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One
CHAPTER 1
Iwrite books about romance that every woman dreams of, excluding me. It’s all from my imagination. I’ve had sex, of course, but not love. I wonder if it’s because no man ever measures up to the characters I create in my novels. Is it even possible? At twenty-six, I believe that it’s not. Maybe I’m just far too damaged. Men have wanted to give me more, but I never feltit. I have fuck buddies, that’s it, never more.
Glancing over, I noticed Chase fell asleep in my bed. He knows better than that. I don’t sleep with anyone, I fuck them, but I don’t sleep with them. That type of intimacy gives them the wrong idea. Shaking him awake, I say, “Chase, you need to go. We’re done here.”
He stares at me with wounded eyes, “Stella, what’s the big deal? I enjoy being with you, and you like being with me.”
“Chase, don’t,” I sigh, “You know the rules. Only sex. Now get dressed.”
I know he thinks I’m a bitch, but I have these rules with fuck buddies for a reason. If a line gets crossed, it gets messy. My friends say my heart is a fortress. Maybe they’re right, and the reason I never found love is that I won’t allow it. That’s how you get hurt. If you don’t allow it, you can’t possibly get hurt.
Chase gets dressed and comes over to the edge of the bed where I am sitting. Stroking my cheek with his thumb, he says, “I could give you so much more than a quick fuck if only you’d let me.”
Jerking away from his sappy gaze and skilled fingers, “Goodbye, Chase. I’ll let you know about Saturday.”
This one is no longer working out. I can see that he’s developing feelings, and that’s also against the rules. When that happens, it’s simply over. He leaves, and I feel a little sorry for hurting him. It’s never my intention to hurt anyone. That’s why I do things this way to avoid just that.
Opening my laptop, I’m writing book two for my current series. My publisher has been on my ass and wanted it yesterday. Sometimes it feels like everyone wants something from me. The first book was a smashing success, so I know I need to get this one done as soon as possible. I love writing. It’s my escape from everything unpleasant in the world, past and present. I sit staring at the computer screen. I’ve got nothing. Writer’s block? I’ve never had it before. I have a book signing tonight, so I don’t have a ton of time. Closing my laptop, I went to the hotel bar and grabbed a drink. Perhaps inspiration will hit. The elevator stops on the first floor right near Glass House, the bar/restaurant that’s in the hotel. It has a glass bar and all the tables are thick glass. It must be a nightmare to clean this restaurant with all of this glass.
Walking up to the bar, I glanced around and noticed there weren’t many people in here today.
I sat on a brown leather stool at the glass bar and ordered a vodka and tonic water.
A man with brown hair and hazel eyes approaches me and asks, “Can I buy you a drink?” He may be the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. His hair is slightly messy, like he had run his fingers through it. His arms are muscular. Even his hands are sexy.
I smile, “I already have a drink. It looks like you missed your opportunity.”
“Well, can I sit, or are you expecting someone?”
“I’m not expecting anyone.”
He sits on the chair beside me and makes small talk. I find out his name is Jamie, and he too is an author. He writes suspense novels.
“You’ve read none of my novels? None?”
I glanced at him, slightly annoyed, “Cocky much?”
“No. However, I am confident. My last twelve novels have been on the bestsellers list. Surely you’ve heard of me.”
“I’ve heard of you, but I’ve never been interested in reading any of them.” Hopefully, that puts his ego in check. It must have worked, he changed the subject.
“Are you married?”
I answer, “No.”
“Boyfriend?”
Again, “No, I don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
I answer, “Boyfriends. Relationships.”
This might be the sexiest man I’ve laid eyes on. The way he stares at me unnerves me. It’s intense. I’m not sure why, though. I see attractive men all the time, but it’s not just how he looks. It’s how he looks at me. His voice makes my body stand at attention. I’d like to fuck him, but I won’t because it seems like a bad idea with him also being an author. Whatever he’s after is unavailable.
He laughs, “What does that even mean?”
