Writing Mr. Right

by T. K. Leigh

  Approaching the security desk, I did my best to hide my anger with a forced smile as I signed in. I was grateful my father was able to have visitors today. I didn’t know how I would react if that weren’t the case. I didn’t know if I could handle any more bad news in one day.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  WHEN I ARRIVED HOME after seeing my father, I sat in front of my laptop and stared at the scene I’d written the previous night. A lump formed in my throat at the memory of Noah’s vivid blue eyes, his warm embrace, his knee-weakening kiss. Continuing with the manuscript in its current state would force me to remember all those things and more every time I looked at it. I couldn’t do that to myself. I had no other option but to erase Noah from my life, just as he had erased me from his.

  My heartbeat echoed in my ears as my finger hovered over the mouse. I hesitated, debating whether this was the correct course of action. Reaching for my wine glass, I downed a hearty sip, then closed my eyes, clicking my mouse.

  When I looked at my laptop again, I tried to settle my panicked breathing. I’d just erased every last trace of Avery and her Mr. Jackson Price. I hoped I wouldn’t come to regret this decision.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I SHOT UP IN bed as the door to my apartment burst open, heavy footsteps stomping down the hallway. My ferocious dog lay snoring beside me, obviously ready to attack my intruders at a moment’s notice. But I knew there weren’t any intruders, at least not in the criminal sense. Just by the sound of their footsteps alone, I could always tell when Drew and Brooklyn let themselves into my apartment.

  They appeared in the doorway, their eyes raking over the mess that had become my bedroom during the past two weeks. My garbage bin overflowed with takeout containers, candy wrappers, and empty water bottles. I promised to buy a few carbon offsets to make up for the amount of plastic I would be tossing into a landfill.

  “What’s going on with you?” Brooklyn asked, her tone harsh.

  “Nothing,” I replied, as if it were completely normal for me to be lounging in bed at five on a Friday evening.

  “No. There’s something going on,” she pushed, storming into my room and plopping down on my bed. “Since you were facing a deadline, I’ve let it slide the past few weeks, but that deadline has come and gone.”

  “And it played such a beautiful melody as it floated right by me,” I retorted with a dreamy look on my face.

  Brooklyn scrunched her brows. “What do you mean?”

  Drew sighed, stepping toward the bed and lowering himself on the other side of me. “You missed your deadline, didn’t you?”

  I pinched my lips together, nodding slightly.

  “How?” Brooklyn asked. “I thought the book was going great.”

  “It was.” I shrugged. “But it wasn’t the story my publisher wanted. I tossed the whole thing.”

  “You what?” She shot off the bed, her eyes on fire. “Are you crazy? That story was phenomenal. I’ve been dying to know what happens between Avery and Jackson. I need to know if they get their happily ever after!”

  I grabbed my remote, turning up the volume on my television. I’d hoped something would inspire me to write again, keeping my television tuned to the classic movie channel nearly around the clock the past few weeks. Now, as luck — or maybe fate — would have it, I was staring at Deborah Kerr and Cary Grant as they said their final farewells before disembarking from the ship, promising to meet each other on the top of the Empire State Building. An Affair to Remember used to be one of my favorite movies. Now it only reminded me of stupid Noah. And stupid cemeteries. And stupid dancing. And stupid kissing. I didn’t care if I sounded like a petulant child.

  “They don’t get their happily ever after,” I replied, my voice monotone. “There’s no such thing, not with the direction their story was heading. My publisher needs happily ever after, so I’m starting from scratch.”

  She eyed me guardedly, lowering herself back to the bed. “Can I read what you have so far?”

  A hopeful smile crossed my face. “Of course. I’d love to know what you think. I could use some feedback.” I grabbed my laptop and opened it. “Let me just find it… Here it is.” I handed Brooklyn my computer.

  She scowled. “What is this?”

  “My manuscript. What do you think? I’ve been working on that for two weeks now. It’s really compelling, isn’t it?”

  “Molly…,” Brooklyn said in a cautious tone. “It’s blank.”

  I threw my head back on my pillow, laughing uncontrollably. “I know.”

  “Is this because of that guy at the magazine?” she asked.

  I shot my eyes to her, then Drew. He gave me a smug look. “I told her.”

  “I don’t know why I tell you anything when you obviously can’t keep your mouth shut. You’re worse than a teenage girl.”

  I didn’t know why I hadn’t told Brooklyn about my supposed coworker. Maybe I was worried she’d be able to read between the lines and figure out it was a lie. Drew was a smart man, but he was often too distracted by his own crazy life as a single dad to give mine too much attention. Brooklyn didn’t have that problem. I feared if I told her too much, she’d eventually figure out the truth.

  “And I don’t know why you don’t talk to me about this stuff, too.” Brooklyn placed her hand on my arm, getting my attention. “I get that you and Drew have a weird bond. I don’t know what that’s like.” She looked away before recovering her composure. “And, to be fair, Drew put up a wicked fight, but I eventually beat the truth out of him.” She winked at him, grinning, then faced me. “Have you spoken to this coworker of yours since you kissed him?”

  I shook my head. “When I went in the following day, I learned he was taking some vacation time and had decided to transfer to a different department,” I told them, stretching the truth in a huge way. I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to keep my story straight.

  Brooklyn studied me for a protracted moment, her bright green eyes unnerving me. “You liked him, didn’t you?” she finally said.

  “What? No!” I grabbed a Snickers bar off my nightstand and peeled off the wrapper. Chocolate was the only thing that would help me handle this conversation. In truth, alcohol would have been better, but chocolate was more accessible at the moment. I’d have to walk a whole thirty feet into the kitchen for alcohol. “I like him as a person, but not like you think.”

  “Then why are you still hung up on him?” Drew’s eyes were heavy with skepticism.

  “That’s ridiculous. I’m not—”

  “That’s why you tossed the manuscript,” Brooklyn stated rather matter-of-factly. This was the precise reason I didn’t want to tell her everything. She had an uncanny ability to uncover the truth…the truth I’d spent two weeks convincing myself was anything but.

  “No, it’s not. I’m starting over because it isn’t the type of story my publisher wants!” I argued.

  “No. It’s because you actually have real, honest-to-goodness, boyfriend/girlfriend feelings for this man.”

  I jumped off the bed. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Then why have you been cooped up in your apartment, living off bad takeout and candy?”

  “It has nothing to do with your preposterous idea that I had feelings for this guy.” I went to the en-suite bathroom and splashed water on my face. “The only reason I decided to spend any time at all with him was because I thought it was necessary for the book I’m supposed to be writing.” I reappeared in the doorway. “I was able to channel my characters’ thoughts so easily. That’s the only reason I kissed him. I should have listened to my editor weeks ago. But I’m listening to her now and am starting over.”

  Drew rolled his eyes. “The old Molly would have been at the bar the same day he transferred in search of a new muse.”

  “You’re the one who told me I needed to stop looking in bars for sources of inspiration, that I was getting too old for that.”

  “And you are,” Brooklyn agreed.

  I
stared at them for several long moments, my jaw tightening, my fists clenched

  “So what’s your plan for finishing the book?” Drew lifted a brow.

  Softening my expression, I returned to the bed, plopping down between Brooklyn and him. “My publisher extended my deadline, but only because I used Dad’s deteriorating condition as an excuse. I hated doing it, but I just need a little bit more time to get back on track. This whole experience has taught me I should just stick to the way I’ve always done things.” I looked away, my voice less than enthusiastic. “Find a muse. Write my book. Walk away.”

  “So back to the bars then?”

  I released a long breath. “I’m not going to find the type of guy I need for this book at a bar. I’ve been messaging a few from the online profiles I set up all those weeks ago. You’re right. I’m getting too old for the bar scene. No one wants to be that wrinkly, gray-haired old woman who still dresses in mini-skirts and lets the lips of her vag hang loose for all to see.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Drew groaned, playfully shoving me. “You’re disgusting.”

  “If the lips of your hooha are visible beneath your skirt, you have bigger problems,” Brooklyn added.

  “You can’t even say it, can you?”

  “Say what?”

  “Vagina.”

  “I can.” Her cheeks turned red as she avoided my eyes.

  “Prove it.”

  “I don’t need to prove it. I read your books. That should be proof enough.”

  “Whenever you give me feedback, you never say vagina. You always say something like hooha or lady bits or whatever dainty phrase you come up with. I’ve never heard you say vagina.”

  “What difference does it make? So what? I prefer calling it a hooha. That has no bearing on our conversation right now.”

  “Say it,” I pushed.

  “Why?” Brooklyn groaned.

  “I just want to hear it. That’s all. It may just be the cause of my writer’s block,” I said sarcastically.

  “No. Your problems run much deeper,” she joked.

  “You’re probably right.” Inching closer, I stared at her, waiting.

  “Fine!” she exclaimed finally, her face turning red. “Vagina! Happy now?”

  The room erupted in laughter, startling Pee Wee from his slumber. I hadn’t laughed so hard in weeks. It was amazing how something as simple as a laugh could make you feel as if you could overcome all your problems. It gave me a renewed drive to find a new muse and write the book I should have been writing before one Dr. Noah Joseph McAllister ruined my plans.

  “Did you ever consider that maybe your writer’s block is all in your head?” Drew asked once our laughter died down. “Maybe you should stop this useless search for someone who inspires you to write a particular story. Maybe you just need to find someone who inspires you.” He paused as I simply stared back at him. “Unless you already have…”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “WHERE ARE YOU GOING all dressed up?” Drew asked as I let myself into his apartment a week later. It had been a surprisingly productive week, at least in terms of my writing. While the words that ended up in my manuscript were, in my opinion, complete crap, my editor would love it. It was exactly what they wanted…a weak, inexperienced heroine who had a connection to her boss the second they met each other, but a coworker with a grudge threatened to destroy both of them if they ever acted on their attraction. It wasn’t what I wanted to write, but I had a contract to think about.

  “On a date,” I replied in a very matter-of-fact voice, as if it were an everyday occurrence. In truth, I didn’t know what had possessed me to agree, especially after having turned away dozens of other potential suitors over the past few weeks.

  I have a work thing. I’m going out of town. I’ve taken a vow of celibacy.

  “With whom?” Drew lowered his voice as he searched his refrigerator, taking out some sliced cheese.

  “A guy.” I headed toward his wet bar and poured myself a glass of cabernet, the full-bodied red exactly what I needed tonight.

  “No shit. Who?”

  “Someone I met online.”

  “So you’re still blocked?” He grabbed some bread, put a cheese slice between two pieces, then turned to the stove, igniting one of the burners and placing a fry pan on top.

  “Actually, no. I mean, this book isn’t going to win me a Pulitzer, but at least I’m writing.” I sat down on one of the barstools at the peninsula and took a long sip of my wine, the smell of grilled cheese making its way to my senses. Part of me considered canceling and spending the evening with the girls and Drew.

  “Then why the date?”

  I avoided his eyes, toying with my wine glass. “I’d been talking to this guy for a while.” I shrugged. “I figured it was finally time to meet up.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “And it has nothing to do with the falling out with your coworker?”

  “Of course not. He hasn’t crossed my mind all week.” I straightened my spine. I refused to acknowledge the likelihood I’d agreed to this date because I still found myself thinking about Noah.

  “Molly,” Drew said, his voice soft. “It’s okay to admit you were hurt by this guy’s rejection.”

  “He didn’t reject me. All we did was kiss, and the only reason I even did that was for my book. I felt nothing,” I insisted, glaring. I didn’t know if I said that for Drew’s benefit or my own. Maybe I hoped the more I said it, the more I’d believe it.

  After a heated moment, he sighed. “I’m not going to push it.”

  I raised my wine glass back to my lips, practically downing the entire thing in one gulp.

  “So meeting up for drinks?” he inquired.

  “Dinner, actually,” I answered, wiping my mouth. “If he’s a complete bore, at least I’ll only waste an hour or so of my life.” I returned to the wet bar and poured myself another glass.

  “Good thing you’re not just meeting for drinks. At the rate you’re going, you’ll be two sheets to the wind by the time you get there.”

  “Just settling my nerves. Online profiles can be deceiving. This guy could be a serial killer. It’s the nice ones you have to watch out for. They could be complete psychopaths. Take Ted Bundy. He was quite the charismatic charmer, ya know.”

  “Way to make me feel good about this,” he joked, flipping the sandwiches before stirring a pot of tomato soup that had begun to bubble.

  “Anytime.” I gritted a fake smile at him, then took several more sips of wine, the alcohol beginning to work.

  “Auntie Molly!” two small voices exclaimed. I whirled around as Alyssa and Charlotte came barreling down the hallway and wrapped their arms around my legs.

  “You look so pretty!” Alyssa said, eyeing my flowing knee-length light blue dress with flutter sleeves. I figured I couldn’t go wrong with a casual dress I made appear more formal by adding pieces of well-appointed jewelry — diamond bracelet, pearl necklace, and teardrop pearl earrings.

  “Thanks, Alyssa.”

  “Why are you all dressed up?” Charlotte asked.

  “I’m meeting a friend for dinner.”

  “Who? Auntie Brook?”

  I shook my head. “No. Someone you haven’t met yet. A boy.”

  “What’s his name?” Alyssa pushed.

  “Yeah.” Drew walked around the peninsula, carrying two plates with grilled cheese toward the dining room table. “What’s his name?”

  “Paul,” I answered.

  “Is he nice?” Charlotte asked, allowing Drew to help her into her booster seat. Alyssa plopped into the chair beside her, biting into her sandwich.

  “Yes, he is. He takes care of kids all day.”

  “He’s a teacher?” Alyssa mumbled around a mouthful of food.

  “No. He’s a pediatrician.” It wasn’t a coincidence I’d decided to break my dating hiatus by agreeing to dinner with a doctor.

  “What’s that?”

  “You know how your daddy takes you to see someone when y
ou’re not feeling well?” She nodded. “That’s a pediatrician. He’s a special kind of doctor for little kids.”

  “Oh,” they said simultaneously.

  “I don’t like the pedilician,” Charlotte said, unable to pronounce it correctly. “She sticks me with needles.”

  “It’s just to keep you healthy, Char,” Drew reminded her. “Now, eat up.”

  “On that note, I should probably go. Don’t want to be late for my date.” I made an exaggerated nervous face, biting my nails. Drew chuckled and I placed a kiss on his cheek. “See ya later.”

  “I want a full report tomorrow!” he called after me as I started toward the front door.

  “Are you sure you’ll want a full report?” I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

  “On second thought, absolutely not. I’ll just take the bullet points.”

  “That’s what I thought.” I blew Drew and the girls one last kiss, then closed the door behind me.

  Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I walked down the stairs and onto the street. The thought of blowing off this date crossed my mind when I eyed the door to my building across the alley. A Saturday night spent in a pair of oversized pajama pants on my couch while watching home improvement television and gorging on ice cream sounded so appealing. But something pulled me away from the familiarity and comfort of my apartment and into a cab.

  “The things I do for my art,” I murmured.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  “MOLLY?” A VOICE ASKED as I entered the foyer of a sushi and tapas restaurant a few blocks from Boston Common. It sounded like a strange combination, but the food was fantastic. If I was going to do the “real date” thing, I figured I could ease into it with tapas. I didn’t know if I could sit through a five-course dinner, considering the last time I had a similar plan, I’d unceremoniously left the poor sap. Tapas was a good compromise.

  “Paul?”

  A man with dark hair and chocolate eyes headed toward me. He was dressed in a pair of gray pants and a light blue button-down shirt. A rather large bouquet of flowers in his hand practically obscured his face. I had to fight my natural instinct to roll my eyes. I hated flowers. I never understood why women lost their shit when their significant other sent them. All you could do was watch them slowly die. I’d much rather get something useful, something that truly does say how much a man cared for me…like a vibrator. There’s no greater gift than that of a battery-powered orgasm.