit?”
“I’ll go anywhere you go.”
She stops and looks at me, blinking several times before brushing off that statement. I’d give anything to know exactly what she’s thinking right now. To peel back the layer of her mind and look inside. Asking wouldn’t work, she’s good at answering without giving anything deep.
Only a few pink streaks remain in the darkening sky as we settle in. I take a chair at the table, so I can have my guitar in my lap but still be able to write out ideas. Soon the sound of her fingers flying over the keyboard fills the night air.
I sneak a few glances her way every so often. She’s lost in her own little world, catching her lip between her teeth and looking off into the distance every few minutes. The soft patio lighting casts a warm glow over her dark hair.
Finally after several minutes of creeping on her, I turn my focus to my music. At some point I’ll need to sit down with Xan and Tobias to get all these hammered out with the bass and drums, but for now I’m perfectly content. I write out a few chord progressions, testing them until I get the perfect sound for the lyrics I’ve already written.
I’m not sure how much time has gone by when the sound of sniffling draws my attention away from my task. The sight of silent tears running down Hazel’s cheeks is so gut wrenching it takes my breath away. I instantly set my guitar on the table and go to her.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” I rest a hip on the chaise lounge and try to look her in the eyes, but her attention is fixed on the computer screen in front of her.
Tear after tear rolls down her cheek. She doesn’t look up until I cup her face and wipe away the evidence of her sadness. Her eyes close, and her head drops back on the cushion behind her.
“I’m fine.”
“Your splotchy, tear-tracked face says otherwise. What’s going on?”
“I just got feedback from Greg back.” She shakes her head. “I know I shouldn’t be so hurt. He’s always been honest. I was just feeling so good about everything. I really thought I was going in the right direction for the story.”
“May I?” I gesture toward the computer.
Her eyes meet mine, and for the longest few seconds in the history of the world, I think she’s going to say no. But then she inclines her head slightly. I grab the laptop and shift my weight closer to her as I set it on my thighs.
Anger floods my veins at the first paragraph. This isn’t a critique of her work, it’s systematic destruction of her self-esteem. He starts out the email saying he’s proud of her, but this is some of the worst work he’s seen from her. That he doesn’t recognize the brilliant student he once mentored because she’s seemingly sold out in order to be successful.
What really gets me is when he infers that our current situation is just going to suck her down even further into mediocrity. He’s beyond elitist. This email is foul.
“Does he speak to you like this all the time?”
“He didn’t used to,” she says softly. “He has always been my biggest champion.”
