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“Can’t go down on you until you see through space and time,” Tess cut off my usual assertion that men in books were better. She climbed up the bed to flop back against the pillows.
“That’s dramatic,” I said, pulling the blankets up over her. I tried not to marvel at Tess’s ability to sleep in a skintight dress when all my sleep clothes were of the oversized and comfy variety.
“Dramatic? Did the ex-douche not make you see through time and space?”
“I mean he… got the job done.” Usually. I mean… some of the time. If I maybe reached down and helped things along.
I handed Tess a pack of makeup removal wipes.
I’d given up on trying to convince her that a double wash was the bare minimum when it came to skincare. She just reminded me that she was twice as old as I was with baby-smooth skin still.
The only reason she used the makeup wipes at all was that I insisted her expensive makeup would be a chore to get out of the bedding.
“Wait a second,” Tess said, sitting up straight. Her glass clinked on the nightstand as she eyed me. “He did go down on you, didn’t he?”
“Yes. Of course.” Once.
“You’re not telling the truth.”
“I am. He did.”
Her eyes narrowed. “More than once?”
I sighed.
“No.”
“Why?”
“He said it wasn’t his thing.”
“I bet receiving was his thing, though, wasn’t it?”
“Can we stop talking about Brad?”
“I wish you would have told me this little fact earlier,” Tess said as she roughly rubbed at her face with the wipe. “I feel like I didn’t hate him appropriately.”
“Oh, you hated him plenty.” Maybe more than I did. Which was impressive.
“The only good thing that came from that waste of perfectly good oxygen was the fact that the breakup finally forced you to start sending out that brilliant manuscript.”
“The brilliant manuscript that no one wants to buy.”
“It’s only been two months. This kind of thing takes time. The world of traditional publishing moves at a glacial pace.”
She would know.
She and her co-host got a deal for a book they hadn’t even written yet. It was only through Tess that I managed to get an agent to respond to my queries.
“I guess.”
“And even if you can’t find a house for it, you can totally publish it independently. So many big-name authors right now started that way or do both still.”
“True,” I agreed. It was no use to remind her that the real goal was being able to walk into a store and see my book there. That was a little wishy-washy for the more practical Tess, who was looking at it through a crisp, professional lens, not the rose-colored glasses I was. “Now finish your wine. I will get your rice pack for your jaw. I can’t wait to hear how you spin this on your next show.”
“Margo’s cackle is going to threaten to shatter the glass in the studio,” she said as I made my way out the door.
“Better think of a way to turn the event into a merch opportunity,” I called back.
