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“I know! What do I do?” I ask the group, frazzled again. “About the laptop and book? About all of it! What sayeth the W3AS?”
We’ve been talking and even laughing at some of the outrageous things that have happened since I saw them last, but I’m serious now. I need their help and advice. The four women sober instantly, ready to stand steadfastly by my side.
Daysha sits up and fixes me with her light brown eyes. “Okay, focus. This Connor. He might be hot as hell, babe, but I don’t trust him. Nothing personal, but he hasn’t exactly given you a reason to trust him.”
It definitely makes sense. And Daysha’s always got her head screwed on nice and tight. “That’s true, but I have a gut feeling about him. I feel like . . . there’s more to him than what he lets people see.”
“You should trust your gut instinct. Sometimes, the primal self knows things the intellectual mind hasn’t figured out yet,” Aleria says in all seriousness.
“Yeah, well, my gut’s saying you want him all up in yours,” Jasmine tells me. “And that can affect the accuracy of your instincts.”
Also a valid point.
“Did he even say why he stole your laptop?”
“Uhm, no, actually.” The girls look at each other knowingly, and even Aleria looks concerned. “Look, he didn’t know about my being an author or about the book. I mean, it is a pretty good laptop, you know? He said that he gave it to someone.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Jasmine says. “I mean, you’re there in the middle of a whole room of bigwig writers, the whole thing. There was a whole room of fancy shit. Computers, books in progress, fancy purses, jewelry, and even the damn Black Rose! Why your laptop? Makes no sense.”
“Exactly. Like I said—don’t trust him,” Daysha concludes as if Jasmine just argued her case for her. “Now, the second issue. You need to work at the same time you’re figuring out this laptop deal. That’s priority one. Write, write, and write some more. I don’t care if you shower, shave, shit, or anything else. Hell, I’ll have food delivered if that’ll help because you need to write like you’ve never written before, starting now.”
Daysha’s right, and a good friend. She would make sure I’m fed if that’s all I needed to get this book done. She would also come stay at my place and spank me with a ruler every time I pause if that’s what I needed. I could do with the former and hope it doesn’t come to the latter.
We get to work, and I have to say I’m in a rhythm that I haven’t felt in a long time. I still haven’t dropped back to the sex scenes yet, but the chapter I’m working on right now? Oh, it’s flowing like water.
Finally, Becca closes her laptop. “There. Sprint one done. Now Pops, I know you need to work, but we need to address the elephant in the room. The not-book one. Tell me more about that kiss.”
“It was . . .” I start before shaking my head in disbelief. “It was the best kiss I’ve ever had. Is it crazy if I want to kiss him again? Even after he stole my laptop?”
“Yep,” everyone says at once.
“Yes, totally crazy,” Jasmine repeats. Seeing my crestfallen expression, she reaches over and shakes my shoulder before I can drop into a deep pout. “Hey, that’s not a bad thing. I’ve known you’re crazy for as long as I’ve known you. Doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
“I don’t know . . . this could be a bad idea,” Becca says, but she’s quickly hushed by everyone else.
“Poppy,” Aleria says, “the universe wants us to find happiness. To follow our hearts and make connections along our journey. There is a purpose to this moment, this craziness, as you call it, and though you might not see it yet, it will all be revealed when the time is right. Understand?”
“Yes, follow your heart, just make sure to bring your head along for the ride,” Daysha warns a bit more cynically, but then she shrugs, giving in. “I guess you never know. It might be the ride of a lifetime.”
Chapter 11
Connor
The coffee shop is rather busy, but that’s actually a good thing. When everyone’s off in their own world, nobody’s going to notice me as I settle onto a stool at the bar top in front of the big window. From here, I can see the world outside go by.
It’s your typical weekday morning, with men and women in suits mixing with college students in much more relaxed outfits. There’s the occasional worker in a uniform of one kind or another, a delivery driver, a postal worker, or even the occasional restaurant worker adding distinct bits of color to the mix. Everyone flows by, only aware of themselves, their own agendas and plans, oblivious to each other and their surroundings for the most part.
