Just Her Type

by Laudat, Reon

  Dressed in a faded Love Nest Ninjas T-shirt and ratty sweatpants for an evening in, Dominic slouched on his sofa with his bare feet up on the coffee table and his sleek computer balanced on his lap. In no mood for Impact’s bi-annual “Pitch Perfect Slam,” he griped to himself. The online event was a type of open-mic session in which authors interested in Impact posted one-line pitches of their completed manuscripts.

  All Impact agents read these posts in real time and requested partials or fulls, on the spot, for the most promising ideas. Whose decision had it been to schedule it from five p.m. to seven p.m. on a Friday, a few days before Christmas? He had a hot date with the remote and the twenty-inch frozen Italian sausage pizza in the oven. His social life had been lame lately, but he liked it that way. And work kept him plenty distracted. After signing Corinne, he’d taken on two other talented clients and closed two additional huge deals in the past year.

  Corinne’s advance and contract with excellent escalators had exceeded Dominic’s initial expectations. Tucker had required the extensive cuts Kendra had said the manuscript needed to whip it into top shape. Lassiter & Crane had also retitled it the gloomy Of Dissonance and Sacrifice and gave it the publicity-and-marketing push only a big player could, with a stellar first printing and a twenty-five-city international tour with stops in the states, Canada, Germany, and Spain among other places. Before the release, Corinne personally met with six major booksellers. Eight thousand advance copies had also been distributed. Author profiles-and-excerpt spreads appeared in several national lifestyle, entertainment, and publishing industry magazines. She appeared on two top-rated network morning news shows. Overall, the novel received glowing reviews.

  As Dominic predicted, the novel made the cover of the New York Gazette Book Journal and film rights had been snapped up by an A-list producer. Only after the pre-publication buzz and enthusiastic media reception translated into better than anticipated early sales did Dominic breathe a sigh of relief. A great book, plus substantial publisher support, did not always perform. In fact, expensive flops were more likely.

  Dominic had worked past all remnants of bitterness where the Brody situation was concerned, even meeting at the office with his former client, who’d packed a “special” lunch for him. As a gesture of goodwill, Dominic put his squeamishness aside to eat the “parboiled-then-baked” raccoon, which had been quite delicious after he stopped expecting it to taste like chicken. (It was closer to beef, more tender, if a tad greasier.)

  Kendra had enjoyed a good year as well. Though Dominic found it painful seeing Kendra’s name, he couldn’t help reading about the happenings at her agency. He considered reaching out with a congratulatory text or email, but did not. The latest Blake Spencer fantasy series she sold also had everyone talking. No doubt, the surprise success of his three indie-published novellas spurred his longtime publisher to offer him a more generous deal with stronger marketing plans.

  The first and latest books in Lizzy Hopewell’s Cute Coupledom series had climbed to No. 2 and No. 4 slots respectively on the New York Gazette’s nonfiction ebooks and nonfiction trade paperback lists after receiving multiple endorsements from Raven Raw, of all people, who gushed about them on her half dozen social media accounts with millions of followers.

  The latest Publishing Grapevine reported Kendra had also brokered a deal between Brody and Glenallen & Fowler. For Brody’s new trilogy the publisher would pay the kind of advance usually reserved for major celebrity tell-alls, a substantial increase from Brody’s last deal with his previous publisher. Way to go, Kendra and Brody.

  Over the past year, Dominic had continued to wrestle with his decision not to go after Kendra. But if he’d learned anything after a succession of failed relationships, it was this: A man can’t will or force someone to love him back. And hell no, one cannot love enough for two.

  Those early days after the breakup had been rough. He’d wiped out with plenty of women before, but he had quickly rebounded. This felt different. He lost count of the times he wanted to sob in his plate of hot wings, caterwaul cheesy tunes about unrequited love, and play endless, solitary rounds of beer pong.

  While under the influence of a potent prescription allergy medication, he’d even considered standing outside her apartment building and reenacting that John Cusack move from the eighties teen classic Say Anything, complete with the trench coat and the boom box hoisted overhead blasting Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes.” However, his pride, along with a healthy fear of a restraining order, had prevented him from going that far. Only guys in rom-coms could get away with that sort of grand public gesture.

  For a while, he’d lost his desire to write. Instead, he’d enrolled in a series of online courses, absurd distractions masquerading as self-enrichment:

  Lego Robotics

  Breaking the Rules: An Intellectual Discussion of the Ethics and Functionalism of Star Trek

  How to Make a Medieval Crossbow and Arrow

  Post-breakup Dominic had buzzed his hair. For good measure he’d gone for a chest wax because he’d once promised Kendra he wouldn’t. Ha! Take that. As if she’d somehow know what he’d done.

  What a bonehead he’d been. Served him right he’d ended up with a nasty rash caused by an allergic reaction to the concoction the esthetician had slathered on his skin. Upside, he’d lost some of the rage along with that chest hair. He kept the buzz cut, but the chest hair eventually made a comeback.

  The heartache lingered, but at least he had moved beyond most of the woebegone boondoggling. He was writing and working out at the dojang again.

  Dominic had taken full responsibility for the ways in which he’d contributed to the breakup. Even after noting her skittishness, he had pushed for too much, too hard, too soon. It was a wonder Kendra hadn’t scraped him off sooner.

  His token efforts at romance had not gone well. Though he spent time with some remarkable women, including Brielle’s friend Chelsea, in the past few months, not one had intrigued him enough to pursue more than a few dates. Those who hinted at wanting more time with him, he let go. Gently. His feelings for Kendra were like a fever that would peak and break, only to return when he attempted to move forward with someone else. It would start with the contrasting and comparing, a competition other women couldn’t possibly win because there was only one Kendra Porter. They deserved his full attention, not someone pining for someone else.

  If he couldn’t have Kendra, he’d make do after the pitch slam by studying narrative structure with a Breaking Bad rerun binge courtesy of Netflix.

  “Not in the mood for this,” Dominic said aloud. He could’ve shirked the pitch slam. No one would’ve been the wiser. And he’d rarely played the calling-in-rich card. His sense of duty spurred him on. He scrolled through texts, intermittently checking his watch and counting down the minutes until it was over.

  Forty-five minutes in, three agents had requested what read like promising young adult, historical fiction, and thriller novels.

  The howlers jumped out at Dominic:

  It’s a fiction novel…

  “As opposed to a nonfiction novel?” Dominic said to himself, reaching for the beer bottle on the end table. “Ah, the pet peeve I can’t seem to escape after all these years.”

  Best described as Fifty Shades of Grey meets Heaven is For Real.

  “What the…?”

  Muffy’s memorial service and a grieving pet owner become deadly for one taxidermist, who botches a job that sets off a chain of events that puts him, his family, and business in jeopardy.

  “Um, no.”

  As Dominic read more, the effects of a second beer took hold. The pitches became even more entertaining, but not in the way the authors had intended. To make his cyber presence known and help those who struggled with condensing their stories down to one sentence, he typed, Home in on the protagonist’s main goal and conflict.

  An hour and a half into the session, Dominic hadn’t read anything that piqued his interest.

  He scro
lled to the line for a novel titled Click. One woman’s quest for Mr. Right, the Great American novel, and the perfect knit stitch.

  Dominic took another long pull from his bottle. It wasn’t a pitch, but more like a tagline, simply stating the protagonist’s goals. “Sounds like a one-way ticket to Snoozeville, I’m afraid.”

  He read the next two posts for hard sci-fi and cyberpunk novels, but for some reason he couldn’t stop thinking about the dreary-sounding Click so he returned to that post. What’s your name again, Click person?” Dominic said to himself, before he took another swallow. He scanned for the contributor’s user name and snapped upright, spurting beer: NormaButterfield?

  Dominic blinked and then wiped the beer off his chin and laptop screen with the edge of his T-shirt as he read the post again.

  NormaButterfield.

  Novel.

  Knit stitch.

  Something bubbled in his chest. Indigestion? No. Joy!

  Dominic couldn’t type quickly enough: Norma Butterfield, is Click a romance, women’s fiction, or chick lit?

  NormaButterfield: It has elements of all three, but I would place it firmly in the romance category.

  Dominic closed his eyes, looked heavenward, and whispered a quick thank-you before typing: What kind of ending?

  NormaButterfield: A hopeful ending. Girl realizes she blew it. Guy gives girl another chance. Do you think that’s a realistic resolution?

  Dominic: Depends on the execution. But I’d like to see more. ASAP.

  The pulsing curser appeared to sync with his racing heartbeat as he awaited a reply that took too long. His cell phone on the coffee table vibrated announcing a text message. He didn’t reach for it immediately as he kept his gaze on the laptop screen until curiosity got the better of him. He snatched up the phone and after recognizing the phone number he read the text: How soon?

  Dominic typed: Like now if at all possible

  She texted back: Quite possible

  His doorbell rang.

  Dominic shoved the laptop aside and raced to the door to find Kendra, shivering and bundled up against the cold in a puffy coat and fuzzy hat. She looked more gorgeous than he remembered.

  “Merry Christmas,” she said through chattering teeth.

  “Merry Christmas to you, too.” He gestured. “Now get in here before you freeze to death. How long have you been out there?”

  “A while. You sure this is okay? I know it’s presumptuous to barge over here like this, after all this time, but I read about your pitch slam… It hit me. I couldn’t wait a second longer,” she said, cold wafting off her as she peeked around him. “I had to take a chance. I’d phoned the agency and Quinton told me you weren’t there so I came over here and waited. I’m sorry. I’m rambling.”

  Dominic closed the door and folded his arms to keep from touching her.

  “I didn’t know if…Do you have, um, company?”

  “I wouldn’t have written ASAP if I did.” Dominic quirked a brow.

  “Right. Forgive me. I’m nervous. I know I’m not making any sense. I was thinking about the woman I saw you with in the ER around Christmas last year.”

  They didn’t move beyond the foyer. “So that was you. I knew it!” Dominic’s right fist pounded his left palm. “That was my sister-in-law Bree.”

  “Oh. I’m glad. Dominic, there’s so much I want to say, need to say to you. I’ve missed you.” Her beautiful eyes shimmered with emotion. “And I’m sorry. So sorry I never said I love you back. I did. I do. I love you. But I couldn’t come to you sooner because I had a lot of things I needed to figure out first. But if you’ll give us another chance I’ll tell you every day, but most importantly, show you every day.”

  “But what about all those things that held you back before?” he grilled her. “How do I know you won’t bolt again?”

  “You see—”

  “You crushed me, woman.” One hand went to his chest. “I mean, pulverized me. Right before that, you handed me my balls without gift wrap.”

  “I—”

  “Disappeared for a year, a whole freakin’ year, Kendra.” His ego still battled his heart at times. Don’t blow this, again.

  “I know. I’m so sorry. I hurt you. Deeply.”

  “So how do I know you won’t do it again?”

  “You don’t know that.” Kendra shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “You can’t know for sure, but I know where my heart and head are these days. I wouldn’t have come to you after all this time if I didn’t know or if I still had doubts. I’ve never felt this way about anybody. Never missed any of the others as much as I’ve missed you. But I had to wait. I had to be sure. I had to take a few beats, stop pinballing from one serious relationship to another, and give myself a chance to work out some other things first. I know the most I can hope for is your curiosity, maybe? And that the daring side of you might be willing to take another chance,” her voice pleaded as she looked him the eye. “And I don’t expect you to forgive in an instant. It will take time. What you said that day we broke up was true. I had so much fear. I’ve learned a lot about myself since then. I never told you all about the things I was desperately struggling with. And no, it’s not all wrapped up with a neat little bow. I doubt it will ever have a neat little bow, but I’ve made peace with that. You can’t control other people or their actions.”

  “True. You taught me that.”

  “You can only control your reactions. My perspective is different. Better, I think, as I continue to work through my complicated relationship with a family member.”

  “Your mother?”

  “I have two, but I’m referring to Vanessa. The relationship itself hasn’t changed but how I view it and her have changed. The way I deal with her has changed. At first, I thought I had to pretend this didn’t matter, you know. I had to come off strong, I am woman and all. I had to act like I had it all together, all the time, but I didn’t. I was a mess inside.”

  “Oh, Kendra,” Dominic said, shaking his head. “Who has it together all the time? I didn’t. I still don’t have it together all the time. Like just a minute ago when I wasn’t letting you finish a sentence. It’s not automatic. I still have to check myself.”

  “I had to be one up, or at least act one up, you know.”

  “One up. Oh, man, you know I can tell you a thing or two about that,” he said. “And if we’re going for complete honesty here, at times our relationship did become a bit of a power struggle. And I was set on claiming victory, controlling the pace, taking the reins. I thought I knew what was best for both of us so I pushed.”

  “Complete honesty?”

  Dominic nodded.

  “Boy, did you ever,” she said. “You pushed. And pushed some more.”

  “And I’m sorry about that.”

  “We both had our, um… Wait, I’m supposed to be groveling, aren’t I?” she said with a small smile.

  “Make room for me right down there with you. With time apart, we’re more clear-eyed. There’s blame to go around.”

  “But back to the one-upping, those strong competitive tendencies—”

  “They are not going anywhere,” he said. “We’re competitive people. I actually admire that in you. Your spunk.”

  “Same here. It can make a relationship fun and exciting, but only in small doses.”

  “It’s crucial to know where to draw the line.”

  “I agree,” she said. “But I need to say something else first. I’ve wanted you from the start, but what I know for sure is now I’m comfortable with wanting you. There’s a big difference. And I’ll do whatever it takes if you’ll give us another chance, if you’re still available. Are you?”

  Dominic could not go another second without touching her. He placed his hands on each side of her face still cool from the elements. “Can’t you tell? I still love you,” he said, his voice dropping low as he drew her in his arms and swept her off her feet. “And I never gave up on you or us, dork-a-dingus that I am.”

&
nbsp; “You’re my dork-a-dingus,” she said tenderly, eyes misting. “So we start again?”

  “I say…” He paused dramatically as if he actually had to ponder the question, “Hell, yeah! There’s no winning for me without you, baby.”

  “Same here!”

  “So let’s drink to that.” He spun her around and then placed her back on her feet.

  “At the pub down the street? We can talk some more, hash out things, spell out the new rules of gameplay, catch up on what we’ve been up to while we knock back a few beers. Is it okay to tweak the fairy tale a bit?”

  “I know how much you love revisions.” He grinned.

  “I love this revision.” Kendra ran her fingers along his buzzed head. “Sexy.”

  “But do you really want to go out?”

  “Well, it is all warm and cozy here.”

  “And I have a stash of your favorite micro-brew. Let’s crack open more bottles. I have a head start on you.” He took her hand, led her toward the living room, and pointed to two empty bottles on his coffee table. “We can crank up the jukebox with all the sappy eighties love songs you can stand.”

  Dominic stopped near the sofa. Was he dreaming? He closed his eyes and tipped his forehead against hers, still not believing she was here and in his arms again. “As long as I know you want this. You want us.” He opened his eyes and studied her face.

  “I want us,” she said without hesitation. “I do. I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything. So what do you say we put the love conquers all back in?”

  “There is something to be said for genre conventions after all.”

  “I love you, Dominic Tobias. I didn’t know what to do with those feelings at first. But now, I’ll never get tired of saying it.”

  “And I’ll never get tired of hearing it, Kendra Porter. But, big but here—”

  “What?”

  “I promise,” Dominic lifted one hand to take an oath, “no pressure. No mad dash to the altar, no rush to pop out fat babies. We take it one day at a time, enjoying life and each other.”

  “I’m a tough negotiator. As long as the wedding and those fat baby are still on the table.”