Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
I’ll put some feelers out.
Opening the calendar on my phone, I make a note to call Peter tomorrow. He works as a private detective after serving in the Special Forces and then doing a stint as a cop.
If it comes to it, I type, I’ll put a fright in him. I can’t allow somebody to intimidate Luke’s family.
There it is—an explicit declaration that I’m doing this for Luke, not Zoey. This is a lie I will have to maintain at all costs. Mallory looked ill when she saw me. How much sicker would she feel if I acted on my hunger for her daughter?
My manhood grows hard again, as it’s been doing since I left Zoey. I’ll calm myself down, and then thoughts of her will return, a vivid recollection of her standing at the door, her lips slightly pursed. It was like she was getting ready for a kiss.
Thank you, she replies. Why are you up so late? Are you writing?
No, I could type if she wasn’t Mallory’s daughter. If she wasn’t half my age, literally half my age.
I’m forty. She must be twenty now, or she will be soon. I don’t know her birthday.
No, I can’t sleep because I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to take out my rock-hard dick and imagine everything I’d do to you, but I know I’d feel so damn guilty after…
I won’t send that, obviously.
Trying to, I reply, but sometimes, the words just won’t flow.
That’s funny. I read in one of your interviews that you didn’t believe in writer’s block.
I laugh. So, she’s done her research. She’s right, but I gave that interview before I saw her.
Checkmate, Zoey. You’ve got me there. I guess there’s a first time for everything. Did you manage to get any work done?
No. I don’t even know where the story’s going.
What is it about?
You don’t have to pretend to be interested.
I close my eyes, breathing slowly. Just like when she called herself an idiot at her house, I hate these signs of her low self-esteem. She doesn’t think she’s worthy of a few simple questions. She’s too beautiful and too passionate to criticize herself.
How do I know she’s passionate? Maybe it was how she reacted when she told me not everybody has to write action thrillers, defending her work with the zeal of a mother bear protecting her cubs or the fire with which Zoey will protect our children.
I am interested, I type. I know I write silly action thrillers, but I’ve been in this game for over ten years. I might be able to help.
This is a dangerous offer. It could mean seeing her again, which is the last thing I should want but also the thing I need.
CHAPTER 3
Zoey
I sit up in bed, my phone in my hand, wincing every time a gust of wind causes the house to creak.
Mom doesn’t prowl the house at night, kicking my bedroom door open. She’s never charged in here and snatched my phone from me to see who I’m texting.
This guilt is making me paranoid. I didn’t expect him to text me, and I definitely didn’t expect him to help me with my work.
It was impossible to miss the signs earlier. Mom wanted him gone as quickly as possible, unenthusiastically offering him a drink. Once he’d left, she closed the door, locked it, then sighed. After that, nothing. She didn’t mention him. It was like he’d never been here.
You don’t have to do that. I know you must be busy.
I had no idea you were a writer. I want to help you, not that I know much about literary writing, but I can help with the nuts and bolts of plot, character, and stuff like that. You could send me a few chapters.
I think I’d die if I did that, I reply, biting my lip. I never bite my lip. I can’t think of a time, at any point in my life, when I’ve bitten my lip before, but Jaxson is changing me. The crush I thought I laid to rest years ago surges back into my consciousness with force. It’s much stronger now than before, with the memory of the real him so fresh in my thoughts.
Why? When you publish it, people are going to read it.
That’s the contradiction of being a writer, isn’t it? Wanting people to read your books… and wanting nobody to read them, ever.
You should be more confident.
I smile. No man has ever told me that before. It’s not as if I’ve had loads of boyfriends or ever thought about a relationship, and I’m not thinking of that now. A relationship because he said something nice? Get a grip, Zoey.
You haven’t read my writing yet. Maybe I don’t deserve to be confident.
That’s true. I haven’t, he replies, but you’re young. Even if you send me the biggest load of crap I’ve ever read, it’s not as if you haven’t got time. Anyway, I know that won’t be the case. I know you’ve got talent.