Lauren rises and waves nonchalantly like she hasn’t just detonated a bomb in my chest. “But again, I’m just speculating, thinking out loud. I’m sure Nick will settle down when he meets the right person. Have a good rest of your day, Jessica.”
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. What is there to possibly say?
And why does the thought of Nick meeting the right person, a person who isn’t me, feel like I just found out there’s no Santa?
Chapter Ten
Nick
The moment Jess leaves the room, the door shutting solidly behind her, I breathe for the first time this morning.
Fuck.
I can’t believe what I did to her this morning, even if it was merely my subconscious that was being a total dick. Stroking her soft skin, nuzzling into her neck. Thrusting my rock-hard cock against the sweet curve of her ass.
Nope.
No need to visualize that one.
I push out of the armchair and grab my laptop, needing to turn my attention to anything but the memory of waking up with her in my arms. There isn’t a great writing space here in the room, but I don’t want to venture into the lobby. If I see her, it will only lead to distraction, and I need to get some words on the page before I lose this spark. I haven’t felt this inspired for at least a week; the rush of my new story has been a temperamental beast.
I climb onto the bed, resting my back against the headboard and creating a pseudo desk with a stack of pillows.I ignore everything I’ve written so far—I don’t reread any of my writing until I completely finish the first draft—and dive in. My characters have taken shape, in my head at least, over the past twenty-four hours, and I know exactly where I want them to go.
I still don’t know what broke them up in the first place, and it’s unlike me to draft without fully understanding my characters’ backstory, but I can’t seem to find a good reason for their original breakup. They’re so clearly suited for each other, there doesn’t seem to be anything that could reasonably tear them apart. And if I can’t settle on a reason for their breakup that seems reasonable and realistic, the readers will never go for it.
But I’m not going to worry about that now. There’s one scene in particular that has been living in the forefront of my mind, and after this morning’s events I can see it so clearly, I know I need to get it out on the page before I lose it.
I’ve always hated writing sex scenes, and it’s one of the things that hasn’t gotten any easier with time and experience. I know that romance novels don’t need them; there are plenty of amazing closed-door books out there.
But when I was writing with Jess, well, a lot of times I would present her with a hypothetical—would this position work or what would happen if I did this to you?—and that hypothetical would lead to some of the best sex I’ve ever had, before or since. So I wasn’t exactly shying away from putting as many sex scenes as I could think of into my books, not when it meant I would get to live them myself.
And now my readers expect sex to be there on the page. I still have to write it, only now it’s without the benefit of a partner willing to act out the scenarios with me.
Today I don’t really need to act anything out, the vision’s so vivid in my mind that my characters’ first time together comes pouring out of me. I type as fast as I can, the words barely keeping up with my train of thought.
I don’t pause for a break, even though my throat has gone dry and my cheeks are flushed.
Jess barrels in, a wild expression on her face, and I’m so surprised to see her, am so wrapped up in what was happening on the page, I almost throw my computer across the room. Luckily, I have the foresight to save my work before slamming my laptop shut, as if there was some chance of her seeing what I was writing.
I wonder if I look as disheveled as she does as my breathing recovers from the shock of her walking in on me while I was consummating my characters’ relationship. Her chocolate-brown hair, which she’d thrown up in a messy bun this morning, is now well beyond messy, like she’s been raking her fingers through it.
I used to love raking my fingers through her hair.
I sit up, swinging my legs to the side of the bed. I take a deep breath so my tone is even and measured—the exact opposite of how I feel in the moment. “Everything okay?”
She opens and closes her mouth a few times, like she is struggling to make the thoughts in her brain connect with her mouth. Finally, after a few awkward pauses, she shakes her head. “Everything’s fine.” She stashes her own laptop back in her bag and collapses into the armchair.
I check the time. “It’s going to be time for dinner soon. Should we go down to the restaurant and get something to eat?”
Her eyes widen. “Should we be seen together? There’s still a ton of SVP people here.”
My brow furrows with genuine confusion. “So? We’re just two colleagues who happen to be trapped in a hotel during a snowstorm. We all need to eat.”
She nods, her teeth pulling on her bottom lip. A sure sign she’s got a million thoughts running through her mind that she can’t quite untangle. “Right. Totally normal then, for us to go to dinner together.”
“Are you sure everything is okay?” She’s even more flustered than I am. I wonder what kind of scene she was writing before she burst back into the room.
She flashes me her fake smile. “Totally okay.” She stands and heads for the bathroom. “Give me a few minutes to freshen up, and we can head down.”
