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“There’s fantasy, and then there is plain ridiculous. Men aren’t virgins at twenty-five.”
“Clearly, you weren’t. Did you even read the story? He came from a strict Catholic upbringing. His mother had cancer from when he was eighteen to twenty-four. When she died, he wanted to honor her wishes.”
“I did read it, it’s just difficult for me to compute, but hey, I’m not a horny old woman reading erotic fantasies to escape my failing marriage.”
“You don’t need to be an old woman to enjoy these types of books. I was in a happy relationship and read books in this genre. It was fun, even gave me ideas.”
Crap, I’ve said too much.
Haden shifts uncomfortably. “Right, when you were with Jasper.”
“Jason,” I correct him.
“Whatever,” he mutters under his breath.
This is heading to an uncomfortable place, yet his snide comment irks me.
“Do you have a problem with Jason?”
“I don’t know your ex-fiancé. Except for when you constantly mention him.”
“I don’t constantly mention him,” I answer defensively.
“Right.” He laughs. “It’s obvious you’re not over him.”
“Of course, I’m not. I was with him for five years. I’m not that heartless. I’d like to think I’ll always love him, just not in a way that would end happily ever after as soul mates.”
“You read too much trash.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “You don’t believe in love? You’re engaged. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”
“Yes… I am.”
He doesn’t reveal anything else, and I’m dying to ask how a man who is pushing twenty-six—thank you, Vicky, for the Facebook stalking—pops the question to a girl he has known less than four months.
Maybe she is knocked-up! Oh, this could be even worse than I thought.
“We should get back to work,” I huff.
“So, chapter five. Crystal is a single mother with a five-year-old son forced to work as an escort to put food on the table. I’m worried that those feminist groups are going to bully the author. We don’t need bad publicity.”
“I agree. Perhaps the author needs to reword a few lines just to give a little more background as to how she was forced to become an escort.”
We talk more and jot down notes, ready for our meeting with the author tomorrow. For the majority of our meeting, we don’t argue. But of course, all good things must come to an end.
“I have to admit, this single-mom stuff is tough on this character. Glad I ain’t a woman.”
I swallow the massive lump restricting my ability to breathe and fumble with the button on my blouse. This is your opening—go ahead, do it! Yet, I continue sitting in silence, chickening out once again. I am such a coward.
“Life hands you lemons, you gotta make lemonade somehow.”
“If life hands you lemons, you grab some tequila and have a party.” He smirks.
“See, that’s the difference between you and me. Tequila and partying are a thing of the past. When you grow up one day, you’ll realize it isn’t worth all the hangovers.”
He leans in, too close for my comfort. “Funny, Malone, you seemed to enjoy tequila and partying that night at the bar.”
“And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t drink. You always regret your actions the next day,” I say, staring at him.
