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“Yup. And it’s just as much true today as last night. Maybe more so. You might want to think about that, Blondie, before you start putting offers out there that some men are more than willing to take you up on.” With a long, meaningful look at her in the glass, he patted her bare butt and stepped away.
“You’re leaving?” she asked when he reached for the doorknob.
“It’s what I do,” he said, a half-smile tipping up his mouth. A moment later he shut the door behind him.
Marcia braced her hands on the sink and stared hard at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look bad. Actually with her seductively tousled hair and low-lidded eyes, she would’ve put her age at just over thirty. Okay, thirty-two. If she squinted just right, she could pretend her face appeared soft with sleep and wasn’t beginning to lose its definition.
Hell, she’d kept up pretty damn good with her men the night before and she would again if—
If. What did she honestly expect to happen? Did she really think Tony would go for another night with Cale? Asking for what she wanted was one thing. Asking for the impossible was another. She cared too much about Tony to risk their relationship over something temporary, even if it was amazing.
No matter what, this couldn’t continue forever. She wasn’t in love with Cale. As hot and fun as he was, he wasn’t lifetime material. True, she hadn’t made it all the way to forever in her mind with Tony but she knew she wanted a lot more time with him.
Tony wasn’t a diversion or a momentary pleasure. He was the real deal. Honest, loyal, wonderful beyond belief. The kind of man a woman could build a life with, were she not scared shitless at the possibility.
She frowned and pushed her hair over her shoulder, still staring at her reflection. She’d taken charge of her sex life and had an almost-in-progress advice book to prove it. The rest of her life might be a little harder to manage but a gal had to start somewhere, right?
Right. Today, she needed to start by taking a shower.
Then she’d tackle her laptop and get started. If things went well—why wouldn’t they?—she’d crank out five thousand words before lunch. Maybe more. After last night, she was feeling especially motivated.
Just before she pulled back the curtain, she noticed the smeared pink highlighter on her breasts. Though the letters had blurred into an almost indistinguishable pink blob, she got the gist. “Sex and candy,” she murmured.
Cale had a point. That would be an awesome chapter title. Maybe she’d start there.
Smiling, she stepped into the shower and cranked up the hot water. She felt so inspired she might even clear ten thousand words today. No problem.
* * * * *
“This blows.”
Marcia stared at her laptop screen and stabbed the delete button over and over until the entire paragraph she’d written disappeared. But not to worry. She hadn’t lost her entire day’s work. Oh no. She’d been camped out at her kitchen table for six hours, so she knew she had to have a lot to show for it.
She scrolled up the page and frowned. Two paragraphs. Really? All of two hundred twelve words. Three hundred and fourteen if she counted the Table of Contents. Sex and Candy would be chapter thirteen, under the subhead Fun With Body Parts.
Which sounded kind of zombie-ish actually. Not sexy. None of this sounded sexy. Even her opening sentence sucked. At the rate she was going, there would be no happy ending either.
She blew out a breath and shoved aside her pad of notes. What had she been thinking? She wasn’t a writer. Tony was right. She barely even read. Instead of expanding her mind, she’d let it atrophy under her perfectly coiffed curls until nothing remained but fluff. Business degrees didn’t mean squat when she was sitting in front of a shiny screen that mocked her with its blankness.
Writing sucked. Being a writer sucked. Who even read anymore? People wanted pictures. That’s why porn was so popular. Men had the right idea. It was a lot less work.
She sighed and reached for her glass of soda. Another thing? She didn’t drink coffee, and from the sixteen writers’ blogs she’d read this morning while waiting for inspiration to hit, she needed to. Unless she gave up her soda habit for java, she’d probably be stuck staring at this empty page from now until forever.
The one thing she liked so far was her title. Keeping The Motor Cranked: Tips, Tricks and Advice From The Frontlines of the Women’s Orgasm Movement (WOM).
She could picture the merchandising now. Hats, jackets, cute little tank tops all emblazoned with the acronym WOM in a bright red lipstick font. This book was her ticket to self-satisfaction and monetary security, she just knew it.
If only she could make it to page two.
Her cell phone went off and she grabbed it like a drowning woman when presented with a life preserver. The outside world! Someone to save her from this stinking shitpile of a non-book. Thank God.
Seeing Tony’s name, she smiled wide enough to make her cheeks hurt. “God, Tony, I’m so glad it’s you.”
“Marsh?” Worry immediately crept into his tone. “What’s the matter? Are you okay? Did something happen? Should I come home?”
Her smile turned into laughter. Damn, she adored this man. More and more by the hour. “No, sweetie. Everything’s fine.”
“Do you not feel good? I could bring home soup. You know The Daily Bread’s always got a great lunch special.”
