Page 23
“I don’t hate it. I just…” She sighs. “I had to know if last night was real or something you pulled out of your book.”
“Sloane,” I say softly as I set her phone on the nightstand. “I don’t self-insert when I write. Sure, I get into character and write that chapter as if I were them. Kind of like theater or the movies. If I’m writing a grumpy neighbor, I imagine what the neighbor would say to the bubbly PTA mom. Or if I’m writing about an ambitious billionaire, I create dialogue that leans into his selfish nature. But you aren’t a story I’m writing.” I place her hand on my chest, over my heart. “This is all me, and I’m excited to see where this goes.”
She offers a relieved smile. “I am too. I should go next door and get ready. All of my clothes are over there.”
“Will you have breakfast with me after?”
“We’ll see, Romeo,” she teases, shifting to get out of bed.
“Hey, not so fast.” I pin her back down with her hands above her head. “I think I’ve decided what I want for breakfast, even if eating only your delicious pussy this morning will put me in a calorie deficit.”
Interlocking her fingers with mine, she chuckles, “Give me fifteen minutes to get ready, and we’ll have a proper breakfast.”
I rest my forehead on hers and sigh. “Do I have to pretend we’re just friends?”
“No.” Sloane brushes her soft lips against mine, then whispers, “But under no circumstances are you to sprawl me across the table to feast on me in public.”
“Why not?” I chuckle. “It worked in chapter three.”
“I’m pretty sure we would be banned, not only from the hotel, but every book event in existence.”
“Worth it.” I shift onto my side, propping myself up on my elbow. “Are you sure we can’t just tell everyone we’re sick or something?”
Her stomach rumbles, and she tries to muffle the sound with her hands. “When we get back to LA, you can hide me away as long as you want, but we need to get downstairs before my stomach eats my backbone.”
After a quick peck, she slides out of bed, putting on her glasses and the robe. Once she’s grabbed her clothes, I walk her to the door. “I’ll see you in a few.” I open it and check to ensure the coast is clear. While I don’t mind someone knowing we’re together… Are we together? Are we dating? I don’t know what we’re doing, but whatever it is, I don’t want anyone to see her leaving my room in only a robe.
Sloane makes her way next door, and as soon as I’m dressed, I join her. She must’ve taken the fastest shower in existence because not only is she dressed, but she also has a little makeup on and her laptop bag packed.
On the short walk to the elevators, I offer my hand. Glancing down at it, then back up at me with a small smile, she slips her hand into mine, and for the first time in my life, everything feels right in the world. We step into the elevator, and the moment the doors close, I cup her cheek to shift her attention to me, lean in, and kiss her. Keeping my hands and mouth to myself the rest of the weekend in public will prove to be a challenge. I’m severely behind on my manuscript, but couldn’t care less—my editor will understand. Instead of worrying about my deadline, I plan on living out my own personal romance novel with a woman I’m confident was made just for me.
EPILOGUE—SLOANE
ONE YEAR LATER
“Sloane, baby, you shouldn’t be carrying that,” Wyatt growls, taking the large box of books from me.
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it’s too heavy.”
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. “It really isn’t. They’re just paperbacks, not special edition hardcovers. I can handle it.”
“I know you can.” He sets them down and pulls me to him. I stumble a step, bracing myself against his chest. “But let me take care of it.”
I’ve only assisted Wyatt at one other book convention, but this one feels different. It could be that it’s a romance-only book con where I’m not also a signing author, or maybe it’s because he’s worried about being on a few of the panels. He’s been on edge since we packed up the car, and he won’t let me help with anything.
“What’s going on with you? You’re acting like I’m a porcelain doll or with child.”
His brows pinch. “Are you?”
“No,” I laugh, swatting at his firm chest. “I just mean that I want to help. Let me.”
“I know, but I have something in one of the boxes, and I don’t want to lose track of which one it’s in.”
My eyes narrow. “What are you up to, Wyatt?”
“Actually… there’s something you can help me with.” He releases me and rushes over to one of the stacks of boxes, searching for a particular one. Pulling it from the stack, he asks, “Can you double-check these? The printer has been fucking me over lately; the pages haven’t been printing properly.”
