Page 97 of Story of My Life
Hazel leaned forward. “Do you mean Jake Keaton, and if youdomean Jake Keaton, does that mean you readJust a Summer Fling?”
I sighed and, not spying an easy way out, shrugged. “Look. I like to read, and I wanted to see what fresh hell I was getting myself into.”
“You read my book.” She looked both shocked and triumphant.
“I didn’t finish it yet,” I hedged. “I just started it yesterday.”
I was actually more than halfway through the damn thing. I’d started it the night before and had been up until after two turning the pages, but I didn’t feel the need to share that. I’d decided to put the book down after having a very physical reaction to the first almost-sex scene. And I sure as hell wasn’t sharing that.
“Did you figure out what you were getting yourself into?” she asked, picking up her wine.
“I thought this was supposed to be a date. Shouldn’t we be making small talk about hobbies and pets?” I deflected.
“You’re right. I forgot. So did you borrow the book from your sister or did you download a copy so no one would know what you were reading?”
“This fontina porridge with snails sounds…good,” I said, pointedly studying the menu.
“Uh, no, it doesn’t. Who likes cheesy snails?”
“Huge fan,” I lied. “I have a cheesy snails banner hanging over my bed signed by the chef.”
She snorted out a laugh. “Your pants are so on fire.”
“How about this weather?”
“How about you don’t have to be embarrassed, Cam? Lots of men read romance.”
She was enjoying my discomfort a little too much.
“For the record, I’m not embarrassed. I read everything. Including romance.”
“Interesting,” Hazel said, studying me in amusement over the rim of her wineglass.
“No. It’s not interesting,” I argued.
“I disagree. Either you were nervous about this little date of ours and wanted some insight into what was expected,oryouthought reading one of my books would make you more helpful. Either way, that’s book-boyfriend material.”
I squirmed on the hard plastic chair.
“What I want to know is did you decide to torpedo the date before or after you started reading?” she asked.
“I didn’tdecideto torpedo the date,” I insisted. Okay. So maybe I’d considered the idea of putting some distance between us. But there hadn’t been an official decision or a plan of action…besides choosing a restaurant that I thought would deliver an annoying, confusing dining experience.
“Look, if you don’t want to do this, you don’t want to do this. Consent is very important, especially for romance novelists. I’m sorry for making you feel like you couldn’t say no,” Hazel said, reaching for her tiny purse.
Shit. This wasn’t what I wanted. Well, technically it was, but now I felt like an asshole.
“Do you wanna get out of here?” I asked.
She gave me a “duh” look as she reached into her bag and pulled out some bills. “That’s what I’m doing. I’m getting ready to storm out.”
“You’re paying for our drinks and then storming out? Don’t you think it would be more heroine-y to throw your drink in my face and make me pay?”
“I was going to chug the wine and sashay my ass out of here,like a lady. I’m not really open to your edits at this point.”
I watched, impressed, as she drained her glass and set it back on the table. With a dainty burp, she pushed her chair back from the table, nodded at me, and stalked off.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
