Page 48 of Chasing Forever

“I’m telling you the truth, dear. I loved the story, and you captured the passion between the characters perfectly.”

Callie had beamed with pride because her grandma’s opinion had been hugely important to her. Irene had always been an avid romance reader, and if she thought the book was good, Callie hoped other fans of the genre would too.

Her mom’s reaction had been slightly different. “Well. I have to say it was a little strange reading a love scene written by my daughter. But after a while, I kind of forgot it was your writing and got lost in the story.”

“But was it good? Did you like it?”

“It was very good. It grabbed my attention right away and didn’t let go until the last page. But I’m not sure your father should read it.”

Callie laughed. “I wouldn’t ask him to.”

“But he wants to support your career.”

“He can support me in other ways.”

And he had. Whenever she’d released a new book, her father would take some copies to work with him. He’d hand them out to anyone who was interested and then ask them to write reviews for her.

Quinn had done the same thing, and Callie credited them both for jump-starting her career. It hadn’t been easy, and at times, she’d almost given up, but now she was glad she hadn’t. She had over ten novels to her name and a solid fan base that was growing every day. Sometimes she still couldn’t believe it, but she loved what she did, and it was finally paying off. If only Irene were there to enjoy it with her.

Just then, movement outside caught her eye, and she glanced up from the dining room table where she’d been writing.

It was Chase, dragging a lounge chair from his patio onto the lawn. She ducked down so he couldn’t see her and watched him go back into his unit and then return with a towel and a book. He laid the towel on the chair, sat down, and immediately opened his book.

He’d angled the chair toward the sun, which gave her a view of his profile, and she sighed. He must not have shaved, because she saw the distinct outline of stubble on his jaw. She wondered what it would feel like against her face. He ran a hand through his hair, and she remembered sliding her fingertips into it the other night. He held up his book to block the sun, and she saw his arm muscles tighten, just like they had when he’d hooked them around her waist and drawn her close.

She shifted in her chair, the memory of his kisses stirring her libido all over again. She considered going outside to say hello, but she still felt embarrassed about turning him down. She’d planned on taking a few days to cool off, but apparently, that wasn’t going to happen.

She turned back to her laptop and continued writing her scene, but she kept getting distracted anytime Chase moved. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to refocus her brain on the task at hand. But when she reopened them, another movement caught her attention.

Chase was standing next to the lounge chair and had just whipped off his white T-shirt. He stood with his back to her, his hands on his hips as he looked out at the ocean. Her eyes wandered down his back to the waistband of his shorts, where those sexy indents were. His butt was high and round, his legs long and lean. Talk about inspiring. But her concentration had vanished, and she stood up, deciding to go outside and talk to him.

Then a woman came into view, wearing a red bikini and flip-flops and carrying a striped beach bag. Callie watched Chase turn to look at the woman, and she wondered if he’d gotten whiplash. She could hardly blame him, though. The woman’s bikini was like a siren call, which, Callie supposed, was the intention. She’d been heading toward the pool, and when she glanced over and saw Chase looking, she smiled and waved.

Tramp.

Chase hesitated for a second, almost as if he wasn’t sure she was waving at him, and then he held up his hand and waved back.

Keep walking. Keep walking. Wrong way. Wrong way!

The woman veered off the cement path and strode across the lawn toward Chase, quickly closing the distance between them with her long, slender legs.

Figures. Am I the only short woman around here?

It was like driving past the scene of an accident; Callie couldn’t look away. And in this case, she stared hard, knowing neither of them could see her behind the curtain. Well, they probably could have if they’d bothered looking, but they were only looking at each other.

If only my windows were open so I could hear what they’re saying. Then again, maybe I’d rather not.

The woman set down her beach bag and treated Chase to an unobstructed view of her bikini body. She extended her arm, which was layered with gold bangles that shone in the sunlight.

Seriously? Who wears that much jewelry to the pool? It’s very impractical.

Chase shook her hand enthusiastically (at least, that’s how Callie perceived it), and it seemed to last longer than was absolutely necessary for a first meeting.

Terrific! I turned him down, and now Siren shows up with her boobs hanging out. In all fairness, they weren’t hanging out. They were sitting up high and perky, and Callie questioned if they were real. Siren had white blonde hair that she wore in a swingy ponytail, and she looked to be about twenty-five, tops.

Jealousy aside, she was quite pretty in a beachy, California-girl way. In other words, she was exactly the opposite of Callie. How ironic that Callie had been born in California, yet her name was the only thing she had to show for it. Callie’s mother was Italian, and her father was a mix of English and German, but Callie had inherited her mother’s dark hair and eyes and, unfortunately, her diminutive stature.

Normally, she embraced her heritage, but today she wished she’d had a few more inches on her—in height and boob size. Oh well.