Jake glanced down at his phone, then pulled his hood up over his head before changing positions, moving around to my other side and leaning back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. When I’d seen him in the coffee shop, I hadn’t noticed how big he was, probably because he’d been sitting down. He was on the very tall side, a couple of inches over six feet if I had to guess. To my five foot two, that was big.
“I met him here,” Jake said. “Well, technically at another location a block down, where he’d been set up. We’ve hung out a few times in the past year.”
“Really?” I glanced over at Gavin, who was currently going to town on another painting, completely in his element. Funny how my best friend had been hanging out with a celebrity for a year, yet he’d never mentioned it.
“And you? How do you know him?”
I smiled at the memory. “I beat him up in the third grade. We’ve been friends ever since.”
Jake’s rough chuckle made me cross my legs, the sound sending a strange shiver of awareness just beneath my skin. Not that I had any intention of doing anything about that, but I couldn’t deny that he made me very aware of how close he was standing, of how good he smelled.
We sat there in silence for a while, both of us watching Gavin, until a woman approached and I had to help her with a payment. I took the woman’s information down, ran her credit card, and told her the painting she’d purchased would be shipped out on Monday first thing.
Another couple came over and I helped them as well. By the time I was finished, I looked up to see that Jake was gone. I briefly scanned the area, looking at all the faces, surprised to see that he’d disappeared.
And when I felt a twinge of disappointment, I shrugged it off completely.
The last thing I needed in my life was another rock star—no matter what the definition.
One had been plenty, and I had the tire tracks on my back to prove it.
Chapter Fifteen
Jake
Starting a book was never easy. At least not for me. The process was often tedious, requiring a lot of thought. I usually spent so much time trying to come up with a way to begin—something that sparked interest in the first few lines—that I needed a breather before I could even start.
I wanted something that would hook the reader, make them want to keep reading.
For me, the first few words were always the hardest. Always.
Hmm.
I thought about the hot chick with the coral hair—Presley Abrams—and smiled as my pen moved across the first line.
Once upon a time…
I stared at those four words for a moment, remembering Presley’s suggestion the first day I’d seen her in the coffee shop. She had been glancing down at those two puny words I’d had there at the time.
What would she think if she ever read my book? Would she remember that day? That particular conversation? I still remembered the sound of her voice, the way she looked at me when she spoke.
Another smile formed on my lips and I started writing.
Oh, who the fuck was she kidding?
Once upon a time only happened in fairy tales, and Kora Madison’s day-to-day was anything but. Sure, perhaps her life bore an eerie resemblance to a fairy tale Cinderella’s, but not in the sense of Prince Charming coming in to save the day.
It was Prince Charming, right? He was the hero in that book? Admittedly, it had been a long, long time since I’d read a fairy tale, if ever. I glanced over at my laptop, considered doing a little research. That quickly passed, though. If I started researching, I’d get lost in it. The first rule was to write, so that was what I chose to do.
If that were the case, Kora would be getting hot and sweaty in her Nissan Honda Civic with a sexy guy wearing leather and smelling like sin. Riding him hard and fast, making him gasp and moan, the same way he would be making her gasp and moan. All while they rocked the wheels of her tiny car on their way to oblivion.
The only part Kora resembled was the hot and sweaty, but it had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with her nerves. Last she’d checked, she was the only one in her car, so it looked as though public sex was out of the question.
Hmm. Public sex. I liked the idea. Really liked the idea.
Glancing down at the paper, I decided to worry about the sex scenes later.
Okay, and no, she didn’t have a stepmother, either, wicked or otherwise, but she did have a sister. And well … wicked was one way to describe the woman who’d purposely slept with Kora’s longtime boyfriend, the man Kora had mistakenly believed one day she would marry. Granted, Sam wasn’t innocent in all of this, either—nor was his dick. In fact, the guy was a prick, a prick who had—behind Kora’s back—been screwing banging Kora’s sister for months.
Yep, I could sense it already, Sam was a total dick. The character women wanted to castrate because he was too stupid for air. Sleeping with your girlfriend’s sister? Not cool at all.
But Kora didn’t have time to dwell on that shit. She had more important things to focus on. Much more important. Like, how she was going to get past all the scathing glares when she walked into the restaurant where her sister’s baby shower was being held.
I imagined all of those people looking at my female lead, watching to see what she would do. But they were also admiring her, albeit secretly. She was the girl everyone wanted to be, even if they didn’t understand why.
Had she mentioned that not only was her sister wicked, she was also pregnant?
Yep, she was.
With Sam the Prick’s child.
Kora sighed and reached for the door handle. One breath at a time, she managed to push open the door, step out into the cool evening breeze, adjust her skirt, then force her legs to carry her away from her car.
My mind drifted to what shoes she’d be wearing. Not because I was that far into Kora’s head but because, as a guy, shoes were important. Those fuck-me heels that women favored… Oh, yeah. Definitely what Kora was wearing.
It would be so easy to hop back in her car, pull out of the lot, and never look back, but unfortunately, she had to go in. Everyone would think she was the devil incarnate if she didn’t. Since she was already twenty minutes half an hour late, she was sure they’d come up with a dozen million reasons as to why, none of which would paint her in a decent flattering light. After all, her family and friends already believed she’d been the one to break up with poor Sam, the one who had all but pushed him into her sister’s arms.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
My thoughts immediately veered to a story Gavin had once told me. We’d been at the Lizard Lounge, drinking beer and chilling. Or maybe we’d been drinking something stronger. I couldn’t remember. And it didn’t matter.
Anyway, Gavin had told me about the one time he’d interfered in one of his friends’ relationships, setting it up so the friend realized what a prick her boyfriend was. But Gavin had been surprised because the friend had taken responsibility for the breakup, though Gavin had been certain they’d broken up because she’d caught the guy cheating. At the time, I hadn’t thought anything of it, but I liked the idea, liked the underlying premise.
No, she wasn’t at fault, but for some godforsaken reason, Kora had taken the wrath of her family and friends, allowed them to believe the lie because it had been easier than the truth. In their eyes, she was the one who couldn’t be tamed. Wild and unruly uncontrollable was how most people described her. Oh, and unfaithful. That one had been added to the list, though Kora had never cheated. Not on a test, and certainly not on the only man she’d ever been in a relationship with.
What other things did people cheat on? I made a side note to look. Surely I could come up with one more thing to enhance the story.
No matter what she did, she couldn’t outrun her past, couldn’t get away from the mistakes she’d made as a teenager reputation she’d been given somehow earned, and now, it seemed she was being punished all the more.
What she
wouldn’t give to have a white knight handsome prince and a fairy godmother, someone to swoop in and offer a distraction because this … walking into the baby shower and facing the disappointment of her past … this was going to be a fucking nightmare.
Yes, I definitely liked this character. She had balls. She was smart, and though she’d been dealt a shitty hand, she was strong enough to overcome.
I stared down at the page, and the name of my hero popped into my head. I would have to add it to the list of characters I kept on a spreadsheet so I would be sure not to use it again. But I would again have to do that later.
Right now, I had words that needed to be written.
Donovan Brashwood never thought he’d see the day he was attending a baby shower. Willingly. But it appeared that day had come.
Wait. How old was this guy? I preferred my characters be in their thirties mostly. A little older to give them some life experience. Maybe he was thirty? Thirty-two? How old was Kora?
A million thoughts ran through my head, so I put the pen in the book and went over to the whiteboard, picking up the black marker. I stared at the words scrawled across the board. I had outlined Kora some. Wispy blonde hair and stormy gray eyes. And I knew I wanted her to be tall. One of those women who drew your eye when she walked into the room, the kind who commanded attention without realizing. Okay. So she was five six. Not too tall.
That meant I could make Donovan over six feet. Maybe six two?
I glanced at the list of his traits. Black hair, emerald-green eyes, clean cut, wore expensive suits. Definitely the kind of guy who would look at home anywhere. Even if he didn’t want to be there, he could command the room.
Dropping the marker, I went back to the desk, picked up my pen, and continued.
Weren’t these things supposed to be for women? Since when had it become appropriate to wrangle the men into them as well?
I had to agree with Donovan. I’d never been to a baby shower, either, and didn’t have any plans to in the future.
No, Donovan didn’t have answers to those questions, but he had to admit, so far it wasn’t bad. There was an open bar, which he’d already taken advantage of, as well as free food. And from what he could tell, there was only one game.
NOTE: Look up what kinds of games are played at baby showers.
Not that Donovan would let any of his friends know he’d willingly spent a Saturday night at a baby shower, but still. He was committed, so he figured what the hell. Definitely not the most exciting thing he’d done as of late, but the alcohol was helping.
Then she walked in and the night took an immediate turn.
For the better, he hoped.
Kora Madison.
As she moved across the room, Donovan noticed how heads turned and whispers started. He had to give her credit, she was brave. Considering this was her sister’s baby shower and the proud father was none other than her lying, cheating ex.
Yeah, it appeared no one else knew the reasons circumstances behind Sam and Kora’s breakup, but Donovan did. After all, Sam was his pain-in-the-ass kid brother. There was a five-year gap in their ages, but growing up, they’d been relatively close. Right up until Donovan had moved out of their small backwoods Texas town and ventured to the big city.
I definitely needed to add some details here. Why did he go to the city? Which city? What did he do? Those were all questions I would table for another time, needing to get words down to see where this was going.
Donovan had never understood why Sam hadn’t introduced him to Kora during the two years they the pair had dated, until right at that moment. If Kora had been his girl, Donovan would’ve wanted to keep her locked away himself, spending every waking moment ravaging her. She was…
My thoughts instantly drifted to Presley.
Fuck. Kora took his breath away, made him want things. Stupid things. And he wasn’t simply talking about endless nights of orgasms, either.
“You see her?” someone the man sitting at the table in front of Donovan said to the woman beside him. “She walks in here like that. It’s no wonder Sam had to seek solace in Trina’s arms. It’s obvious she’s a whore.”
Donovan reached for the man’s chair, yanking it backward, leaving the man guy flailing to keep from falling back. The balding bastard squeaked louder than the chair legs on the tiled floor. Leaning down, Donovan kept his tone lethal. “Don’t let me hear that come out of your mouth ever again. Understand?”
The man’s eyes widened as he nodded his head.
Donovan released him, then took his place against the wall once more. Now that he had something to keep him occupied, he wasn’t dreading the next couple of hours.
In fact, now he was looking forward to them.
As did I.
Not bad for a rough draft. I knew in the end it would be much better, but for now, it worked.
And I definitely liked where this was headed.
Chapter Sixteen
Jake
Sunday morning
I stared at the notebook on the desk in front of me while I stretched my fingers and shook out my hands. This writing thing was a hell of a lot harder than I remembered. Much easier to type the words than handwrite them.
My eyes slid over to the clock sitting on the corner of my desk.
Three o’clock in the morning.
How about that?
I’d been writing and rereading for a solid two hours. And as I skimmed the first chapter once more through blurry eyes, I knew I could keep going but wasn’t sure I could stay awake enough to make sense. Instead, I flipped back to the first page.
Kora and Donovan. Even after the first chapter, I knew this couple was going to be explosive. I definitely was on to something here. Scorned woman, white knight, who didn’t love that shit?
However, I didn’t want to get too far ahead of myself, even if I was fairly certain I’d broken through the block. The pessimist in me tacked on, even if it was potentially only temporary.
My thoughts drifted back to the coral-haired woman with the sweet smile and stormy eyes. Presley Abrams. The woman I’d loosely based Kora on. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but I was fairly certain I’d found my muse. She was sexy, smart, independent. Beautiful. Did I mention sexy?
And I couldn’t seem to get her out of my head.
I’d hated sneaking off last night without saying good-bye to Presley, but I’d had no choice. One, I’d realized that word had gotten out on the social media sites that I was out and about in downtown Austin because my cell phone had been blowing up with notifications, which would ultimately bring more people. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to mingle with the readers, but I really was a private person. I didn’t do well in those situations.
And two, I’d had the urge to write. So, when that impulse had taken over and I’d realized it was late, I had known then that I would be up most of the night. While Presley had been otherwise occupied with a customer, I had nodded to Gavin before leaving, then hurried back to my condo, making coffee and settling in my office shortly thereafter.
During the walk back, I had mentally prepared an outline for the new work I’d just come up with. Once I was in my office, I’d utilized the white board and mapped it out, spending time noting physical descriptions of characters, potential scenes, the hows and whys. Basically, the story arc.
Once I’d jotted all of that down, I’d jumped right into the words. Now, roughly five hours and one and a half pots of coffee after I’d left Presley back in that booth, a story board created, and a little more than a thousand words written—not even a fraction of my personal best—I knew I needed a break, but was scared to walk away from my desk.
What if my muse left before I was finished with her? Did I really want to leave Kora and Donovan hanging like that? There was still so much about them I didn’t know yet. And yes, I was referring to fictional characters, a couple of imaginary people I would get to know extremely well in the coming weeks. I hoped.
I shrugged my shoulder
s to ease some of the tension there.
Leaning back in my chair, I closed my eyes and thought of Presley. Wondered if I’d ever get the chance to see her again. Twice in a week by sheer chance seemed almost as though the universe had set that little plan in motion, but I wasn’t about to get too excited.
Seemed the procrastinating devil on my shoulder had turned into a pessimist as well.
The only reason I’d walked away without asking for her number was the simple fact that I knew I would see Gavin again. Shit, I could walk next door and probably see him now if I wanted. And since the two of them were friends, I figured my chances of finding Presley had improved exponentially.
“Meow.”
I peered over at Cat. “I know,” I told him. “It’s late. I should sleep.”
“Meow.”
I glanced down at the notebook, then over at my laptop.
Lifting the lid, I made the screen come to life, then entered my password and typed Presley Abrams into the Google search bar just for the hell of it. I hadn’t expected to get any hits back, but what I found had my eyes widening. I clicked on the first link, which took me to a website. Her website.
She was a tattoo artist. Interesting.
And hot.
Sitting there, I peered through the various pictures of her work. She wasn’t merely beautiful; the woman was incredibly talented. Damn. The sketches, as well as the tattoos, were phenomenal.
“Shit.” I sat back and looked at Cat, who had curled up beside the laptop. “I think my muse is a helluva lot more complex than I originally thought.”
“Meow.”
“Glad we agree.”
I looked at the screen, noticed an about section. I clicked on the link.
A photograph of Presley—professionally done, with her sporting what I assumed was her natural blonde hair color—appeared on the screen, along with a short bio.
Presley Abrams has been tattooing since she was eighteen years old, ever since her best friend taught her how to wield the gun. She’s been professionally inking people for seven years, currently working at Different by Design, a well-known shop in Austin, Texas.
Inked on Paper Page 9