Page 133 of Story of My Life
ESCALATION
HAZEL
IntrepidReporterGuy:
Local romance novelist accused of boat theft, attempts to outswim the authorities.
Book Cam shot her a smoldering look as she stretched on tiptoe, reaching in vain for the curtain rod.
“You’re gonna fall on that very nice ass of yours.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Book Hazel said flippantly.
I leaned backand closed my laptop with a satisfied sigh. The cacophony of construction noises greeted me when I stripped off my headphones.
Framing for the pantry, the breakfast nook, and my mega walk-in closet was almost finished. The plumbers and electricians were warring for priority. My house was filled with noise and people and construction paraphernalia.
But my head was full of Cam.
One tryst with the man had given me much more than orgasms. I’d written nothing but sexy scenes since our secret night of hotness. It hadn’t done much to advance the plot, but I was certainly enjoying myself.
I’d given a phone interview for the feature Zoey had arranged and finally stopped in to Story Lake Stories and introduced myself to Chevy, the owner. We’d struck a deal that, were there to be a sudden demand for signed books, Chevy would handle the order fulfillment and I would pop in once a week to sign.
In nonwork news, I hadn’t been featured on the Neighborly app news feed since my sexathon with Cam. But there were signs I was starting to fit in.
Two elementary school–age sisters had knocked on my door, selling smelly candles for school, and I’d bought enough for them both to earn their class a pizza party. Goose had buzzed me on my bike ride around the lake yesterday afternoon. This time instead of hitting me with a fish, he’d tipped his wings in some kind of bird greeting…or maybe it was an apology.
Darius had invited me to some council dinner at the lodge that evening. Which meant makeup, adult clothing, and getting to see Cam away from his brothers. We’d kept our distance since Thursday night’s naked rodeo.
Officially, we were taking our time to make sure we were both still on board with the whole “no strings” situation. But I was starting to get antsy to see Campbell Bishop’s penis again.
The clomp of boots echoed down the hall, and I looked up in time to see the penis…er, man in question through the glass doors. He was carrying a long two-by-four over one shoulder. Our eyes locked, and he sent me a sly wink that had my cheeks flaming and my lady cave convulsing.
We were consenting adults who had the hots for each other. It was time we stopped dancing around it.
I was mentally reviewing my wardrobe for the perfect “fuck me” outfit when Zoey burst in without knocking. Her curls quivered with what I could only assume was excitement or rage.
“That son of a fucking shitheaded assclown,” she announced.
Gage paused outside the open door. “Everything all right?”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I assured him. Zoey had an emotional outburst at least once a week.
“No, it’snotfine. I’m going to drive to Manhattan and commit a murder.”
“I got a few extra body-sized tarps if you need ’em. Plus I’m real good at carrying dead weight,” Gage offered.
“I might take you up on that,” Zoey said menacingly.
“What’s going on? Did your cousin spill wine on your couch again?”
Her sniff was indignant. “That is a maiming offense. This is worthy of murder.”
She handed me her phone and immediately began pacing in front of my desk. The browser was open to an article from a niche literary journal. My ex-husband’s face grinned back at me from the photo accompanying the story. It was an old picture. One taken before his hairline had begun its slow retreat. He stood in front of a bookcase packed with awards and hardbacks, that familiar smug smile playing over his lips.
New York literary agent discusses storied career
“Gimme the ‘too long didn’t read’ version,” I said, skimming the text.
