Page 148 of Story of My Life
“Where do you want these?” I pulled out two of the paperbacks on top. They were the first two books in Hazel’s own series.
It was there and gone, carefully covered by a blank expression, but I knew what I saw. Pain flickered across her face for just a second.
“Those are…extras. They can stay in the box,” she said, snatching them out of my hands and putting the books back.
I was debating whether I should ask the question when a creepy screech scared the hell out of us both.
“What the fuck?” I demanded, instinctively putting myself between Hazel and the doorway.
The goddamn raccoon sat on her haunches in the doorway, looking pissed off.
“Bertha wants her dinner,” Hazel said.
“Seriously? We already blocked off the chimney in the guest room,” I said, taking a step toward the nocturnal mammal.
“Well, she found another way in. She’s smart.”
“She’s not smart. She’s food-driven, and you’re feeding her.”
Hazel shrugged. “I always wanted a pet.”
“You can do better than a raccoon with a shitty attitude.”
33
THE BROTHER
HAZEL
The endof August oozed by, dragging with it a thick blanket of humidity. Construction was marching along at a fast clip. I had a roofing crew on top of the house, drywallers in the kitchen and on the second floor, and the Bishops everywhere.
Cam and I were excelling at pretending like we weren’t seeing each other naked regularly. We’d even taken a break from sex to grab dinner at a tourist-packed restaurant in Dominion after both agreeing it wasn’t a date. It was fuel for sex.
Best of all—despite the constant noise and interruptions—my words were flowing. I had the skeleton of an actual story and was making progress every day…thanks to all the naked inspiration my real-life hero was providing.
My heroine had just stepped out of the shower to discover her secret lover contractor locking the door. “I’ve got ten minutes to make you come before anyone notices I’m missing,” I typed gleefully as the hero dropped tool belt and trou.
Was there such a thing as too many sex scenes? According to my editor, yes. But real-life experience was proving that more was better. Way better.
I was pondering exactly how the hero was going to pleasure the heroine on the bathroom vanity when motion on the other side of my glass doors caught my eye.
I stripped off my headphones as Zoey strolled inside. “I’ve got news.”
I closed the lid of my laptop and left my characters unfulfilled.
“You need a chair in here,” she said with a frown.
“But then people will want to hang out in here where they’re not welcome.” I gave her a pointed and phony smile.
“Hey, you said you wanted to write until two. It is now four fifteen p.m.” she said, consulting her watch.
“Seriously?” I opened my laptop again and checked my word count. “Wow.”
“Making progress?” Zoey perched on the edge of my desk.
“Actually, yeah.”
“Good enough to send a few chapters to the publisher?”
