Page 9 of Wait With Me
Hannah is the queen of romantic comedy and was the very first author friend I made in the independent publishing community. We both had breakout books around the same time and were so new in the industry, we kind of clung to each other for survival. She lives in Florida with her husband and three kids, but I see her a few times a year at book signings. We talk almost every day about book crap and everything that amuses us. Hannah was the one to push me to keep going back to Tire Depot, so I never saw this coming.
I shakily grab my phone out of my back pocket and type out a text to her.
Me: You fucking whore.
Hannah: What?
Me: You know what. This pizza!
Hannah: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Me: Your name is on the receipt.
Hannah: CRAP! I thought it’d take you at least ten minutes to figure out it was me.
Me: Yeah, crap! I am fucking mortified, you idiot. I’m trying to keep a low profile, but that delivery guy probably had to go talk to the guys at the counter to figure out where I was. I am humiliated, and you are the worst! Don’t you have your own book to write? How do you have time for this?
Hannah: I’m shaking so hard with laughter, it’s difficult to type.
Me: I had my earbuds in, so I didn’t hear him calling my name. He listed off the food you bought for a football team and then handed it all to me—the chubby ginger creeping in the corner. Goddamn you!
Hannah: Is it good, though? I got you extra dipping sauces for those parm breadsticks. That cost extra, you know. I ain’t cheap.
Me: I can’t eat it because my mortification has killed my appetite! But…this does give me an excuse to try out the fountain pop machine, so…silver lining.
Hannah: My eyes are wet from laughing so hard.
Me: Yuck it up, yucky yuckerson. God, I was in the middle of writing an anal scene, so I was super in the zone too…it’s no wonder I didn’t hear him.
Hannah: STOP. MY STOMACH IS KILLING ME…ON ACCOUNT OF ALL THE LAUGHING.
Me: Well played, whore. Well played. And it’s the burn that keeps on burning b/c my inner cheap girl will NOT let me throw these leftovers away. So I’m going to have to carry them out of here.
Hannah: Oh, I was counting on that. Want to hear something horrible?
Me: What?
Hannah: I was going to do a sub delivery, but then I decided the pizza boxes were more embarrassing.
Me: You’re dead to me.
Fifteen minutes later.
Hannah: So I’ve been picturing you sulking and refusing to eat for the past fifteen minutes and then finally giving up and eating it anyway. Am I close?
Me: OMG, it’s like you’re here with me. That’s exactly what I did. This food is delicious btw. But I’m still not thankful.
Hannah: But you’re always welcome. ;) Best $53 I ever spent.
After finishing my lunch, I tuck the pizza under the chair in the corner where I like to sit in the afternoons because it’s close to the outlets and attempt to go back to writing. Honestly, I’ve had a full lunch, so that should gain me an extra three hours here today.
My hero is just busting out the lube when I notice a large frame standing peculiarly close to me. I glance up and nearly squeal in shock as the same hunky mechanic stares down at me.
How did he see me back here? This spot is super secluded, and no one ever sits here.
“Can I help you?” I ask, pulling my earbuds out and taking in the broad width of his shoulders. Today, Mr. Book Boyfriend is wearing blue jeans and a black, fitted Tire Depot T-shirt. He’s much cleaner than he was yesterday in his dirty coveralls that made me reconsider the profession of my current book hero.
“You’re back,” he states knowingly, his stunning blue eyes drinking in my yoga pants, T-shirt, and a baseball cap.
