by T. K. Leigh
“Sexy boss.”
“That’s a new one,” he mused, a smirk on his lips.
“Isn’t variety supposed to be the spice of life?” I raised my brows.
“Touché. So what seems to be the problem?”
I grabbed a handful of M&M’s and shoved them into my mouth, not caring that it was barely six in the morning. In my opinion, the time to eat M&M’s was all the time. “What isn’t the problem? This book feels like everything else I’ve ever written.” I shook my head. “I have this girl jumping on her boss’ dick in less than twenty pages. I’m missing something, but I don’t know what.”
“Romance,” Drew answered quickly.
I rolled my eyes. “Romance is overrated.”
“Says the romance writer.”
Giving him an irritated look, I pinched my lips together, pulling my sweater tighter around my slight body.
“I love you, Molly,” he continued when I didn’t respond, “but your lack of love life has been apparent in your books from day one.”
“I have a love life!” I argued.
“Boinking meatheads when it suits you doesn’t qualify as a love life.”
“Did you seriously just say boink?” I stifled a laugh.
“You’re deflecting.”
“I can have a love life without picking out china and drapes. And one of those meatheads happened to be one of your teammates. I was writing a hockey book, so a professional hockey player was the perfect muse for me.”
“And I made sure to give him a black eye when I found out.” He narrowed his gaze at me.
It wasn’t that I slept around, although I was certain my brother thought so. I just preferred to keep my so-called relationships on the light and casual side. It was better for all involved.
“I’m in no rush to settle down. I’m only twenty-nine-plus-one—”
“Thirty,” he interrupted, just like he always did. I shot daggers at him for uttering that blasphemous “t” word.
“I’m not ready to give up everything I’ve worked hard for and achieved for a man who thinks I should just devote all my time to taking care of a dozen kids,” I explained. Throughout my twenties, I’d lost touch with too many friends to count because they wanted to settle down and have a family, forsaking all other relationships for one person and eventually a pack of screaming, puking, crying rugrats. I refused to be someone who would sacrifice everything for a guy and the promise of happily ever after.
“The right person would never ask you to give up your dreams just so he could live out his. The right person would encourage you to pursue those dreams, regardless of the cost.” A forlorn expression crossed his face. I could tell he was still hurt after what he had been through with his ex-bitch, as I lovingly referred to her. Actually, bitch was probably a compliment for the woman Carla was. “And I’m pretty sure you’re not going to meet him at a bar on Boylston.”
“Those places are a brilliant source of material,” I countered. “Do you know how many story ideas I’ve gotten just by eavesdropping on conversations? Hell, the book I’m working on now came to me after listening to some drunk chick tell all her coworkers she was banging their boss.”
He shook his head, laughing. “Whatever you say, Molly Mae, but I’ve seen you work on books based on something you weren’t familiar with. You do your research. You don’t stop until you thoroughly understand something. Maybe you need to do the same here.”
“Here?” I scrunched my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“You write romance. Maybe you finally need to…” He paused, shrugging, “ya know, research that.”
“Like interview people about their love life? Sounds a little like When Harry Met Sally, if you ask me.”
Confusion wrinkled his forehead.
“You’ve never seen it?” I asked, almost in horror.
“I’m a guy. Unless there are boobs, bullets, or bombs…or we know we’re getting laid…we’re not all that interested.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m pretty sure I saw some tears falling down those manly cheeks of yours when we watched The Lion King with the girls last month. You can act all tough if you want, but you’re a complete softie inside.”
“Having kids does that,” he reminded me, as he so often did. As if I didn’t hear it enough from my aunts, who warned me my ovaries were going to shrivel up if I didn’t have a baby soon.
I opened my mouth to respond when the faint aroma of coffee met my senses. It must have hit Drew, as well, because his shoulders slumped slightly. “Smells like Aunt Gigi’s down there.”
He groaned, running a hand over his stubble. “I suppose I should make an appearance. She acts like she owns the place instead of the other way around.”
“Do you blame her? She’s worked there since she was sixteen.”
Aunt Gigi, short for Giorgina, was our father’s younger sister. Our great-grandfather, Alfonso Brincoli — changed to Brinks when he landed on Ellis Island — started Modern Grounds in the early twentieth century. Back then, it was just a little cart he pushed to the waterfront where he sold coffee and cookies to the fishermen. It was now one of the few non-chain coffee shops left in the city and was located in the North End of Boston, the only place in town where Mom-and-Pop restaurants and coffee shops still flourished. The café had been passed down through the generations until our father took over several decades ago. It almost went belly-up a few years ago, but Drew stepped in and bought the place, keeping the family business afloat. More importantly, keeping Starbucks out of the North End.
My great-grandfather had bought the buildings we lived in when he moved his business to its current location. Over the years, the two apartments were typically rented out to employees of the coffee shop or their friends. When Carla left Drew, he moved into the apartment above the café, and I moved into the building across the alley so I’d be around to help him with the girls. Plus, I loved being just steps away from some of the best coffee in Boston.
“Daddy!” a small voice called behind Drew. A mess of dark curls appeared beside him, peeking her head out the window, a wide smile on her face. “Good morning, Auntie Molly!”
“‘Morning, Alyssa,” I replied with a grin reserved only for my nieces.
“Want to come over and make waffles?”
“I have to work today, princess,” I responded. “And I’m pretty sure you and your sister have school. Maybe I’ll come over tonight and we can make some pizza.”
“Pizza!” she exclaimed with enthusiasm. “And then watch a movie, too?”
“Of course, silly!”
I heard a shuffling inside my condo and looked over my shoulder to see a tall physique come into view. My eyes widening at his nakedness, I shot off the table, nearly spilling my M&M’s. “Gotta go! See you later, Drew. Love ya, Lis!”
I threw open the French doors and quickly ran inside.
“Hey, babe,” Kevin said, scratching himself as I hurriedly closed the blinds so as not to scar my niece for life. Hell, I was pretty sure the size of his junk had already scarred me for life. “What are you doing up so early? I didn’t even hear you get up.”
“I’ve been awake for a while.” I peeled my sweater off and slung it onto a chair as I walked through the cozy living area and into the kitchen. I checked the kettle, made sure there was enough water, then ignited the gas burner.
“Doing what?” He leaned his elbow on the quartz countertop. It was a little disconcerting how comfortable he looked roaming my apartment naked, his schlong blowing in the wind, so to speak.
“Not much,” I lied, pouring beans into the grinder and hitting the power button. I wasn’t the type of girl to spill her innermost secrets to the guy she was, as my brother put it, boinking. The details of my life were completely unrelated to Kevin’s ability to perform in the sack. He was a nice distraction and open to trying new things, which was extremely beneficial in my line of work, especially when working on the steamier parts of my books. Other than that, I
didn’t feel much for him.
“You get up early a lot,” he practically shouted over the sound of the coffee beans being pulverized.
“Just working on stuff for the magazine.” Turning off the grinder, I avoided eye contact, measuring the coffee grounds into the French press.
He crossed his arms in front of his chest, his large biceps bulging. I hid my displeasure. Kevin was every woman’s fantasy. Toned muscles. Eight-pack abs. A few tasteful tattoos dotting his arms and shoulders. He just wasn’t my fantasy man. I liked my men a little squishy with some imperfections. However, beer bellies and nose hair didn’t sell books. People read to escape, not be reminded of their ordinary, mundane lives.
For the past several months, Kevin had been my unknowing muse for a handful of book boyfriends. It was a great arrangement, even if he remained unaware of the details. I used him as a source of inspiration to write my sizzling, ovary-combusting romances. In return, he had a girl who wouldn’t pester him to meet her family and hang out with her friends. Who wouldn’t stand in front of the mirror for hours asking him repeatedly if she looked fat. Who didn’t need to be wined and dined so he could get laid.
“Mols?” Kevin’s voice made me tear my eyes away from his chest. Meeting his gaze, a lascivious smile crossed his mouth, assuming he caught me ogling. “Did you hear me?”
“What was that?”
“I said…” He stepped toward me, resting his hands on my waist. His thumb strummed my hipbone.
A shiver rippled through my body. I mentally ran through some notes I had made about a few questionable positions. Tugging at my lower lip, I tried to remember which one I wanted to check next to make sure I got the blocking right.
“You seem to work a lot, but your columns don’t appear in the magazine all that often.”
His lips whispered against my neck, the touch as subtle as a light breeze. I closed my eyes, arching toward him. I was thinking maybe against the wall this time. He was tall and muscular, a stark contrast to my short and slender frame. He could easily support me with just his upper body strength, barely breaking a sweat.
“Why is that?”
“I have no control over what they publish or don’t,” I replied in a breathy voice, repeating the same story I told practically everyone.
“What’s this new column about?” he murmured, his hands hooking into the waist of my Minnie Mouse pajama bottoms and tugging them down.
“Office romances.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
“What about them?” His tongue circled that sensitive spot in the crook of my neck, a tingle warming my insides.
“It wouldn’t interest you.” Hoping to distract him, I grabbed his cheeks, pulling his lips toward me. “Kiss me, Kevin.”
I had been up half the night writing, completely uninspired. Maybe this was what I needed to power through this book. Maybe I needed to feel the illusion of love and all its false promises.
My lips a breath from his, he pushed away, his posture straightening. “Why do you do that?”
“What?” I gaped at him, surprised by his sudden serious demeanor.
He ran his hand through his light brown hair. “Whenever I try to find out more about you as a person, you push me away.”
“I didn’t push you away,” I argued. “Hell, I was ready for you to fuck me against the wall, for crying out loud! You’re the one who pushed me away.”
“I’m not talking physically.” His muscular stature shrank, making him appear vulnerable. “Listen…” A sigh fell from his lips. “I like you, Molly. You’re a beautiful woman who knows exactly what she wants. How is this relationship going to work if I don’t even know who you are as a person? Your dreams and fears?”
“Relationship?” I practically choked on my own saliva, my heart rate picking up at his use of the dreaded “r” word.
In the few months we’d been casually seeing each other, which pretty much consisted of having drinks before heading back to my place, we never got personal. I didn’t know much about him, and vice versa. I liked it that way. He provided me with exactly what I needed. There had never been any discussion about what we expected from each other because I was under the impression there were no expectations.
“What are you talking about?” The tea kettle began singing, but I ignored it.
“Us.” He gestured between our bodies.
“Us?” I felt like I was in some sort of parallel universe.
“What did you think I was talking about?”
“I don’t know, but I certainly didn’t think it was that. Kevin, you’re a fun guy. I like hanging out, but relationship?”
He stepped back, his formerly massive erection no longer standing at attention. Regardless, it was still impressive.
“And can you please cover yourself?” I snorted out a laugh. “I can’t take you seriously with your junk flopping around.”
His eyes narrowed, hurt evident in his expression. “You’re a piece of work,” he spat in a tone that emphasized it was not a compliment. He retreated from the kitchen and stormed down the hall into my bedroom.
Shrugging, I pulled my pajama pants back up, then turned toward the stove. I shut off the gas, removing the kettle from the heat. Pouring the water into the French press, I allowed the coffee grounds to steep, shaking off the guilt that tried to force its way into my conscience. Catholic guilt. It wasn’t my fault Kevin wanted to change the rules after several months.
“I’m out of here,” he called out. I turned around to see him walking toward the front door.
“Okay.” I hesitated, unsure of the protocol in situations like these. I never got close enough to someone to know how to act after a disagreement. Or argument. I wasn’t quite sure which this was. “Want to come over later?”
His hand on the doorknob, he stopped. His shoulders rose and fell, then he faced me. “No, Molly. I’m not going to come over later. I’m done putting time and effort into something you won’t.”
“Kevin…” I approached him. “I just… I didn’t think this was a serious thing.”
“Well, it is…or was. For me anyway. But it’s fine. I get it. I thought you were different, but you’re just like the rest of the girls in this town. All you see are the muscles and nothing else.” He whirled around and threw open the door, storming out of my apartment.
I stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do. Should I run after him and apologize? Why? For being me? Sure, I enjoyed his company, and he was pretty good in the sack, but that was as far as it went.
Like I heard my father say all those years ago when my mother left him because she wanted more out of life than kids, like I was reminded when Drew’s ex-bitch, Carla, left him because he was no longer the hockey celebrity he once was, ‘real love isn’t real life’. There was no such thing as happily ever after. Humans existed only to inflict heartache on others.
Nothing would ever convince me otherwise.
CHAPTER TWO
A PILE OF KIT KAT wrappers lay beside me on the couch, damning evidence of one of my weaknesses…delicious wafers and creamy milk chocolate mixed in one irresistible treat. Ever since Kevin left, I’d been staring at my laptop screen, trying to get back into the groove of the story. My mind kept wandering to how we’d left things and the hurt on his face. Deep down, I may have harbored some feelings for him. I was smart enough to never act on those feelings. I had all the evidence I needed that so-called committed relationships were a farce. Someone always ended up hurt. I refused to do that to myself.
But now that I didn’t even have so much as a casual fling, I found myself uninspired. The words refused to flow. I tried to move on and work on a scene between my heroine and her flamboyantly gay BFF, but even that felt contrived and trivial. Then again, even when I was sleeping with Kevin, the book felt contrived and trivial. Kevin had been perfect for the past few books where my leading men were a tattooed bad boy, a tormented rock star, a leader of a motorcycle club. Kevin’s muscular, blue-collar persona was exactly what I neede
d to inspire my writing. But now that my leading man was a billionaire businessman, the game had changed. In order to finish this book by my deadline, I needed a spark of inspiration, and fast.
Grabbing the remote, I turned on the television and curled into a ball, flipping through all the movies I had on my Apple TV. They were mostly chick flicks I used to help inspire the illusion of love in my writing. Real love wasn’t real life, but I could certainly watch a Hollywood version of a cheesy romance.
Just as I settled on today’s choice — The Proposal seemed appropriate for my storyline — my cell phone rang. I groaned when I saw a New York City area code on the screen.
Clearing my throat, I hit the answer button. “This is Molly,” I said as cheerily as possible.
“Molly, it’s Tara,” a voice answered that evidenced a life-long cigarette addiction — low, gravelly, with an occasional cough that pierced my eardrums.
“Hi, Tara,” I sang in a chipper tone. I knew precisely why she called. I had less than a month to submit the final draft of my book. I’d yet to send her anything, not even a chapter. “How are you?”
“Let’s cut through the bullshit. I need a status update on this book… What is it? Seducing My Boss?” She made what sounded like a gagging noise. I couldn’t tell whether it was natural or intentional. I assumed it was the latter. I hated the title, too.
“I’m still working on it.” My voice oozed all the professionalism I could muster on just three hours’ sleep.
“Then why haven’t I seen anything yet? Is there something I should know?”
“Everything’s going great,” I lied. I couldn’t exactly tell my editor I’d been experiencing one of the worst cases of writer’s block I’d ever endured. Yes, I’d been writing, but for me, writer’s block wasn’t simply being unable to write anything. It was knowing the words I did write were complete crap, that the story had no meaning.
Truthfully, I had been feeling uninspired for a while now. I wondered if I’d ever have that drive and excitement I did when I first began writing. When I did it for me, not because I had some deadline and a contract to write a particular storyline looming over me.