Page 11 of Just For Me
“We need a plan,” Sofie said thoughtfully. “She likes your books, right?”
“Si, she’s-a his biggest fan,”Nonnoanswered emphatically.
“Well, then, we just have to figure out what one of the guys in your books would do, and that’s whatyougotta do, Nicky.”
Heads bobbed in agreement all around the table. The idea held merit. Instead of approaching this as Nicholas Cerasino, former Marine and romance author, I needed to approach it as Nick Penn, creator of alpha male heroes with hearts of gold. Technically, one could argue that they were really one and the same, but none of my heroes would sit idly by when they found the woman they wanted to know better.
A slow smile curled the edges of my lips as I began to imagine the possibilities. This could actually work. All I had to do was imagine one of my heroes in the same situation and will the words to come. I wasn’t worried. Kat had unknowingly been the inspiration for everything my heroes did for a while now.
Several minutes passed before I realized everyone was staring at me expectantly. My smile turned into a grin. “If you’ll excuse me, everyone. I’ve got some writing to do.”
If Katherine O’Shea couldn’t come to see Nick Penn, Nick Penn was going to go to her.
Chapter 9: Kat
When I dragged myself out of bed late Sunday morning, I’d already made up my mind that I was done with prescription narcotics. The pounding headache had been the worst, but a solid ten hours of sleep took most of the edge off of that. I was still pretty stiff and sore, but nothing I couldn’t handle with a hot shower, some good old-fashioned over the counter pain relievers, and a heating pad.
Besides, I needed my wits about me today, and those pills made me loopy. Last night I had this crazy dream that the hot laptop guy I saw in the bookstore every week was actually Nick Penn.
I chuckled as I shuffled my way into the kitchen and made some coffee. That one ranked way up there on the wishful thinking scale, but I could totally see where my mind had gotten the idea. Every week he’d sit at one of the back tables with a big cup of coffee, looking all casual and sexy as his fingers tapped away at his keyboard. I didn’t know any authors, but I imagined that’s exactly what they looked like when they wrote. And really, what better setting to write than in a bookstore, especially one with free wifi, great coffee, and delicious homemade Italian baked goods?
As nice as it was to imagine sexy laptop guy as secretly being my favorite author, I was on the fence as to whether I wanted it to be real or not. On the one hand, it was pretty awesome to think that I might have actuallybeenthere when he was crafting one of his stories. On the other hand, it would mean that I’d inadvertently body-slammed and head-butted Nick Freaking Penn.
Of course, I could just log onto the bookstore’s website andknow.
But no, I wouldn’t do that now for the same reason I hadn’t up to this point. It was far more fun and exciting to imagine that sexy laptop guy and Nick Penn were one and the same than to know for sure they weren’t. They were in my fantasy land and that’s all that mattered to me.
Sticking with the soft food theme, I made myself some scrambled eggs, sprinkling some cheese on top to make up for my lack of chewy bagel on the side. After breakfast, I took another long, hot shower and donned some comfortable, loose fitting clothes, then went about my normal Sunday routine, albeit a bit slower than usual.
I threw in a load of laundry and did a bit of light cleaning. Since I lived alone and wasn’t a slob, it didn’t take me long. Then it was time to curl up on the sofa with a cup of coffee and read for a few hours. If things had gone according to plan, I’d be re-reading my new book, but since that wasn’t happening, I’d just have to settle for something else.
I’d just gotten cozy when my buzzer buzzed, announcing a visitor. I frowned, wondering who it could be. I rarely got visitors, except for the older woman across the hall. Occasionally she’d lock herself out, then ask to use my phone to call the building super.
I debated getting up. If I didn’t answer, she’d simply go to the next door and keep working her way down the corridor until she found someone willing to let her in and allow her to bend their ear till the super got his lazy butt up there. I felt kind of bad about that, but knowing her, she’d take one look at my face and feel obligated to fuss over me and make me relay every minute detail. Then she’d insist I needed a man to look after me and the rest of my afternoon would be spent listening to her talk about what a great catch her grandson Nelson was.
I was absolutelynotfeeling up to that.
I felt even less so when the buzzer buzzed again. And again. And again.
“Eff my life,” I mumbled. She wasn’t going to go away.
I uncurled myself from my little nest and went to the door, ready to add a bit of frost to my normally polite greeting. What I wasn’t ready for was seeing six feet of über handsome sexy laptop guy standing outside my apartment, looking concerned.
After that initial WTF moment, self awareness set in. While he looked insanely hot in his jeans and black leather duster, I was wearing baggy sweats and a faded football jersey. While his hair looked just-loved sexy, mine was pulled back into a no-fuss ponytail. And while his face looked freshly shaven and smooth, mine was bruised, slightly swollen, and totally sans make-up.
“Hi,” he said simply. Despite my horror, my toes curled at that deep, husky voice.
“Hi.”
“I heard what happened. Are you okay?”
I blinked, my mind zinging along at warp speed trying to figure out how he could possibly know. Since the only place we ever saw each other was the bookstore, he must have heard it there. I vaguely remember Officer Vinnie saying his grandfather was Mr. C.
“Yeah,” I answered lamely. “What are you doing here?”
Thick, dark eyelashes lowered and he offered a lopsided, shy grin. “I wanted to bring you this.”
I looked down, noticing the familiar looking bag he held out to me. Still, I didn’t move. We continued to stand there awkwardly until he cleared his throat and said unnecessarily, “It’s a book.”
