“You want to help me?”
“I could try.”
“Have you ever written a book?”
I shake my head. “Obviously not, but I’ve read plenty. Where do we start?”
“It’s really okay, Calla. Thank you for offering, but I’ll figure this out. I always do. I just need to determine what this block is and why I can’t think of a good love story. Hell, I can’t even think of a steamy scene, and those are usually my go-to chapters when I’m stuck. I write the sex scenes first to find out what kind of characters I have. That’s where I see what they really—wow, okay, I have no idea why I’m telling you this.”
“Tell me more,” I say and sit in the chair across from him, hugging my knees to my chest. “Talk it out.”
He rubs a hand over his chin as a smile touches his lips.
“Just try it,” I encouraged him. “What can it hurt? Tell me why you can’t write a sex scene.”
His eyes close, and he shakes his head.
“Boy, you really lost all your words, didn’t you?”
“Seems that way.”
He finally looks at me, but his gaze flickers to my chest so fast I almost miss it. He starts to blush.
I glance down to see that my nipples are on high alert through my T-shirt. I cross my arms quickly.
Shit.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have looked.”
I open my mouth to say something snarky, but I change course quickly. He thinks he gets to do this to me. Nope. No way.
I stand and smile.
“Writing about sex should be no problem now. Just write about my round, perky breasts. Seems you’ve got the image of them fresh in your mind.” With that, I turn and walk out of his office. “I’ll just be upstairs eating dinner,” I shout behind me. “If you need more inspiration.”
Beck comes rushing out of the office.
“What?” I turned around quickly. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m going to cook you dinner. I’m grilling rib eyes. I even got you some things to relax with while I cook,” he says with a proud grin and walks right by me and up the stairs, skipping them two at a time.
Umm, what just happened?
Oh shit, the bubbles and candles were for me.
I close my eyes, cringing as I picture what he’s about to find.
Damn, a hot bath with flickering candles sounds really nice too.
Slowly, I make my way to the kitchen to find him standing in front of the cabinet where his plates used to be.
I’m unsure of what to say, and I feel a little guilty for evidently impacting his writing time with my nonsense of intentionally annoying him when he so clearly planned something sweet for me.
He starts laughing so hard that he folds over.
My lips tug into a smile, but I’m not sure if I should laugh with him or be scared he might be going insane.
“I… I have no idea where anything is,” he finally says. “It’s my kitchen, and I’m lost.”
