by A. J. Pine
Last night was indescribable. Annie had never felt more connected to another human being as she had with Wes. But that didn’t explain the empty side of her bed where he’d fallen asleep—the fact that he was gone without a note, a text, anything. What if everything was different for him in the sober light of day?
What if she got the hell over herself and just walked into the apartment? She wasn’t going to answer any of her questions standing out here.
Annie groaned. Why did her inner monologue have to get so logical?
She shoved the key in the deadbolt lock first, then unlocked the handle. Before she could plague herself with more questions, she just walked in.
The living room was empty. She poked her head into the kitchen, both bedrooms, the bathroom. It was like she was on some crime show and she was checking each room for a perpetrator. But no one was here. If she had a partner, she’d look back over her shoulder and yell, “Clear!” And then they’d get on with their search warrant or whatever.
But Annie didn’t have a search warrant. She didn’t have permission to be here. And she felt like an idiot for trespassing. For not trusting him. Just because her parents were a hot mess didn’t mean the apple couldn’t fall far, far from the tree. She wasn’t her mother, and Wes wasn’t either of his parents. They were something else entirely, the real deal. There had to be a reasonable explanation for his absence this morning after what they’d experienced last night. She would just grab the cider she’d left here when he’d unexpectedly invited her to his father’s house. He probably had the opening shift at Kingston’s and just didn’t want to wake her. She’d casually pop in and say hello. That was it. She just had to see him to know that whatever happened last night wasn’t a fluke. That what had been brewing between them for the past month was real from the moment his lips touched hers.
Where had she left the cider?
Ah. There it was. On the chair in the living room. Annie strode over and grabbed the bag, ready to spin back toward the door. But Wes’s laptop was open. And awake. Which meant he was here, right?
She took a quick peek, just at the page count, and saw there were at least thirty pages more than the last time she’d read it.
“He gave me all his other pages to read,” she mused aloud. “He’d probably want my input on these, right?”
It’s an invasion of privacy.
But he’s writing our story.
It’s me on the page, so it’s my right to read.
What the hell else do I have to lose?
She would have continued the rationalization in her head, but she swallowed her guilt and scrolled through the pages of Jack and Evie’s story until she came to the first chapter she hadn’t read.
The hero and heroine’s first night together. Like really together. Like opening the gates of Mordor together.
She let out a nervous laugh.
“Sex, you idiot. Just say the word sex,” she chastised herself.
And then she read.
It was every bit as emotional as that first time with Wes had been. She grinned when she read Jack’s internal reactions.
For the first time after returning to the place where he grew up, Jack finally felt like he was home.
Every kiss from her felt like a promise, and he wanted so badly to be the man to keep it.
As much as he tried to protect himself, Evie had found the crack in his walls and had burrowed her way in. This was when he knew it was time to mess things up, to do something beyond repair so she’d have no choice but to send him packing. He’d have to hurt the woman he was falling for in order to protect himself. Jack hated this side of himself, but it was an unavoidable truth.
Happiness wasn’t in the cards for him, even if Evie let him imagine, if only for one beautiful night, that it was.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
Annie was on her feet now, hand clasped over her mouth. Then she reminded herself that no one was there to hear her. And she didn’t give a shit because the kettle was about to blow, and there was no way she was holding back.
Annie had never fought for her own happiness because she always thought it had been just out of her reach. But she knew now it was fear—fear that loving so big and so fiercely would backfire. Maybe tragically, like it did for Wes’s parents. Or maybe like it was about to end for them—with Wes choosing his own realistic vision of the future over Annie’s ideal one where love conquered all.
He’d once told her that the stories she loved were fantasy while the one he wrote was reality. She had vowed to prove him wrong, and now was as good a time as any.
Tears pricked at her eyes.
“Enough,” she said aloud. “Enough already. I don’t want to be that girl anymore.”
Safe had kept her from loving—from being loved in return. Wes had loved her last night. She was sure of it. And if she had to be the one to prove it to him—well, that’s exactly what she was going to do.
E—nough. Annie was worth a hell of a lot more than sitting on the sidelines.
She opened the internet and logged on to her blog.
Stranger Than Fiction
by HappyEverAfter admin | Leave a comment
How much of the author is on the page? I’ll tell you firsthand. All of him. And consequently, all of me. Those of you who thought the heroine was too presumptuous to think she could change the hero’s views on love? You were right. I was wrong. About so much. I always thought the books I read taught me the power of love—that they reminded me not to settle for anything less than spectacular. Guess what? I found spectacular. But it wasn’t enough, not for the hero who doesn’t choose love.
(draft)
She slammed the laptop closed, clutched the bag with her cider tight in her fist, and left.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Jer’s not on until noon,” Jamie said when Wes asked where his roommate was.
“Huh. Guess he didn’t sleep at home last night,” Wes mumbled under his breath. That meant he wouldn’t give Wes the third degree about who he was with last night since he’d have no clue he hadn’t come home, either.
“What’s that?” Jamie asked, filling a pitcher for Wes to bring to the table where he hoped a celebration was about to happen.
“Nothing,” Wes said. “I just need to talk to him about something.”
But maybe this meant he’d be able to get to Annie first, and they could tell Jeremy together. Soften the blow, so to speak.
He sat down at a table against the front windows with Max. Leslie would be there any minute, and his whole life would be flipped upside down. Hopefully in the best possible ways.
“Let’s not jump the gun,” Max said as Wes poured him a pint of Jamie’s chocolate stout. “We’re not celebrating yet.” Max pushed the glass back toward Wes. “Jewish superstition to celebrate too early.”
“I thought you were Italian,” Wes said.
“My mother’s maiden name is Goldberg. She’d have a kina hora if she caught me celebrating a deal before it was signed.”
Wes burst out laughing. “Is my badass agent a mama’s boy?”
Max leaned closer to Wes. “You don’t fuck with tradition,” he said softly, and Wes did his best to compose himself.
“Am I interrupting an intimate moment here?”
The two men looked up to find a tall, lithe blonde in a fitted cream sweater, skinny jeans, and brown leather boots up to her knees.
Max sprang to his feet. The woman was a head taller than him, and she bent to kiss him on both cheeks.
“Leslie. So good to see you. This is my client Wes.”
Wes stifled a laugh as he saw Max morph from his crass, everyday self to someone—well—appropriate to bring out in public. He had to hand it to the guy. He knew how to play the game, and that’s why they were here, about to sign away the film rights to his books.
Max pulled out the seat opposite Wes, and Leslie sat down, reaching across the table to shake Wes’s hand.
“I’m
a huge fan of your work, Mr. Hartley. And I want you to know that I was green-lighting this project from the get-go. But I needed the studio to sign off on the deal. The higher-ups are a little skittish about book adaptations if there isn’t another book in the works. Now that they’ve heard about book two and all the hype it’s generating, I’m happy to bring you the news that we’d like to purchase rights for both books and get right of first refusal for book three.”
She opened a leather folder onto the table, exposing the contract that was already signed by the president of the studio and Leslie herself, who was listed as executive producer.
Wes wasn’t one for contracts—that’s why he had an agent—but there was no mistaking the numbers printed on the page. This contract would make him financially independent for years to come.
“I want to write the screenplays,” Wes blurted, not aware of this desire until he spoke it aloud. “I want to maintain the integrity of the stories. I know some things will have to change for the big screen, but it’s really important—especially for book two—that the essence of my characters remains.”
“Leslie,” Max interrupted, “we can negotiate this. I understand this wasn’t part of our initial discussion—”
She smiled and focused her gaze on Wes. “Done.” She flipped to page three of the document. “It’s already here.”
Wes shook his head, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Max was already standing.
“I’m just going to take this where there’s better light so I can scan the pages and send them to my contract specialist. She should have any last-minute changes to us within the hour. But, Ms. Alexander, I think we have ourselves a deal.” He glanced at Wes. “Unless, of course, the talent has any objections.”
Wes was still shaking his head. This was real. This was fucking real.
“No,” he said, laughing. “No objections. None at all.” He shook Leslie’s hand again and looked up at Max. “Will your mother object if I celebrate before we officially sign?”
Max flipped him off, but he was out of Leslie’s line of sight, so Wes just laughed.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Max said. “You two do whatever the fuck you want.”
And there was the Max Wes knew and loved. The man who took a chance on a twenty-four-year-old kid and was now giving him a career.
He poured a fresh pint for Leslie then held up his own.
“To us,” he said.
“To us,” she echoed.
Something caught his attention. Or rather, it was just an uneasy feeling. Wes followed that feeling and turned his gaze to find Annie standing to his left, just in front of the bar, her green eyes blazing.
“You asshole,” she said. “Here I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, thinking you just got cold feet or something.” She let out a bitter laugh. “I was coming here to give you a chance to tell me you loved me, too.” She swiped at a tear escaping down her cheek. “You didn’t even leave a note,” she said, with such finality in her tone.
“Annie,” he said, but she shook her head.
“I read the pages, Wes. I know Jack leaves Evie after their amazing night together. After she tells him she loves him. I thought I was more than just your muse,” she said. “I thought we were more.” She looked at him, at the woman sitting across from him. “Let me guess—she’s another one of your fictional characters. I can’t believe I told you I loved you.”
He stood to explain everything, to tell her how much he loved her, too. But Annie picked up his pint and threw it in his face. He squeezed his eyes shut against the torrent of liquid, and when he opened them, it was too late. Jeremy came out of nowhere, or maybe he’d shown up while Wes was being blinded with beer. Either way, he never saw it coming. Wes heard the crack before he registered the pain as his best friend leveled him with a sucker punch to the face.
The last thing he remembered hearing before he blacked out was Max.
“This is so going in the book, pretty boy.”
Wes heard the shouting before he opened his eyes. And then he decided he didn’t want to open them because the shouting was loud, and his head was throbbing. Then he tried to open them, but only one would actually cooperate.
Amid the audible chaos, he reached a hand toward his left cheek and winced when he touched the swollen skin. Then he winced again because, fuck, it hurt to wince. There was something soft under his head, and for a second he imagined he was lying on Annie’s lap.
And then it all came flooding back.
His books were going to be optioned for film.
Annie loved him.
Annie threw a beer at him.
Jeremy knocked him out cold.
Before he signed the papers.
Wes pushed himself up on his elbows to a chorus of gasps. Out of his good eye he could only see people from their knees down to their feet. Either he was lying on the floor, or he had more than just a swollen eye to worry about.
“Easy, there, champ.”
Wes recognized Jamie’s voice, especially now that the place had gone silent, and grabbed on to the outstretched arm, letting the guy help him up.
“How long was I out?” Wes asked, stumbling but not falling. Then he gained his footing.
Jamie shrugged. “A minute, maybe? Which is apparently long enough for that eye to swell up.”
Wes eased himself back into his chair, and Jamie handed him a towel to dry off. Only then could he focus on the scene before him. Annie stood next to Jamie, looking like she wanted to both hug him and clock him in the other eye. Max had his arms crossed and a shit-eating grin on his face. And Jeremy stared at him from a bar stool, his expression unreadable.
None of this could be good.
“Someone tell me what the fuck just happened.” He pointed at his agent. “You first. Did we lose the deal? Where’s Leslie?”
Max barked out a laugh.
“She stepped outside to take a call. And lose the deal? Are you kidding? This shit is Hollywood gold. Leslie wants this scene in your final pages. Make it part of the hero’s grand gesture or something.” He pulled the leather folder off the bar. “Contract’s all ready for us to review, but I think you better get your ass to the ER to make sure you don’t have a concussion or something. Can’t have you signing legal documents if you’re not fit to do so.”
Wes shook his head at this, but the slight motion felt like someone was using his skull as a hockey puck, so he decided to give the whole ER idea careful consideration.
He swallowed hard and met Annie’s gaze.
“I know you probably think I left you this morning, but I have a logical explanation. Still, not sure it warranted”—he motioned to his soaked torso—“this. Did you really think—after last night—that I would bail?”
Annie opened her mouth to say something, but she was interrupted by Jeremy attempting to launch himself at Wes again and Jamie stepping in to hold him back.
“Go take a walk, Denning,” Jamie ordered in an authoritative tone Wes hadn’t heard before from his mild-mannered employer.
“Wait,” Wes said, standing to meet Jeremy’s lethal stare. “I lied to you,” he added. “And there’s no excuse. So maybe I deserved that. But I’m in love with her, man.”
He heard Annie take in a sharp breath, but he didn’t break his friend’s gaze.
Jeremy just shook his head and brushed past him, apparently following Jamie’s advice to walk it off.
“I didn’t think you were the type to jump to conclusions, Annie,” he said, his eyes—or eye—back on her now.
She fidgeted with the bill of her knit cap.
“I thought she was another one of your—I mean, after I read your pages and Jack was hell-bent on self-sabotage—and you left and didn’t call—and now my mother’s on Tinder and my father is dating Theresa from Bunco—Dammit! This is what not playing it safe did for me. It made everything come crashing down at once.”
Annie crossed and uncrossed her arms.
Wes scratched at the
back of his neck.
“Who’s Theresa? What pages?” Because he hadn’t shown her anything new. Because the only way she’d know about Jack’s plan to fuck everything up is if she read them without his permission.
“I went to your apartment before coming here—to confront you for leaving.”
“I didn’t leave, Annie. I was getting you a fucking cider when I got called to this meeting.”
“You…what?” Her hands fisted at her sides. “Let me finish.”
So he did.
“I went to your apartment…and let myself in with the spare key. When I didn’t find you there, I remembered my cider. And it was right by your laptop that hadn’t gone to sleep, so I knew you’d just been there.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “So you read my pages without asking me? And you assumed that was us?”
“It is us,” Annie said. “Wasn’t that the agreement? I let our situation get you through your writer’s block, and I get to have fun without worrying about my stupid expectations?”
He shook his head and stood, ignoring the growing headache.
“Jesus, Annie. It was more than just fun. It was always more than that, and you knew it when we started—” He motioned back and forth between them. “When we started this.”
“But the book…”
“It’s fiction. Just like all those books you read where love conquers all. Did you ever stop to think about what comes after that happily ever after? Or even at the end of a book you found so hopeless you assumed the writer was a lost cause, too? The book ends, but in real life the story doesn’t.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it. This whole time he’d been thinking himself unworthy of her love. What he hadn’t expected was her thinking the same. “Maybe I draw from my own life, but that doesn’t matter. It’s never my story. It’s Jack and Evie’s. It’s their choice what happens next. Maybe I was scared when I wrote that scene, but that doesn’t mean it’s us. Because us, Annie? I thought after last night we were better than them. I thought that even if Jack didn’t get his shit together and admit he loved Evie, at least I had.” He shrugged. “Maybe I was that guy before us, but everything was different the moment I first kissed you. A book is just words on a page. And maybe I fucked up by not saying the right ones at the right time. But I felt them. Jesus, I felt them, and I know you felt them, too.” He shook his head. “But you never really trusted me. Did you?”