Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
We both sit down on the couch, me beside him this time and try to work through the changes to the chapters. We bounce ideas off of each other and even though I have Susan’s POV, which is as interesting as I want to make it, I can’t help but feel a bit envious over Blake. Not only does he have a phenomenal appreciation for Forrest’s character, but he’s got so much material to work with. His character is heavy, layered and complex and I can see the fever burning in Blake’s eyes as he discusses him, like he’s coming alive in ways I’ve never seen before. If I didn’t hate the guy so much, I think I might be getting a glimpse of the real him—and liking it.
But he still drives me mad and when we’re done for the night, he goes right back to pissing me off.
“Ali,” he says as we head for his door.
“What about her?”
He shrugs. “Not much, but she got to meet Fluffy.”
“Willingly?”
“He escaped. At a…bad…time.”
My skin prickles. I can only imagine. “Well I’m glad you’re telling me this now.” I grab the front door and rip it open, happily stepping into the hall where big hairy spiders aren’t potentially running amok. “No wonder she was so pissed at you in class the other day,” I say under my breath as we get in the elevator.
“Oh, she wasn’t pissed about that,” he says, folding his hands in front of him and staring up at the elevator lights as they go down. “It’s because I didn’t call her when I said I would.”
“Did you ever call her?” I ask.
He gives me a lazy grin in response.
“Once again, pig,” I tell him.
And just like before, the insult doesn’t seem to bother him. “They all know how they stand with me. I tell them from the beginning I’m just looking for a quick shag and nothing else. I can’t help it if they all start planning our futures together the minute I get them to come. Though perhaps I shouldn’t deliver so many orgasms in one session.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumble to myself, shaking my head in disbelief as we head to his car.
“I joke about a lot of things, but not about sex.”
Then it’s too bad you don’t take the rest of your life as serious as your sex life, I think as we speed away through the dark streets.
But soon, he won’t be my problem anymore.
There’s some solace in that.
CHAPTER 6
Blake
“Something on your mind, bro?” Heath asks me, snapping me out of my haze.
Actually it’s not so much as haze as a violent storm cloud that’s kidnapped my brain, prodding it with lightning bolts. The Heart Thief —maybe not the most original title, but it’s stuck —has taken over my life, and I’m pretty sure Amanda’s as well. In fact, I’ve spent the better part of the last two weeks working either with her or by myself on the project, constantly writing and brainstorming, as well as reading as many good books as I can to help my prose along.
I haven’t seen Heath once, haven’t even gotten a good shag. The brunette with Mr. Mercedes called me the other day and I managed to go out with her for the sake of getting laid but she turned bashful by the end of the night and I was too distracted to try and take it any farther. We both went our separate ways and though I told her we should meet up again, it’s getting harder and harder for my brain to focus on anything but the story.
The best part of all this shit is that working at the store now is something I look forward to. Despite my ambitions as a writer I had never really taken advantage of the fact that I have a world of books at my fingertips, that this world of books will soon be my life. Now I’m finding inspiration down every shelf and I’m interacting with customers more and more, rifling through their brains to figure out just how to craft the best work that I can, what exactly they’re drawn to in the books they read. It’s even made me more inspired for my own work-in-progress and I find myself gravitating toward that when I have nothing else to do.
“I’m here,” I tell Heath, sitting back in my chair and watching the traffic flow down Wharf Street, the glittering blue harbor on the other side. In two weeks, spring has become an onslaught and even though it’s late March, the cherry trees are in full bloom and everyone is wearing shorts. Right now it’s T-shirt weather and knowing it could go back to being cold and rainy tomorrow, we’ve snagged a table on the patio in the square to have a few pints.