When asked the same question, Harrison, evasive as ever, simply asked me if I was willing to be a Bruins fan, as if my response would at all impact his answer. That Leo Harrison is a charmer, as if all the ladies didn’t already know that. And for the record, I could become a fan if I even remotely understood the sport and had a good reason to be one.
Chapter Fourteen
Sophia
I hadn’t even returnedto my dorm after leaving Jana’s office when the phone rang with a call from my agent.
I sighed deeply.
Maggie had been my father’s agent since his first book. When she found out I was an aspiring writer, she scooped me up fresh out of high school. She said if I had half the talent my father had I’d be worth it, and she’d enjoy having two Grimes on her client list.
Normally I loved talking to her, she’d become a family friend after all her time working with my dad. But the last thing I wanted to do was take a call I knew was going to contain critical feedback about the latest draft of the novel I’d sent her. I was still too irritated from being told I had to cover hockey for therest of the season. After the research I’d done for my last article, I knew exactly how long that was. Basically, I’d be covering hockey until I died.
The only thing preventing me from tossing down my notebook and telling Jana I was not writing another damn word for the paper was when she said she recognized the time commitment she was asking for and had gotten approval for me to get elective credit, thus reducing my spring courseload by an entire class. That was hard to say no to when I was working hard in my spare time on writing my first novel and I’d gain more free time before graduation this way.
Course credit was about the only thing that could have gotten me to agree to follow the hockey team around for the next few months, sitting on buses with smelly, loud men, and perching myself outside the locker room ready to grab sound bites for articles. I couldn’t deny that the idea of being around Leo did hold a certain appeal. Our night together had far exceeded my expectations, and I’d left with the impression he’d be willing to do it again. The thoughthadcrossed my mind, but I was pretty sure he’d be on to the next girl in no time.
Oh no, will I have to witness that?My stomach dropped.And if I do, am I even allowed to be bothered by it? No, I’m definitely not allowed to be bothered by it.
I swiped to answer the phone as I reached my dorm and pulled open the door to the building.
“Hey, Maggie,” I said. “How are you?”
“Good, Sophia. How’s school?” Her southern drawl carried through the speaker. I hadn’t spoken to her since the beginning of the semester when I’d sent her the draft of the novel I’d worked on over the summer. It was a contemporary romance with a little bit of a thriller vibe and I was really excited about it. I’d been anxious to hear her feedback.
“Fantastic,” I said. “You’re talking to the new hockey reporter for BU. It’s a dream come true.”
She paused before responding. “Are you looking at journalism now?”
“Absolutely not, Mags, this is just the consequence of doing good work and getting more work assigned to you.” I climbed the stairs to our second-story suite. “Did you read my draft?”
“I did,” she said cautiously. Too cautiously. “It’s really good, Soph.”
“It is?” My heart skipped a beat as I pressed my keycard to my door.
“Yes. The plot is great, the pacing is good, your dialogue is natural…” she trailed off.
“Why do I sense abutcoming?” I shrugged off my backpack and flopped down on the couch.
“It’s the chemistry between the main characters,” she said quickly. “I can feel that they’re interested in each other. I can even feel some of the love by the end. But I can’t feel the attraction, Soph. The sex scenes just…fizzle. They’re supposed to sizzle.”
I groaned. “What am I supposed to do with that? How can I be a romance writer if I suck at writing sex scenes? And if you tell me to ask my dad for advice, I’ll just quit writing now. I’ve already had a terrible day, so be gentle with me.”
She chuckled. “Sophia, you’re talented. You’re writing mature work for someone your age as it is, it’s not really a surprise that the sex scenes need more work. And I wouldn’t tell you to ask Danny when I know he didn’t write his own spice.”
My father may be a good romance writer, but he’d had the women the books were about write their own spice scenes, rather than try to do it himself. It was a method that worked well for him, and each couple in our family had enjoyed being part of sharing their love story.
I laughed. “Fair enough,” I said with a sigh. “I guess I’ll keep working on it.”
“Look, I’ll give you the piece of advice I give to all my writers when they’re struggling with something. Good writers either write from experience or they research the heck out of things. If you want to write great sex, you either need to go have some or find a way to research it in a way that doesn’t lead to it sounding clinical on paper.”
“It sounded clinical?” I groaned.
“A little bit, yeah,” Maggie said sympathetically. “If you tell your father I gave you that advice, I’ll drop you like a hot potato.”
I laughed and kicked my feet up, lying horizontally on the couch. “I won’t tell him, but you won’t drop me either. You’re too enamored by the selling power of having a father-daughter team on your roster. The potential to convince us to co-write some day is too appealing to you.”
“I’d think about dropping you, especially if you don’t start writing better sex. I’m a romance agent. Give me steam with the next draft. Turn me on!” she yelled with a chuckle.
