Page 108 of Lucky Shot
Hesitantly, she lifts the computer off her lap and hands it to me.
“It’s a locker room scene. I had this dream…” She trails off, looking embarrassed, then waves a hand as if indicating I should just read it.
It shouldn’t be possible to get hard reading the words but that’s exactly what happens. She’s written a very thorough, very hot locker room scene that has me wondering a whole lot about this dream.
“Is the hockey stuff accurate?” she asks when I look up.
“I have no idea. I blacked out. Fuck, Ruby. This is good.”
“Really?”
I nod, and then take the laptop with me as I settle back against the headboard. She comes to sit next to me, worrying her lip.
I scroll back up and read another scene. This one isn’t sexy, but a hockey game scene. I remember her asking me questions for this one.
For the next hour, I read and she cuddles up beside me. Her nerves fall away after the tenth or eleventh time I assure her it’s really good.
“You’re so talented.” I already knew it, even before reading this. “I have a confession.”
“What?” she asks, a slight edge in her tone.
“I readLove Bites.”
Her eyes widen. “When?”
“About a week ago.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Her expression falls. “Wait. Did you not like it?”
“No.” I chuckle. “It was great. But I had a hunch you’d be embarrassed if I mentioned it.”
“Yeah, that’s fair. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it’s weird thinking about the people who know me in real life reading my work. I don’t go to their jobs and judge them, you know?”
“People judge me at work all the time.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Yeah, I guess so. We have another thing in common.”
“One more confession.”
“I like this game.”
“I also read the rest of your books.”
She huffs a quiet laugh. “All of them?”
I shrug one shoulder. “What can I say? You have me hooked.”
In more ways than one.
25
RUBY
For the next five days I don’t leave the cabin except to walk down by the lake each morning or sit on the porch with my laptop when I feel like I need a change of scenery. I write and delete and rewrite and sometimes want to scream at the screen, but I don’t stop.
Aidan comes by every afternoon. He sits in the living room with his guitar and practices while I edit. I’m going to miss listening to him play when I leave.
Nick stops by in the mornings before he heads to the rink. I’m not always awake, depending on how late I stayed up writing the night before, but I know he’s been here because of the freshly brewed coffee waiting for me.
