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My heartbeat spikes at the sound of Jace’s every footstep in the living room, at his low but gentle voice, “Hey, little dude,” as he plays with Pushkin who’s in love with him.
I have to write this down. Ineedto write.
I know I’m obsessing, but I’m an artist, and artists thrive on blurring the line between reality and the imaginary world.
I already have ten chapters of the new book written. Characters, backgrounds, and future twists are all mapped out. My male lead, John Temple, is an accountant who rents a room from an artist, Emily Aberdeen. Except she doesn’t know that they met before or that he’s using her to track his enemy. And he’s not an accountant at all but an undercover agent, hiding guns in his room, shadowing her every footstep, all the while falling in love with her as he watches her on camera. And she is falling in love with him, painting him obsessively, both of them hiding their feelings until the night he comes into her room, the night that sets their feelings free but also spills the secrets, and everything changes…
My fingers fly over the keyboard as I type another chapter.
Often, the loudest people don’t have anything meaningful to say.
Often, the quietest ones have the best stories.
I am yet to hear John’s stories. There’s a dark side to him. It’s in his eyes that lock with mine and make my every cell come alive. In his occasional touches, so mundane during the day when we bump into each other in the apartment.
Until night falls. And in my mind, those touches acquire a different meaning, lacing with my fantasies and making my body burn with a sweet desire that leaves me sleepless at night.
Loud people can take you by storm and hold you hostage. And when they leave, you feel relieved, replenishing the energy they stole from you.
It’s the quiet ones who get under your skin, burrowing deeper, day by day, leaving traces of themselves like the night dew. When they leave, they leave you wanting more, craving their presence like a drug.
Some people are vampires. Others are givers.
John is both. He gives me so much—feelings, inspiration, himself. But what he’ll take in return might leave me hollow.
Once I learn his every secret.
Once he’s gone.
Maybe there’s a reason he has a shark tattoo. You can admire sharks from afar but never get close. I sensed it the first time I met him.
But how can I stay away when I want him so much closer?
Today my MC, John Temple, acquired a new nickname, Sharki.
I fall on my back on the bed and grin at the ceiling.
God, I love when I’m inspired and full of ideas. I feel invincible. Everything is coming along great in this novel. Everything but the spicy scenes.
For the first time, my writing is not about sex, and I’m puzzled.
Even more so about my actual roommate.
25
LU
The doorbell rings.
Tito, as always, shows up unannounced. He’s grumpy and sucks at hiding his emotions.
“What happened?” I ask, letting him in.
“I need a drinking buddy.” He plops on the couch.
“Trouble with work?”
“With Jamie.”
