by Meg Cabot
That’s how John and I are. We just seem to fit. I mean it, Nadine, it was like it was meant to be, or something.
And then, since we fit so well together the first time, I guess it just seemed natural to fit together a bunch more times.
Which is why I suppose I’m so late this morning.
But, oh, Nadine, I don’t care how many tardy warnings Amy Jenkins sends me. It’s totally worth it. Making love with John is like drinking really cold water after being stranded out in the desert for years and years.
Mel
P.S.: Why does Dolly keep throwing paper clips over the walls of my cubicle?
To: Jason Trent
From: John Trent
Subject: So sue me
I was busy, all right? And do you have to go whining to Mim every time you fail to hear from me for a few days? You think that just because Dad’s in jail, you’re…
Ah, forget it. I can’t even be pissed at you. I’m too damned happy.
John
P.S.: We did it.
To: John Trent
From: Jason Trent
Subject: Dad happens to be
in a minimum security rehabilitation center with the rest of the white-collar criminals. It is hardly jail. Not when everyone has his own television. Not to mention HBO.
And what precisely did you mean by that cryptic “We did it”? I hope you don’t mean what I think you mean. First of all, what are you, in the ninth grade? And second, what business do you have, “doing it” with someone who doesn’t even know your real name???
I hope by that “We did it” you mean the two of you ate raw blowfish or something.
Jason
To: John Trent
From: Stacy Trent
Subject: YOU WHAT???
You DID it? You DID IT? What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying you made love with her? Is that what you’re saying?
And that’s all you have to say about it???
I thought you agreed you were going to be there for me. I thought you understood that I am a woman badly in need of some vicarious thrills.
So you spill your guts, mister, or I’ll be sending the twins out to their Uncle John’s place for an extended visit….
Stacy
To: Stacy Trent
From: John Trent
Subject: My love life
Attachment: Parker’s Return
Stacy, I am not going to discuss my sex life with my sister-in-law. At least, not in the kind of detail you’re looking for. And do you really think it would be a good idea to send the girls out to see me when I happen to be living with two cats? You know Ashley is allergic.
What do you want me to say, anyway? That it was the most erotically charged twenty-four hours of my life? That she’s exactly what I’ve been looking for in a woman all this time, but never dared hope I’d find? That she’s my soulmate, my kismet, my cosmic destiny? That I’m counting the minutes until I can see her again?
Fine. There. I’ve said it.
John
P.S.: If you want, you can read the latest chapter of my book, which I’ve attached. It’s been sort of a slow news day, so I used the opportunity to work on my novel. Maybe that will satisfy your need for vicarious thrills. Just keep in mind that it is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
P.P.S.: Do you think sending her roses would be too pushy?
Attachment:
PARKER’S RETURN
JOHN TRENT
Chapter 17
“But what about Paco?” she asked breathlessly.
“Don’t worry, baby,” Parker growled. “I shot him.”
Her baby blues were wet, the mascara around them smudged. She looked up at him, her gaze limpid.
“Oh, Parker,” she breathed.
“He won’t be bothering you again,” Parker assured her.
Her lips, bloodred and moistly parted, beckoned.
Parker was no fool. He lowered his head until his mouth was crushing hers.
She went soft and pliant against him at that first touch of his lips. By the fourth floor, she was almost boneless. By the sixth, he had the zipper to her little black dress undone. By the time they’d reached the tenth floor, the dress was halfway down her shoulders.
She wasn’t, Parker discovered by floor eleven, wearing a bra.
Or, he learned by floor thirteen, panties.
When the elevator doors opened on fifteen, and Parker half carried her out into the hall, the dress hit the floor. Neither of them noticed.
Inside her apartment, it was dark and cool—just the way Parker liked it. Her bed sat in a puddle of moonlight streaming in through the shadeless windows. He laid her down in that silver puddle, then stepped back to look at her.
She was naked the way only the most beautiful women can be, proudly, defiantly naked. No reaching for the protective covering of a bedsheet for her. The moonlight played along the curve of her waist, the length of her thighs. Her hair, a thousand dark red curls, pooled beneath her head, and her eyes, as she stared at him, were deeply shadowed.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. He came to her, as the tide follows the moon.
And when he came to her, he was as naked as she was.
Parker had, in his past, known women. A lot of women. But this…this was different, somehow. She was different. As his hands reached to part those slim smooth thighs, he had a sense that he was opening the gates to another world, a world from which he might never return.
A world, he knew as he slid into its hot and steamy grip, he would never, ever leave.
To: John Trent
From: Stacy Trent
Subject: You really ARE in
love, aren’t you? Oh, John, it’s so sweet.
Of COURSE you should send her roses.
Can I forward Chapter 17 to Mim? PLEASE???
Stacy
To: Stacy Trent
From: John Trent
Subject: NO, you can’t forward
Chapter 17 to Mim! What are you, crazy? I’m sorry I sent it to you. Delete it, okay?
John
To: Mel Fuller
From: Nadine Wilcock
Subject: Sorry
it’s taken me so long to get back to you. I had to go splash cold water on my face. I think you should seriously give up the journalism thing for a career as a romance novelist. Water after years in the desert?
I have to admit, in all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you so…
Happy.
So. Was the “L” word mentioned, or not?
Nad
P.S.: As for Dolly, the reason she’s throwing paper clips over your cubicle wall is that she’s just trying to see whether or not you’re walking funny due to the enormity of Max Friedlander’s…um, adoration for you.
So, whatever you do, don’t get up in front of her.
To: Nadine Wilcock
From: Mel Fuller
Subject: The “L” word
Well, now that I think about it, the “L” word wasn’t mentioned.
My God, I took my dress off in the hallway for a guy who didn’t even say the “L” word!
Shoot me. Could you please just shoot me?
Mel
P.S.: And why hasn’t he called? Have you noticed that he hasn’t even called?
To: Mel Fuller
From: Nadine Wilcock
Subject: Snap out of it
A little while ago, you were ha
ppier than I’d ever seen you. Now you’re plunged into despair just because I happened to mention the “L” word?
Well, I could bite off my tongue. Don’t worry about it, Mel. The guy is obviously crazy about you. I mean, especially if he was willing to spend twenty-four hours in bed with you. I mean, my God, Tony’s never done that.
Then again, I’m always making him get up and cook for me.
Don’t worry, he’ll call.
Nad
To: Mel Fuller
From: Dolly Vargas
Subject: I hope you don’t think I’m butting in
on your personal business, but I do feel that you should meet me in the ladies’ in about five minutes. I’ve got just the thing for that nasty case of beard-burn you seem to have acquired all over the lower half of your face since I last saw you.
Seriously, darling, it looks as if you were licked on the chin by the one hundred and one dalmatians. I can’t believe you didn’t at least try a little foundation.
Not to worry. A little Clinique, and you’ll be on your way.
And while I’m applying it, you’ll tell me all about it, won’t you?
XXXOOO
Dolly
To: Dolly Vargas
From: Mel Fuller
Subject: Yes, I do think you’re butting in
and if you think I’m telling you anything, you’re nuts.
Thanks for the offer of your Clinique, but I will wear my beard-burn proudly, as a badge of honor.
And stop flicking paper clips at me over the top of your cubicle. I know it’s you, Dolly, and I know what you want, and I am not getting up.
Mel
To: Mel Fuller
From: Tim Grabowski
Subject: You naughty girl
Little Miss Mel, what have you been up to?
Wait. Don’t answer that. I could tell the moment I caught a glimpse of your little face, shining like a lighthouse beacon. (You really must get him to shave more often if the two of you are going to be sucking face on a regular basis. You are a classic redhead, with the very delicate skin to go with it. You must remind him of this from time to time, or you’re going to walk around looking like you fell asleep with your chin under a heat lamp.)
And when I saw that simply stunning arrangement of bloodred roses that just got delivered to you, well, I knew:
Our Miss Mel has been very wicked indeed.
What did you do to deserve that enormous floral tribute? I imagine it was quite out of character for you.
Congratulations.
Tim
To: Mel Fuller
From: Nadine Wilcock
Subject: See?
I told you he’d call. Only he did better than calling. That’s the biggest bouquet of roses I’ve ever seen.
So, what does the card say?
Nad
To: Nadine Wilcock
From: Mel Fuller
Subject: OH, MY GOD
HE LOVES ME!!!
The card says:
But to see her was to love her,
Love but her, and love forever
John
Did he make that up? It means me, right? Don’t you think? The “her” is me?
Oh, my God, I’m so excited. Nobody’s ever sent me flowers at work before, let alone with a card that mentions the “L” word!!!
Mel
To: Mel Fuller
From: Nadine Wilcock
Subject: My God,
it doesn’t take much to make you happy, does it? Of course the “her” in the poem is you. Who do you think he’s talking about? His mother???
And no, Max Friedlander did not make it up. Robert Burns did. How did you ever graduate from college? You really do know next to nothing.
Wait, I take that back. You know everything about Harrison Ford, George Clooney, and that new one, what’s his name? Oh, yeah, Hugh Jackman.
Don’t just sit there grinning like an idiot. Write him back, for God’s sake.
Nad
To: [email protected]
From: Mel Fuller
Subject: You shouldn’t have
sent all those roses. I mean, really, John, you’ve got to think about your credit situation. But they’re so beautiful, I can’t even get madat you for being such a spendthrift. I just love them—and the quote, too. I’m not very good at things like that. Quotes, I mean. But I think I have one in return:
If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.
Good one, right? That’s from Emma.
What are you doing tonight? I was thinking about buying some fresh pasta and making pesto. Want to come over around sevenish?
Love,
Mel
To: Mel Fuller
From: [email protected]
Subject: How about this one?
I love you
Han Solo, Return of the Jedi
John
To: [email protected]
From: Mel Fuller
Subject: How about this one?
I know
Princess Leia, Return of the Jedi
Mel
To: Tony Salerno
From: Nadine Wilcock
Subject: Mel
Well, she turned up. And you were right:
He didn’t sell her into white slavery.
But he did the next worse thing, if you ask me. He made her fall in love with him.
What’s wrong with me, Tony? I mean, I’ve never seen her this happy and excited. Not even the day that rumor went around about Prince William and Britney Spears. This is nothing compared to that. That day, she was giddy. Now, she’s ecstatic.
And yet I can’t help feeling like it’s all going to come crashing down in some horrible way.
Why? Why do I feel this way? He’s a nice guy, right? I mean, you met him. Didn’t he seem nice to you?
I think that’s the problem. He seems so nice, so normal, that I still haven’t been able to reconcile this guy, this “John,” with the Max Friedlander we heard so much about, the one with the ice-cubed nipples and all those supermodels in his pocket.
I just don’t understand what a guy who could have a supermodel would want with Mel. I know it sounds horrible, but think about it. I mean, we know Mel’s cute and quirky and lovable, but would a guy who’d been hanging around supermodels be able to see that? Don’t guys hang around supermodels for one reason? You know, for the arm candy?
Why would a guy who’s been eating nothing but dessert for the past few years suddenly opt for meat and potatoes?
Am I the worst best friend who ever lived, or what?
Nad
To: Nadine Wilcock
From: Tony Salerno
Subject: Are you the worst best friend who ever lived?
Yes. I’m sorry, but yes.
Look, Nadine, you know what your problem is? You hate men.
Oh, you like me. But let’s face it, in general, you don’t like men, or trust them. You think all we do is troll around for models. You think we’re so stupid, we can’t see past a girl’s face or chest or hips.
Well, you’re wrong.
Look, despite your assertion, supermodels aren’t dessert. They’re people, just like you and me. There are some nice ones and some mean ones, some smart ones and some stupid ones. I would say a guy who is a photographer probably meets a lot of supermodels, and maybe he meets a few he likes, and they go out a few times, or whatever.
Does t
hat mean that if he happens to meet a nonsupermodel who he likes, he can’t go out with her, too? Do you think he is sitting around, constantly comparing her to the supermodels he’s known?
No. And I’m sure Max Friedlander isn’t doing that with Mel.
So give the guy a break. I’m sure he genuinely likes her. Hell, he might even genuinely love her. Did you ever think of that?
So, chill.
Tony
P.S.: Mel isn’t meat and potatoes, you are. Mel is more like a ham sandwich. With a side of slaw and a bag of chips.
To: John Trent
From: Jason Trent
Subject: Now you’ve done it.
You’ve really done it.
What are you thinking? I’m serious. WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? What is going through that idiotic brain of yours? SHE THINKS YOU’RE SOMEONE ELSE. She thinks you’re someone else, and now you’re SLEEPING with her?
My wife put you up to this, didn’t she? You are taking advice from my wife. A woman who, I think you should know, ate an entire cherry cobbler—twelve servings—last night. For dinner. And growled at me when I tried to take the spatula away from her.
You know this is going to blow up in your face. YOU ARE MAKING A BIG MISTAKE. If you care about this girl, tell her who you really are. TELL HER NOW.
You’re lucky Mim doesn’t know about this, or I swear, she’d disinherit you.
Jason
To: Jason Trent
From: [email protected]
Subject: My life
Remember what I started to say about how just because Dad is in jail doesn’t give you the right to act like my father? Well, I really mean it. It’s my life, Jason, and I’d thank you to stay out of it.