Modern Fairy Tale: Twelve Books of Breathtaking Romance

by Kristen Proby

  Janie greeted me outside the spinning studio without even a hello. “You’re the one who went MIA for forty-eight hours…don’t give me that look.”

  “It’s freezing out here,” I said, ignoring her comment as I hoisted the door open. I went straight to the changing room and plopped down on the bench to remove my UGGs and put on my shorts.

  “Charleston, I thought something happened to you. If I hadn’t seen your picture on Instagram on Thursday of your run with him, I would’ve called the police.” She shoved off her lululemon leggings, no shame in being commando, and tugged on mini biker shorts.

  I actually heard a small note of panic in her voice as she sat down next to me, and felt horrible about not touching base with my best friend for days. I broke girl code.

  “I’m sorry. I just got so swept away. And, well, Layton is hot now.”

  “Um, I can see that in the picture. Even with that blurry filter, I can make out all his hotness.”

  “But he’s also so kind and funny, and really genuine. He’s a good one.”

  She ran her hand down my hair, braiding and tying it, when I bent over to put my shoes on.

  “I’m truly sorry I worried you. He blew into town like a hurricane and then stayed a day longer, but he had to leave and go back home. I sat staring at my laptop like a jilted woman yesterday.”

  She stood and tugged my hand, gathering me into her arms.

  “You’re crazy silly, Charli. You’re a girl in like and I forgive you, but next time I’m going to call the cops. You had me so nervous, I could’ve spit, and I was pacing like my mom waiting for her brisket to be finished.”

  I laughed. “Come on, let’s spin, and then we can chat over coffee.”

  “I have to go somewhere where they have almond milk,” Janie said as we left the locker room, clicking in our spinning shoes.

  “Oh God, what now?”

  “Listen, not all of us are so lucky to work out and eat what we want and then find love.”

  I punched her arm.

  “Okay, find like. But seriously, you’re such a happier person now that you write and eat a bit more. Me, I’ve got to watch my Jewish thighs. Lord help me if I gain another ounce. So I cut out dairy.”

  “That’s nuts, but okay. Only almond milk for you.”

  We spun, changed back into our clothes, and wrapped our sweaty bodies in our coats and walked down the street to a small coffee shop in the Village. We ordered and found ourselves a private table in the corner so I could tell Janie the whole story.

  Well, most of it. I kept what Layton did with his mouth to myself.

  I also kept my growing panic over how I didn’t deserve him to myself.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Layton

  The week dragged on. The producers were adamant that we wrap filming, and they were bugging me day and night for tweaks. In between redoing the sound track, I ran miles, logged a few more miles with Harriette, and obsessed over Charli.

  I wanted more than anything to be back there in her apartment, rolling in her lavender sheets with her in her pink panties and glossed lips. If I concentrated, I could still smell her on my shirt, but it wasn’t enough. Still, I had a job, one I’d worked hard for, and she was doing her thing. It was what it was.

  What would be enough?

  I e-mailed her every morning and she usually responded right away because of the time difference. We’d only spoken twice, and planned to get together in two weeks. She was going to come here for Saint Patty’s weekend, which scared the ever-loving shit out of me.

  Did she expect to meet my friends? They were pretty much all I had since my parents were older and lived in a nursing facility.

  Weird, I’d never even told her that. Would she care? Would she think I was callous? Maybe that’s why I didn’t say anything. Would she think my friends were dorks?

  The questions tumbled in my head as my feet slapped against the pavement. I would need a new pair of running shoes by the time she showed up in March at the rate I was going.

  I dropped down on the grass in front of my place and did one set of twenty push-ups and then another, alternating with sets of sit-ups. It was my own version of boot camp adopted from my workouts with Ryan.

  Sweat dripped into my eyes and I swiped it away before going after my push-ups like a man in prison and they were my only purpose of the day.

  Charli had mentioned that her friend Janie wanted to meet me. What would she think? I was pretty sure she was the one who was involved with that whole rescue-me gig at Zao’s.

  Christ, I was fucked.

  I was back in high school all over again, plotting out some weekend party on the bleachers, and I hated it back then. What made me think I’d like it now?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Layton

  Two Weeks Later

  Nerves were threatening to knock me over as I leaned against the wall in baggage claim. I was that nervous. Despite e-mailing, texting, chatting, and the occasional FaceTime session, anxiety wormed its way into every one of my body’s cells as I waited for Charli to arrive. The last time, I was prepared for disappointment and/or saying good-bye. But it had ended way better than I could have dreamed.

  Now she was coming to see me, and it could go one way or another. My gut said another.

  “Hey!”

  I startled, so deep in thought I didn’t even see her approach.

  “Hey.” I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her tight. Apparently my limbs had a mind of their own when it came to Charli.

  We’ve been intimate, I reminded myself. It’s okay.

  She collapsed into my embrace, our body heat mingling through my jean jacket and her thick sweater, and seventy-five percent of my nerves dissipated. Maybe if I got her naked, the rest would go away?

  No, that’s not the point. She’s not here for only sex.

  “You good?” she asked me.

  Shit, I’d been crazy caught up in my head.

  “I’m good, just thinking about how awesome this is. You’re here. For a moment, I was convinced I was dreaming.”

  She pinched my arm. “I’m here.”

  “You have bags?”

  “Of course.”

  We walked over to the carousel and waited, a pregnant pause hanging between us.

  “You know,” she said, “I heard that for every two minutes of a conversation, there’s seven seconds of silence.”

  I pulled her in again and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry. This just caught me by surprise, how happy I am to see you. I mean, I knew I’d be happy, but this is different. Overwhelming. And it’s early.”

  “In a good way, I hope? Good overwhelming?”

  “Extremely good.”

  “By the way, don’t mention early. I’m on East Coast time, and I’ve already flown here from JFK. Do you know how early I had to be there?”

  I kissed her cheek, tucked her hair behind her ear, and whispered, “I’m a lucky man for it.”

  She ran her palm over my cheek and smiled. No words were needed to convey she was happy to be here. The clammy sweat on my palms dried up.

  “So, what’s going on?” she asked. “What’s our plan?”

  And just like that, the last few lingering nerves flitted away. I didn’t even need sex. Just the idea of us having plans.

  “Well, it’s Friday, so most of the guys try to cut out of whatever they’re doing early. So happy hour later. But first, maybe a little tour? Lunch? Quiet time?”

  She waggled her eyebrows at me. “You know, I also heard that men think about sex every seven seconds. We wrote a piece on it at BubblePOP.”

  “That’s a nasty rumor. It’s actually every nine seconds.”

  We both laughed so hard, we bent over clutching our stomachs. And just like that, we were back to being long-time friends and newfound lovers.

  “Oh, there’s my bag,” Charli said, interrupting our giggles.

  Settled in the car, I put on Calvin Harris and rolled down
the windows. It was a gorgeous day—no smog, clear blue sky, crisp air. Charli looked like a movie star meets an angel or something like that in her big shades and her hair whipping around her face, sticking to her lip gloss.

  I already wanted to beg her to stay. Not to leave. We would send someone to her apartment to pack her stuff and ship it out.

  “How about breakfast food?” I asked her. “I’m sure you have to be hungry.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I shifted gears and willed my hand not to run along her thigh, but it did anyway. Her warmth burned through her leggings, and all of a sudden they were too thick. I wanted them off.

  “You look great,” I told her.

  “I finally cut my hair. I had to compromise somewhere between the I go to the office every day look and the I’m a homeless freelancer.”

  “Pretty sure you could never be that look.”

  “I know. Actually, the weekend my mom came to visit, she dragged me to a salon.”

  “Ha! That’s sort of funny.”

  “You weren’t there. She has this thing now with me being a professional. It’s so crazy because she was a groupie, wandering all over the country when she was in her early twenties. If she hadn’t met my dad and fell in love, she’d have gone on being a hippie, I’m sure.”

  “Maybe she wants something different for you. Parents can be weird.”

  “Eh, I don’t know. She’s sort of making me nuts. All of a sudden, she’s not supporting my wants.”

  “I can’t say I have experience with it. Mine only wanted to see me grow up. Once I graduated college, they both went downhill so quickly.”

  Her fingers laced through mine. I had told her during one of our late-night phone calls about my parents. My dad, no memory. My mom, no mobility. Together, they were a whole, but only half a person on their own.

  Charli had said, “I wish we were chatting in person so I could run my hand up and down your back rather than compete with the static on the line.” She’d actually said that.

  She was beautiful inside and out, and again the nerves were back. Not nerves about being with her, but fear of her leaving. I couldn’t let her slip away. Not this time.

  Our fingers were still twined together, but I had to downshift and turn into the diner. It was one of those classic LA institutions with jukeboxes on the tables and a black-and-white checkerboard floor.

  “Oh, wow, I just realized how much I want a cup of coffee,” she said when I came around to get her car door.

  “It was a long flight. You left New York at five.”

  She grabbed her tote from the floor and shrugged out of her sweater coat, leaving it on the seat.

  We walked into the diner, my arm around her, my heart in her hands.

  “Two,” I said as I flicked up two fingers to the hostess.

  We were seated in a booth, and I let her slide in first. I sat across from her and our hands met over the table.

  “This is sort of odd. It feels so comfortable, like we’ve done this before and it’s part of our routine.” She smiled as she spoke, her hair falling over her right eye.

  I used my free hand to swipe it back and said, “I know. It’s all the e-mailing and talking. I feel like I know you better than I know myself. By the way, how’s the book?”

  “It’s coming. I still can’t believe I sold the short stories, let alone signed a deal for three books.”

  I’d read her stories, against her protests. She’d sent them to me after I begged, and those suckers were good. Not at all sappy like you’d think. Real, poignant, and full of pressure or something. I didn’t know the right word.

  “What did they say your stories are full of?”

  She laughed. “Angst.”

  “Right, I was just trying to remember the word. Char, your stories are great. Your book is going to be even better. You’re a writer. Live it.”

  I wasn’t sure why I felt poetic all of a sudden. She did that to me.

  “I can’t really compare to anything out here.”

  The waitress came over and took our order. Coffee, spinach-and-egg-white omelets, rye toast, fruit. Yep, I ordered that.

  “Maybe you’ll get a movie deal next,” I said when the server was gone.

  “Oh, stop. You’re ridiculous. I’m a starving writer at the moment.”

  I tickled the inside of her palm and said, “You never know.”

  “What about you? Are you done with this movie?”

  I was working on a horror movie releasing the following Halloween. I hated it. I’d never done one before, and I wasn’t taking on another.

  “Thank God, yes. It’s definitely sucking all my creativity. There’s no room to do anything different. The cast is great and fun, but I’ll be happy when it’s over.”

  “You’re such a romantic at heart.”

  I shook my head, laughing so hard, my eyes were squinting. She was sort of right.

  We ate and laughed some more, and then we skipped the tour and went back to my place.

  I didn’t mind, and neither did she.

  Chapter Thirty

  Charli

  We parked in his driveway and my pulse quickened tenfold. I was a wreck. My panties were wet with desire, and my heart was racing on coffee or feelings or both.

  It was a cute bungalow tucked back from the street. As soon as I opened my car door, I could hear Harriette barking from inside the house. Layton rolled my suitcase along the concrete, the rattling wheel mimicking the rattle in my lungs.

  Lord help me.

  “Hey, girl.” He opened the front door and a whirl of fur and licks took us over.

  “Harriette, meet Charli. Charli, meet the other woman in my life.”

  “So this is who keeps you warm at night?” It was wishful thinking and prodding all rolled into one on my part.

  I didn’t want to bring up how much he changed again; I’d already nailed the lid on that issue.

  We’d talked about his transformation incessantly over the first few weeks before Layton had finally said, “You changed too, Char. You’re doing your own career thing. Less crazed with appearances. You’re happier, I believe. So am I. Let it go.”

  So I did. I’d already spent too many sleepless nights wondering if I didn’t deserve Layton because of my past bitchiness.

  “Check your fears and all your bullshit at the door,” Layton had said, and that’s what I was continuing to do, even now.

  “She does keep me warm while working, lying at my feet, but there’s only one gal in my bed these days, and she’s never even seen it.”

  Oh.

  “Come on. Let me get you a glass of water or something and you can relax.”

  Relax? I wanted him to jump me.

  He pointed out the living space and the kitchen, and led me to a small back patio. There I collapsed onto a lounge chair, more tired than I cared to admit.

  “Pellegrino?” Layton called from behind the sliding screen door.

  “That would be amazing.”

  He reappeared with a tall glass of bubbly water, a lemon wedge floating at the top, and I took a long sip.

  “This is glorious.” I sighed, and he sat on the end of the chair and gathered my feet in his lap, slipping my boots off. “That’s even better.”

  “Relax,” he told me. “I’m going to walk Harriette around the block so she settles down, and I’ll be right back.”

  All I could do was nod, the sun shining on my face, its heat warming my bones. Or was that Layton?

  I didn’t know, but I suspected the latter. I felt so good, and within minutes I drifted off.

  “Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”

  I felt his knuckles brush my cheek and my eyes flickered open. “Wow. I didn’t mean to do that, fall asleep on you.”

  “Feel better?”

  “Yeah.”

  He stared at me for a beat, then two, and then he leaned in and brushed his lips against mine. He was perched on the edge of my lounger, next to my hip, and his eyes were wholl
y focused on me.

  “My breath,” I murmured into his mouth.

  “Is fine,” he murmured back before taking advantage of my protest and slipping his tongue inside my mouth.

  In one quick move, he leaned over me and released the lounge flat, never moving from my lips. He made sure I didn’t fall suddenly, keeping hold of the back of my neck, guiding me slowly into place before he stretched out on top of me.

  “This okay?”

  When I nodded, he nudged my legs apart with his knee and weaved his legs with mine, pressing his erection into where it counted. My leggings did little to stop the sensation, and I was pretty sure I might orgasm from dry humping in clothes.

  Seriously.

  His hand moved down my side until his thumb stroked along the waistband of my pants. “I need to touch you a little, mix your scent with mine.”

  His scent was divine. Piney, a little sweaty and musky from his dog walk. It exuded strength. I would drink it if I could.

  The perimeter of the yard was lined with heavy bushes, and tall trees swayed overhead. No one could see us as I arched off the chair, his hand inside my leggings, grazing my most sensitive spot. When I called out his name a moment later, I tried to whisper, not sure if anyone could hear us. But then I didn’t care.

  With his weight lifted off of me, raised on his elbow, Layton brought me to orgasm right there in his backyard with only a few flicks of his finger. All I could think about was returning the favor.

  “Layton,” I mumbled.

  “Good? Do I make you feel good? Because this makes me feel on top of the world, touching you.”

  “Yes, oh, yes, Lay.”

  Rather than pull his hand away, he gave his finger another swirl, a flick, and then a squeeze, and I was riding another wave toward orgasm.

  “I want to touch you,” I breathed out.

  “Right now I’m touching you, beautiful. Later, we’ll take care of me.”

  I wanted to pound his chest and scream now but then he slipped two fingers inside me. “Oh God.”