Chapter 7
“Please tell me you’re making progress.”
Chloe lay in bed, eyes closed, phone propped to her ear. It was way too early for this many questions.
Through a stifled yawn she mumbled, “What?”
“Lovestruck, Chloe. You are making progress, right?”
Forcing her eyes open, Chloe tried to focus on the digital clock through sleepy-eyed blurriness.
7:30 a.m.Way to go, Chloe.
The night before, she’d devised this amazing plan to wake up at 5:30 a.m., listen for Dylan’s loud motorcycle, then dart outside, beg him to give her the manuscript she’d left sitting on his counter.
Ingenious.
If, that is, she had carried out said plan.
“Hello? Chloe are you there?”
More questions.
“Uh…I’m here.” She kicked the covers off her body and sat up at the edge of the bed. “What was your question again?” She was stalling, not really in the mood to have this or any conversation.
“Are you okay, Chloe?”
Am I okay?
Cue the sarcasm…
“Sure. Everything’s just fine. And regarding your question, yes, I am making progress.”
Sort of.
Peering out the window behind her bed, she spotted Dylan’s motorcycle.
“He’s still here!” The excitement in her charged through the phone.
“What? Who’s still here? Or there? Or wherever?” Libby was probably as puzzled as she sounded.
Feeling as though she were too stoked to carry on with questions she didn’t care to elaborate on, Chloe said, “Libby, can I call you later? I’ll have a full update then. Promise,” she added, ending the call before Libby had the chance to respond.
Tossing her phone onto the bed, Chloe dashed out of her bedroom and barreled down the stairs.
Knock on his door and ask for your manuscript.She kept reciting her mission statement until she was facing Dylan’s front door.
Knock woman.
And after three knocks, no answer.
Crap.
Perhaps it was his day off; he was sleeping in?
Defeated, Chloe dragged herself back inside, sulked her way back upstairs into the bedroom, then buried herself under the covers where she felt like she could stay forever.
The humiliation of Dylan reading the words written on the first pages of Project Sizzle, was equivalent to someone reading secrets in her diary.
