“I’m freaking out.”
“I can tell,” he says, his gentle smile making my heart flutter.
I run my hands through my hair. “The interview tomorrow… I can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can. You’ll be great.”
I shake my head. “No, I won’t. I’ll look like an idiot!”
“They chose you for a reason. They want you. That means you’re already qualified for it.”
I look down at my lap. “Maybe the old me would have been good, but not right now. I don’t even feel like a real author right now.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “I haven’t written in weeks. I’m supposed to be halfway finished with my new manuscript by now and I don’t have any of it done. I’m a failure. I had success with a new book and now everyone expects more from me and I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I can write the books they want me to write.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. He reaches up and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t know anything about being a writer, but it sounds hard. What kind of book do they want you to write?”
My breath shudders. I should just tell him the truth. That I write about Rosa Ramirez, the anti-romance private investigator who takes down crappy men one at a time. I should tell him how much I hate romance. Hate relationships. How much I refuse to ever be caught in one again.
But my words stick in my throat and all I do is shrug. “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I just need to find a way to get through this interview without looking like a total loser.”
“No one will think you’re a loser,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. “You’re amazing.”
All those same magical feelings from the night on the porch come back, manifesting themselves in the space between us on the couch. The hair on my neck prickles to life. My lips get all fuzzy and warm and desperate to kiss him. He looks impossibly handsome from the glow of the lamp in the corner of the room. His dirty blond hair is messy and practically begging me to run my hands through it.
I swallow.
“Can we talk?” he says quietly, his eyes telling me everything I need to know.
I shake my head. “I’d rather not.”
He frowns. “You know what I want to talk about?”
I nod quickly.
“The thing we haven’t talked about?”
I nod again. “I can’t talk about it.”
He chews his bottom lip and then looks up at me. “We kissed, Julie. We kissed. And it was nice. Really nice.”
A deep blush creeps up my cheeks.
Max’s cheeks look a little flushed too. “I was hoping to do it again.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. My voice sounds so far away. Like it belongs to someone else. Some other idiot who is about to turn down this gorgeous, incredible guy. I swallow. “That kiss was a mistake.”
“Was it? It didn’t feel like a mistake.”
“It was.”
“Okay. Well, thanks for clarifying.”
“Max, I don’t mean to hurt you it’s just…”
He shakes his head. “No worries, Julie. It’s fine. I’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”
