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I relaxed my expression and chuckled. “Because you wouldn’t like it in aheroine, but you’ll do it in your own life.”
“Beau, come on. Fictionimitatesreal life, but it’s not real. This isn’t the same thing.”
I took a step toward her. “Oh, yeah? How is it not?”
“Well, for one thing, we’re not in love.”
She had me there. “True.”
“And for another, even if this were a work of fiction, I’m not the heroine.”
“You’re not the heroine because we’re not in love? Or because I’m not the hero?” I asked, taking another step. “Does that mean you would leave town if it was for the right guy?”
“No, ugh.” She backed away, shaking out her arms. “Trust me, if there was a right guy…”
She’d spoken so low I couldn’t be sure I’d heard her correctly. Surely, she hadn’t said what I thought she said. Right?
I moved into her line of sight, my heart racing. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Nothing. What I’m saying is, I’m not the heroine in this story withyouoranystory.”
“Then what are you?”
“I’m the… sister. Friend.Cousin, for crying out loud.”
I straightened, pulling my lips together in a hard line so I wouldn’t lose it on her. Did she really believe that?
She let out a breathy laugh and paced away again. “I’m the girlfriend who gets referenced in those tiny paragraphs from the hero’s POV that are supposed to highlight his dating history in a way that doesn’t make the reader believe he’s still hung up on his ex, while simultaneously showing that the spark or connection between him and the heroine is the real deal in comparison. You know what I mean?”
I blinked. “Uh, no.”
“Ah, you know. It’ll be like… ‘His mind was in overdrive as he kissed her deeply, marveling at the way she fit against him like no one had before. He’d had girlfriends. Plenty of girlfriends. But no one had ever made him feel like this.’”
She stopped speaking, the silence echoing in my ears. “Wow.”
“Yeah, don’t judge me. I’m a reader, not a writer.”
“So,” I started, my feet carrying me to her again without conscious thought, “you’re saying you think that if your life were a romance novel, you’d be the aforementionedplenty of girls?”
“Hands down.”
“You’re wrong.”
Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times as she looked up at me. “What makes you so sure?”
“You’re not anyone’s two-sentence love life recap, Lyndi. You’re the whole point of the book.”
I hadn’t realized how close we’d gotten until I felt her quiet gasp against my mouth. It woke me up, though, and before I committed the ultimate mistake and made everything so much worse, I leaned back.
“Someone’s book, anyway,” I said as I backed away from her. “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”
