AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She eyes me like she’s considering not answering that question, or at least not truthfully. It takes a moment, but she finally said, “Well, I was thinking about doing some writing.”
Her answer surprises me. I’d thought she’d be exploring the city or spending time with friends or maybe just watching TV. I hadn’t pegged her as a writer, though.
“What kind of writing?” At least this is something I know a thing or two about, even if I’m not a writer of anything but reports.
She sighs and leans back in her chair. “Just a book. No big deal, really.”
“You’re writing a book? That sounds like a big deal to me. What genre? Is it your first? Is that why you started working for Loughton House?”
She holds up her hand. “I will not answer any interrogations until I’ve had coffee. That’s another law. Maybe not for everyone in the world, but in this apartment, all interrogations happen after coffee.”
I chuckle. “That’s fair. After coffee.”
As if the coffee pot is synchronized to our conversation, it beeps, and Addison hops out of her chair and goes to it. This time, it comes out like it’s supposed to.
I may have woken up earlier than Addison, but she’s right. Coffee comes first. Always. Even in my world, coffee is life, and I’m just glad that I know how to make it now.
She brings the mugs to the table, and I look down at the one she chose for me. “You Make Me Forget Batteries” with an image of a tongue under the words.
I blink in surprise. “I know we haven’t had enough coffee for interrogations yet, but please explain this mug.”
She giggles. Not a laugh or a chuckle. A giggle like a teenaged girl with an inside joke. “You said you wanted kink, and I assumed…”
“You bought a terrible mug for an unexpected conversation with your boss, who also happens to be your new roommate? I’m going to call bullshit on that one.”
Her giggle turns into laughter. “Maybe. Or maybe the only roommates I could stand are the ones that would get a kick out of a mug like that.”
“So, you’d have told me to pack my bags if I’d been disgusted by your terrible coffee mug? You know what? Don’t answer that. The real question is, why do youwantthis mug?”
She shrugs. “I might have a bit of a collection of thrift store finds…” She turns her mug around and shows me one that says, “Madame Rose’s House of Pleasure” with what could only be a riding crop under it.
“I thought about giving you this one, but then I worried you’d think I was intothatkind of kink. Which I’m not, just so you know.” She bites her lip nervously, and for a moment, it looks like her cheeks flush. But then it’s gone.
I try very hard to gloss over that comment. Try not to let her realize just how much more I’d like to talk about that specific topic.
But Addison realizes that she’s gone into dangerous territory, and she changes the topic. “Okay, I’ll talk about my book. Then we won’t talk about it again.”
I nod to her, mentally shifting gears away from hot kinky sex. Away from fantasizing about the kinds of things I’d like to do to her…
We’re talking about her book. But she doesn’t want to talk about it in depth. A lot of aspiring and new authors are like this. It’s almost like they’re ashamed of the fact that they did or are attempting to do something that millions of people dream of.
“I’m writing a romance novel. Well, this is my third romance novel, but the first two don’t hit the quality I want, so I’m starting a third, and this is the one I’ll be trying to get published. No, I do not want you to read it. No, I do not want you to tell me to send the other two to editors. No, I certainly don’t want you to do anything with any of it. It’s just a thing I’m doing and want no help or advice about it. That’s all.”
The room is quiet as I think about what she’s said. “You know that I’m probably the best person to help you with it, right?” I finally say.
She smiles at me. “I don’t care, and that’s not a reasonable decision. It’s an emotional one. If I decide that I’m ready to send my book to agents, I will do it when I feel like I want my name attached to it. The first two books are not as good as I want them to be. They were practice pieces, and even this book may end up being a practice piece.”
I open my mouth to disagree with her, but she raises her hand. “Nope. That’s the conversation. We’ve had it. Now it’s done. No more discussing my book, okay?”
It takes a lot not to push her anymore. I’ve seen the books that have gone to the printers, and most of them are not masterpieces by any stretch. Plus, it’s not like publishing a single romance novel would even really change her life very much. Probably ninety-five percent of romance authors keep their day jobs.
But part of me wonders about whether she could be part of the five percent. It’s illogical and the business side of me says I’m being irrational. It doesn’t matter though. She doesn’t want to talk about it.
“So you’re going to write your book today. That’s how you want to spend a beautiful Saturday? Holed up in your room?”
Addison glares at me. “Well, I can’t write it at work, and I have to spend my evenings teaching you to function, so when else would I write it?”
“That’s fair. But I’m finding something to do that does not involve work. This is my first Saturday with no plans in years, and I’m not going to waste it.”
