“I have a huge dick and rippling abs. I live to pleasure the ladies and fight with my bare fists.”
Shaking my body and cracking my neck, I pick up the bottle, taking a long sip. “Alright. I’ve got this. I’m a hunky, burly man… I’m a hunky, burly man.”
Throwing my leg onto the coffee table, I envision Elspeth standing before me. “What’s a lassie loch ye daein’ in a place loch thes?”
Taking another sip of wine, I strut around the room puffing up my chest like a peacock… or a chilly New York pigeon.
“Lassie, yoo’ve got a braw rack gonnae on.” Shaking my head, I keep walking. “Nope. That’s not it….”
Throwing my leg back onto the coffee table, I rest my arm on my thigh, the wine bottle cool against my calf. “Och aye. Yoo’re a bonnie hen. Dae ye suck tossel? Yoo’ve got th’ gob fur it!”
My lips quirk into a smile as I see Elspeth below me, eyes level with my groin. The maiden’s glare is deadly. Oh yeah. My man’s going to get bitched slapped now.
Jumping down, I grab my pen and paper from the coffee table and write down the scene, trying to capture the feel of the tavern. The raucous surrounding Fergus and his wee target.
Taking another sip from the bottle, I sit down at the table, taking on the persona of my main character, Elspeth. I glare up at Fergus, ready to headbutt him in the cock if he gives me enough reason. I chuckle at the irony of the visual and pick up my notepad as I start to write again.
“Yoo’re a feckin’ pig. Gang awa’ an’ bile yer heed, Fergus McGregor,” I mutter as I jot the line.
I continue to write, drinking from my bottle every now and again, the words and scenes moving freely from my mind to pen and paper.
Now, how are these two going to come together? Standing up, I wobble slightly, catching myself on the armrest. I’ve only had two or three sips…
On the table are two empty bottles of wine and a third waiting to be opened. Darn pixies, drinking my wine. “Aam comin’ back fur ye.” I pat the third bottle, the world tilting off course.
Swaying around the room, inspiration strikes. “Aye, Fergus. Yoo’re feckin’ blooter’d. Lit me help ye tae a room.”
“’At depends, lassie. Will ye be gittin’ yer hole wi’ me?”
“Nae on yer life, Fergus.”
“Mah tossel is heavy wi’ need, lassie.”
“An’ ah dorn’t care. Awa’ wi’ ye.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, Elspeth. You tell him. We don’t need his heavy cock.”
“And I have so many questions.”
Screaming, I pull my sword from its scabbard, spinning around so fast that I let go of it. Time stands still as it sails through the air, stabbing tip first into the hallway wall before clattering to the ground in front of two pairs of feet.
“Oh my God! Are you guys okay? I could have killed you! Wait…” Horror fills my words as my eyes flick between them, their blurry outlines fusing together. “Why are you here? And haven’t you heard of knocking? I could have been naked.”
Garrett and Mia share an amused snicker, their laughter growing louder as they continue to stare at me. With my hands on my hips, I try to stand taller, stumbling a little. “Well, I could have.”
Jiggling draws my eyes down, and I realize my chest is on full display. He’s a fictional character, and he still got me out of my shirt. Smooth, Fergus… smooth.
Holding on to each other, their laughter fills my home, the noise in sync with the music still playing through my speakers. Assholes.
Wobbling over to the sound system, I turn off the orchestra and brighten the lights. My colorful living room replaces the dark, dimly lit tavern—with complimentary laughing buffoons.
Searching the couch, I find my shirt and throw it back on only to find several buttons missing. When did I even take it off? A fuzzy scene fills my mind as a light bulb flicks on in my brain.
Oh. I think I was acting out a bodice-ripping scene… without the bodice. Note to self: buy a bodice… preferably with velcro.
“How… how long have you been doing… this?” Mia’s voice is constricted as she gestures to me and the living room, clearly trying hard to stifle her laughter.
“Writing, or dressing like this?”
“How do you even have all of these clothes? And where did you even find them?” Mia’s eyes roam back over the outfit, taking in all of the intricate details with a mixture of surprise and appreciation.
“I bought them from an authentic Georgian Era store in England.”
“Were you drunk when you bought them?”
“… No?”
Mia lets out a laugh as she eyes my apartment with a newfound sense of curiosity. “What else have you got hidden away? Please tell me there’s a sex swing or a sex robot hidden somewhere in here?”
“Technically, I’m her sex robot.” Garrett winks at me.
Waving her hand over my outfit, Mia asks, “Is this what you do every time you write?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not funny, Mia…” Crossing my arms, I sit back on the sofa, pulling my laptop onto my lap indignantly.
“You’re right,” she says. “It wasn’t funny. It was hilarious—best show I’ve seen in years. Don’t know why I bother with Broadway,” she smirks and I frown at her.
“Bitch, what are you doing here? I’m busy.”
Recognizing my flaring irritation, Garrett steps forward. “I was coming by with dinner and spotted Mia outside your door. When you didn’t answer, we tried calling, but you didn’t pick up. We could hear music so we knew you were home, so we kind of… broke in? But Mia has a key, so it’s not really breaking in—Is it?”
Garrett turns to Mia for confirmation, and she shrugs. She’s stifling giggles again, and I get the impression she’s just as drunk as I am.
“I thought you might have been asleep, not doing whatever the hell this was.” Snickering, she picks up the sword and examines it closely. “Is this thing real? It’s damn heavy.”
Shoving my laptop from my lap, I walk forward and take the sword from her hands, sheathing it back into its scabbard. “It’s the best costume sword I could find… I think? I’m not really sure on that. But I paid good money for it, so I think it’s a replica.”
My stomach grumbles loudly, the smell of the Chinese food penetrating the alcohol- induced fog coating my senses. Grabbing the bag from Garrett’s arms, I heave the takeaway toward the couch, pulling out all of the boxes and opening the lids across the coffee table. My eyes widen at the stash in front of me.
Oh! Crispy skin pork! Ripping open the soy sauce packet, I pour it over the food and dig in, groaning as the salty flavor hits my tongue, cutting all the way through my drunken haze.
With the two intruders forgotten behind me, I move to the other containers, taking small amounts of noodles, vegetables, lemon chicken, and fried rice from each and piling them onto a lid, not even bothering to fetch a plate.
As the food starts to soak up the alcohol, the silence in the room grows louder. Looking up from my haul, Garrett and Mia are watching me eat, their wide eyes flicking between the food and my mouth.
“What? Is there something on my face?” Wiping my wrist over my mouth and chin, my hand comes away clean; no soy sauce or rice to be found.
“Please excuse drunk Ellie. She has no manners.” Smirking, Mia shakes her head before coming to sit next to me on the couch, patting my head.
“So, what are you guys doing here, anyway?” I shovel more food into my mouth, smiling sheepishly as Garrett sits down next to me.
“I need an excuse to see my best friend?”
I raise my eyebrows as I wait for her to tell me the real reason why she’s here.
She shrugs. “I came to see how the book is going.” Picking up a pair of chopsticks, she snaps them apart. “We only have three weeks until it needs to be submitted and I want to make sure that everything is ironed out before the sneak-peek reading. I know it’s a lot of pressure Ellie, but Lauren Carmichael needs to smash this one
out of the park.”
“Who’s Lauren Carmichael? And why do you have to help her?”
Shifting toward Garrett, I eye him over the box of food in my hand. “How much do you know about me?”
He smirks, looking me over. “I think I know you pretty well, don’t you think?”
I scrunch my nose at him and he grins. “As for your work? Not much,” he continues. “I know you’re a writer and that your books do well. But… I’ve never dug into it more than that. Sorry.” He winces, a guilty smile on his lips.
I look to Mia who gives me a quick nod, encouraging me to continue. Do… I tell him? I’ve never really told anyone before. My friends and Paul and Betty know, but…
Taking a deep breath, I release it as I channel Elspeth’s strong, no-nonsense attitude. “It’s okay. If you did research me, you wouldn’t find anything, anyway. I write under a pen name: Lauren Carmichael.”
Garrett’s eyebrows raise. “Why? I get that you probably don’t want to be bombarded on the street but… don’t you want the recognition?”
Swirling the noodles around in the container with my chopsticks, doubt and fear claw out of their dark corners, waiting to take hold. “Most writers who use a pseudonym do it for particular reasons. They could be writing in a genre that they would get ostracized for. They might be writing something taboo. Or they might be professionals who write on the side and don’t want to have their books associated with them.”
I glance at Mia who’s looking between us carefully, a soft smile on her face. “When I began writing after…. everything, it was a way for me to express my emotions and vent in a healthy way. I wasn’t in a great… headspace, I guess you could say. So we decided that I’d write under a pen name. Something that wouldn’t be associated with me. We created the persona of a strong, confident, and sexy woman who writes historical romance. It’s much better than the alternative.”
Mia frowns, dropping a Chinese container onto the coffee table. “Ah, no. We decided to have you write under a pen name to keep you out of the spotlight until you were ready. It’s not because we don’t think that you aren’t strong, or confident, or sexy. I’ll be fucking ecstatic the day you decide to use your real name. People deserve to know the real you. Even if you think they’d be disappointed. You’re not the same woman anymore, Ellie.”
Mia pushes herself off the couch, heading to the bathroom, the tension in the air loosening as she shuts the door. Fuck.
“Why haven’t you come out of the writers’ closet?” Garrett asks.
I meet his eyes, kind and unjudging. Why haven’t I? Because I’m a broken mess.
Staring at the grain of the coffee table, I pause, trying to straighten my alcohol-fueled thoughts. “I’m not ready. I mean… look at me.” I wave my hand around the apartment and myself. “I’m not exactly someone that inspires readers. They want an author who is sexy and confident and has their shit together. They don’t want someone whose life is a mess, who’s afraid of the dark, or someone who drinks like a fish.” Stabbing a piece of broccoli with my chopstick, I pop it into my mouth, the flavor bland on my tongue.
“I think if my readers and the writing community were to find out who Lauren Carmichael really is, I wouldn’t sell another book. I’d be pitied, or made into a laughingstock.”
“I have to disagree, Ellie.” Garrett’s forehead creases. “I think people would admire you for how much you’ve achieved and how far you’ve come. We all have our vices. And you… well… you dress in kilts with a fucking sword bigger than your leg while drunk-acting scenes in your book—which is super dorky and adorable by the way… and kind of sexy. I’ve never been into role-playing, but that was hot.” He winks at me and I blush.
“But you should have more faith in your readers. You may find they love you even more. No one is perfect, Ellie. I don’t think they’d expect you to be.”
“But… what if they hate me?”
“What if they don’t?”
Garrett and I stare at each other as I absorb his words, my heart pounding in my ears.
“What if they’re inspired by you?” he continues. “What if there are girls out there that are worried about the same things you are and you help them come out of their shells?”
“I agree with Garrett, Ellie.” I jump as Mia walks back into the room, her soft eyes moving between us. That woman is a goddamn ninja.
Can it really be that simple? Just… out myself for the whole world to see, to know? Would they accept me? All of me?
Sitting back on the couch, she grabs my bottle of wine, taking a large gulp. A sigh escapes her lips. “I think you need to have more faith in yourself and your readers. You might be surprised at what you find, Ellie. But I’m not going to force you to do something that you don’t want to do. As long as you’re happy and you pop out more award-winning books, I’m happy. But one day, you may regret it. And I don’t want you to. Think on it.”
Draining the last of the wine from the bottle, Mia picks up her rubbish, tossing it into the kitchen bin as she grabs her things. She kisses me on my forehead before leaving but turns to Garrett before entering the hall. “Make sure she goes to bed at a reasonable hour.”
Then she turns to me. “And I’ll see you on Saturday. But call me throughout the week. I want to know what happens with Fergus and Elspeth and how they end up getting freaky between the sheets.”
We watch as she leaves, the door closing behind her quiet retreat. My gaze drifts over to Garrett, taking in every glorious inch of him.
A man like Garrett will get tired of me, eventually. There’s no point in wanting anything more from him. Even if he is funny… and charming… and has a mouth and tongue worthy of many awards.
“Where’s Georgie?”
Garrett’s voice snaps me out of my appraisal. My cheeks heat as I look away. “Oh, he’s in the bedroom. He doesn’t like it when I take over his play area. Speaking of which, I should probably take him for his walk.”
Standing up, I gather the leash from the hook before letting Georgie out of the room, his excited barks and yaps chasing away the darkness that had crept into my heart.
“Ah… not to sound like a dick, but are you sure you want to walk Georgie wearing all of… that?” Garrett points to the leather boots, scabbard, and hilt.
“At least I’ll scare the crazies away.”
“Or everyone will think you’re the crazy.” Grabbing the leash from my hands, he hooks the clip onto Georgie’s collar, giving him a rough pat on the head. “I’ll take him for a walk. We’ll be back soon.” Kissing me softly on my lips, he walks to the door, a happy Georgie trailing after him.
I smile, watching them go, Those two make a great pair, then grab the Chinese containers, throwing the remaining food into a box, and packing it up for Garrett.
Loading my arms with the wine bottles, I dump them into the trash, hearing them clink against the other wine bottles.
New resolution: drink less wine. Buy some vegetables. Maybe cook a meal for myself. As I wipe down the coffee table, my note pad gets splattered by the wet cloth, smudging some of my work. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
I dab at the spot with my shirt, trying to absorb the mess and sigh with relief as the words remain clear, albeit slightly fuzzy at the edges.
Lying on the couch, I read over my notes, laughing at the antics between my Fergus and Elspeth. Grabbing my pen, I make more notes, hoping this will be enough to give my book the spark it’s missing.
God, I hope this will make sense tomorrow. Should I leave a note for myself explaining everything? Maybe I should draw a chart? Oh well. That’s for sober Ellie to figure out.
Throwing the notepad and pen onto the table, I pick up the remote and turn the television on. I snuggle deeper into the couch, my eyes falling closed with the sound of laughter in the background.
“Georgie, no. Go to bed. Don’t wake your mom.”
I feel arms wrap around me, pulling me from the soft cocoon I’m nestled in. “Garrett?”
> “Yeah, Ellie. We’re here. Go back to sleep.” Kissing me on my forehead, my eyes grow heavy again, as I relax against his chest.
“’Kay.” Screw anxiety blankets. I want one that mimics his arms. And his chest.
Garrett’s chest rumbles under my head. Can he read minds?
“No, I can’t. You just have a habit of speaking out loud when you’re thinking.” He sets me down gently on the bed, tugging the covers over my body and tucking me in tight. “But any time that you’d like to sculpt my chest, I’m willing.”
Kissing my forehead, he brushes my hair away, fluffing my blankets a little. “Goodnight, Ellie. Sweet dreams.”
His feet pad across the floor and the door creaks behind him. “Goodnight, bud. Protect your mom.”
Garrett’s feet brush against the floor. The sound of the front door closing quietly follows in his wake.
I sink deeper into the sheets, but something stops me from relaxing. I don’t want to fall in love. What if I lose myself in Garrett and he turns out to be like Michael? Would I be able to survive? But Garrett possesses a softness under his hard exterior. That kind of thing can’t be faked—can it?
I sigh and roll over, burying my face in my pillow. That’s a problem for sober-Ellie.
Sucker.
11
Ellie
“Can you please make something for me so I can at least pretend I can cook?” Mia whines, her voice cracking through the speaker on my phone.
I pipe swirls of vanilla-bean whipped cream around the edges of my famous mint chocolate cheesecake. Definitely going to have to do some cardio after eating a piece of this…
“Does sex count as cardio?”
Mia chuckles, her laughter fueling my own soft giggles. “Ellie, focus. I need to bring something to impress Mom and Dad 2.0.”
When I’d first mentioned Paul and Betty to Mia and Katie, they were worried I was being brainwashed to join some cult where I’d have to give up all of my money, live in a hovel, and make animal sacrifices to the Old Gods. This is what happens when you have a creative mind… it works in mysterious ways.
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