Page 43 of Lucky Shot
“The game scene?” I nod. “Yeah, in fact, that’d be great.”
“The book.”
“All of it?” I pause. Per usual, the idea of someone reading the words I’m writing (and yes, I know that’s the point) makes me break out into a cool sweat.
“Yeah. I’m intrigued.”
“You don’t even know what it’s about.”
“I know it’s about a hockey player.”
“Are you a big reader?” I think of Flynn. He reads every single one of my books, but I think that’s mostly because Olivia gets a kick out of it.
“Eh.” He bobs his head. “I wouldn’t say I’m a big reader, no, but I always have something on hand during the season while we’re traveling a lot.”
“What genres do you like?” I have a very nice visual of him in some reading glasses with a hardback in his hands. Maybe he’s more my type than I originally gave him credit for.
“All sorts. Some nonfiction, sports biographies mostly, an occasional fiction book.”
“What’s the last fiction book you read?” I ask. I am fine-tuning my visual and…I like it. I like it a lot.
“I read that murder mystery about the guy who turns into a vampire after having bad sushi.” He snaps his fingers as he smiles. “Becoming…”
The blood drains from my face and I work to keep my expression schooled. My voice wavers slightly. “Becoming Alaric?”
“Yeah. You know it?”
“I’ve seen it.” I look away and step out of the small room into the hallway. It isn’t his fault that he read the most popular book published last year, but my visual is officially ruined.
“Are you sticking around this afternoon?” he asks as he catches up to me with his long strides.
“I think I have what I need to get started editing.”
“Okay.”
I want to flee before he sees something in my expression I’d rather he didn’t, but instead I meet his gaze. “Thank you for helping me.”
His mouth pulls into a half smile. “You’re welcome.”
“Oh.” I remember I’m wearing his sweatshirt and pull it off.
“Do you need a ride back?”
“No, thanks. I think I’ll catch a ride to a coffee shop. I saw a couple cute ones on our drive in.”
“I could ask my dad to pick you up and take you back to the cabin.”
“No, it’s fine.” I hand him his sweatshirt back.
“It doesn’t bother you to write with people and noise?”
“I like to write with silence but when I’m editing, the more noise the better. I usually blast music.”
“My dad would get a kick out of that.”
“I’ll keep it down,” I promise.
“We’re used to it.”
