Revise a novel under pressureandsocialize with the competition.
Fantastic.
“Who are we waiting for?” I asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the fifth name on the angled folder.
Elaine twirled a strand of hair and gave a slow, pretty smile. “Oh, right. You don’t know yet.”
“Know what?” I glanced at Jeremy, who just wiggled his eyebrows.
Then the front door opened.
And John freaking Kater walked in.
Chapter Six
I’d rather be in an X-Files fanfic than here.
John Kater is just like the rest of us.
And is in no way—even slightly—hot.
“Sorry, am I late?”
He stepped into the cabin with heavy thuds, shook snow from his coat, hung it and his scarf on the rack, then offered the group a polite smile.
I felt like I’d lost twenty minutes of time. Like I’d been abducted by aliens and plonked back down, missing the crucial part that explained where and how John Kater fit into this scene. Was he another organizer? Had his car broken down and he was just here to borrow a phone like it was 1992?
Wait—were we in 1992? Would Mulder and Scully bust in and interrogate me in a sexy, intense way?
Rewind.
Any of those explanations were better—far better—than the one that popped, unwelcome and terrifying, into my head.
But… that couldn’t be.
One after the other, the rest of the group excitedly shook John’s hand or kissed him on the cheek.
“Nora, you ok?” May, the older contestant, touched my shoulder. “You’ve gone all pale.”
Before I could respond—or faint—John turned to me and held out his hand.
“Hi, I’m John.” His large fingers closed around mine.
I wanted to say something. Like,I know,because the last time I saw your face, you were lying to me and ditching my manuscript like it was trash. Or maybe,Oh hey, John. I’m the woman who really wants to stab you right now.
But before I could crush his fingers into dust, he said, “And you are?”
What in the actual fuckery?
I waited for the punchline. But his expression was sincere. I was shocked he didn’t burst into flames from the rage radiating off me. Heforgotme? After what he pulled—making me pitch my work in front of an entire crowd like a contestant on Middle-earth’s Got Talent? Of course. Just another Tuesday for him.
I was still holding his hand. Still hadn’t decided whether to call him out or play along.
Jeremy made the choice for me.
“Looks like someone’s a little star-struck,” he said, clapping me on the back.
I yanked my hand away like it burned. “That’s not?—”
