Love in the Headlines: A Star-Crossed Friends-To-Lovers Romance (Love in the Headlines Series Book 1)

by Candace Knoebel

  “I went a little overboard. I’m used to cooking for Fin. He eats like a giant.”

  “Speaking of,” I heard Finley say from behind me.

  I turned. Caught him lifting his nose.

  “I smell the scent of a hangover in the air. Who’s the unlucky victim?” When his eyes landed on me, they widened a fraction. Grayson started moving the dishes into the sink. “You’re the chick from the—”

  “Primrose,” I said with an extended hand.

  He took it. “How is she?”

  My thoughts retracted for a moment. Here I was, introducing myself, and he was already digging for information concerning Poppy.

  “I thought you took her home,” Grayson said.

  Finley turned a smirk loose on Grayson, who was still moving around the kitchen. “As if she’d let me do that. So, are you two a—”

  “We haven’t really—” I said.

  At the same time, Grayson cut me off with a, “Yes.”

  Smooth, Prim.

  Finley made no attempt to hide his growing grin. “Hmm. Well, I just popped by for this. And now, I have it,” he said as he swiped the wrapped burrito Grayson had handed him, “so I’ll see myself out.”

  Once Finley was gone, I peered past Grayson’s shoulder to the large clock on the wall. It was seven minutes past seven.

  “Shit!” I scrambled to my feet. “I need to get home and change.” I jetted past him to the bathroom where my dress and heels from the night before were, only they weren’t where I’d left them.

  “I hung up your dress, so it wouldn’t get ruined,” I heard Grayson call from the other side of the wall. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway with a hanger in one hand and my shoes in the other.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking them from him. Within seconds, I was out of his clothes and into the dress Poppy had insisted I wear. I wasn’t sure what it was about the morning sun, but regret seemed to always rise with it.

  Grayson was sitting at his kitchen counter when I finished.

  I gave him his clothes. He handed me the burrito, which was now wrapped in foil and a paper towel.

  “Thank you for last night, Grayson.”

  The kiss followed me around like a mischievous imp, plucking at my heels.

  He was still sipping on his coffee with an aloofness I didn’t understand. “Don’t mention it.”

  “I, uh … I really need to go if I’m going to make it to work on time.”

  “Of course.”

  I stilled. Closed my eyes, trying to quell the buzzing thoughts in my head. One thing poked through. He’d been just as into that kiss as I’d been. I knew that. Calling on a braveness I was only just beginning to learn, I made my way to him and kissed him before I could change my mind. Pressed my hands to either side of his face. Smiled when I felt the subtle sigh from both our shoulders as we relaxed against each other.

  “See you later?” I said when I pulled back, dizzy and sated.

  “Definitely.”

  ***

  I made it to work with five minutes to spare, stopping the audio notes I’d recorded on the way in about the night before. Poppy faced my cubicle with her head cupped in her hands, her manicured eyebrows raised in anticipation.

  “So …” she said the moment she saw me. “How did it go?”

  I set my purse on my desk and sat. Took a gulp from the coffee Grayson had sent me with to give myself time to formulate what I’d tell her. About the kiss. About his mom. About how ridiculously good he was, through and through.

  Not to mention, how he’d basically admitted we were a thing to Finley … a name I most definitely did not want to bring up in her presence.

  “Come on,” she said, rolling toward me in her chair. “Tell me! I’m dying over here.” She dragged the notes of the last word out, wringing her hands around her neck as if she were actually dying.

  I let out a tired laugh. “I think I’m never letting you take me to a bar again.”

  “And?”

  “Well …” I chose every word carefully. “The woman in the photo was a friend of his. Monica. She works for Orb. She was—”

  Poppy’s eyes flexed open. “Oh shit! Why didn’t I put that together? I know her. We met a few years back at a convention.” She grabbed her phone off her desk and then scrolled through Facebook. “Huh. We’re not friends. Weird.”

  “Well, anyway, it was totally blown out of proportion … just like I’d originally thought.”

  Mischief tugged at the corners of her lips. “You know what this means, right?”

  “That, next time, we shouldn’t jump the gun? And I should most definitely never drink again,” I added with a weak attempt at a frown.

  “Hangover?”

  “The worst.”

  “Well, on the bright side, this means, whatever you’re doing is working. He knocked a guy out to protect you and then insisted on taking you home. He was practically sweating primal, caveman instincts. Me Tarzan. You Jane,” she said in a male voice.

  “All things I’d be happy to forget.” I rubbed my eyes, which burned like two pits of lava, stomach rolling in rocky waves.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe breakfast would help. Tugging on my purse, I pulled out the burrito he’d wrapped for me.

  “Shut the front door.” Poppy snatched it from my hands and pulled the foil back, and I swore her jaw hit the floor. “He made you his prized hangover remedy? Prim, this is … the only person he has ever made this for is Finley—his best fucking friend. Damn, girl. What the hell have you done to him?”

  “Nothing.” I grabbed it from her. Took a huge bite to hide my growing smile at the thought that I was the first to gain his special treatment.

  “This is groundbreaking, Prim.” A thoughtful pause. “Maybe he’s your one true pairing after all. Can’t wait to read what you write about it.”

  My face blanched at the mention. The piece. I was supposed to have notes typed up for Quinn to review by the end of the week. A piece I’d barely given any attention to.

  “Speaking of … do you have anything started yet?”

  I took another bite before muttering, “Sort of.” It was a bald-faced lie.

  Every time I tried to write, I found myself staring at a blank screen. How did I sum up what Grayson and I were? How did I put into words how we just worked? I didn’t want to tear apart something that felt organic and natural and turn it into something coded with specific steps, like a science project. Couldn’t fathom using the things he’d said in private to make a name for myself.

  When I glanced up, Poppy’s eyes were pinned to the burrito, tongue running over her lips.

  Without a word, I handed her the other half.

  “Thank you!” Her mouth clamped down on it, a moan squeezing in between her chewing. “God, it’s been so long since I’ve tasted this. Fin would always sneak me one when I stayed over. Is it fucked up to sleep at a guy’s place solely because you knew it would end up with his roommate’s famous hangover burrito?”

  Laughter ripped past my lips, accompanied by a snort, which then caused my hand to shoot up to brace against the sides of my head. Though the aspirin had taken the edge off, the pain was still very real.

  Her smile was wide, as she was satisfied with my reaction. “I know. I’m shameless.”

  “In your shame’s defense, I’ll attest that this here burrito is magical.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” she said before taking another bite.

  “What’s magical?” Brinley asked as she stopped in front of our cubicles.

  “Dick,” Poppy sputtered.

  I swore, with her, I was constantly rolling my eyes. “This breakfast burrito,” I corrected.

  “Thank you, Prim. At least someone in this office is mature.”

  “Being mature is for the birds,” Poppy shot back.

  Brinley had stacks of papers in her hands. Her hair was fastened with two pencils, curly strands falling against her freckled face. “Does it have meat in it?” she asked, makin
g a face while ignoring Poppy’s remark.

  “Steak.”

  The frown she wore dripped with disgust.

  “Brinley’s a vegetarian.” Poppy spat the term as if it were acid in her mouth. A pinch to her lips and nose followed suit.

  Brinley shifted uncomfortably. “Spare me the jokes, Poppy.”

  As if Poppy had only just seen her, she set her burrito down and stood. Got close to her face, inspecting her as if she were a mirror. “Are you … are you wearing makeup?”

  Brinley clutched the papers tighter against her chest, and her chin lifted in an attempt at defiance. “Maybe.”

  Poppy’s hip popped out, a hand resting on it. “Spill.”

  “I have a blind date tonight.”

  “With who?”

  “I don’t know.” The chords of nerves were plucked in her tone. “Hence why they call it blind.”

  “Who set you up?” Poppy stalked around her as if it were a real interrogation.

  Brinley stayed strong, chin up. Shoulders back. “No one.”

  “Bull.”

  Brinley’s shoulders caved. “My mother.”

  Poppy’s laughter swam around her. “Jesus, Brin. Didn’t you learn from the last guy she set you up with? You do realize, your mother’s bracket of men can all dine off the fifty-five-and-up menu, don’t you?”

  “He’s the son of one of her friends.”

  “And no doubt, an ass.” Poppy let out a sigh. “One of these days, you’ll listen and come out with me. I can so help you find someone worth your time.”

  “I told you, I don’t party, Poppy.”

  “And you apparently don’t learn either.” Reclaiming her chair, she returned her attention to the burrito.

  I watched as Brinley’s features morphed with emotion. Pain and confusion hidden behind a beautiful smile.

  “For what it’s worth, good luck,” I said, offering a sympathetic smile.

  “Thanks.”

  “What is all that?” I pointed to what she held.

  “Oh, this?” She glanced down at the papers in her hands. “It’s poetry submissions for Poet’s Corner.”

  “Did the mystery poet submit again?” Poppy asked.

  We both knew Brinley was obsessed with whoever had contributed the poem that sparked the idea. She’d been relentlessly trying to track down the mysterious person with nothing to show for her efforts.

  A grin bloomed like wildflowers in spring across Brinley’s face.

  “Let me see!” Poppy reached for the paper Brinley was digging for. “Oh. Still with the broken heart, I see.”

  “Read it,” I said, curious.

  Poppy cleared her throat and then held up the paper. “Her heart wilted into a thousand pieces. A lover’s souvenir. And I was—hey!”

  Brinley had snatched the paper from her hands. “These poems come from people’s hearts. They pour themselves into these words. I won’t let you and your twisted outlook on love tear into them without any regard.”

  With that, she scampered off.

  “You shouldn’t do that to her,” I said once Brinley was gone.

  “Do what?”

  “Goad her like that. She’s sweet, Poppy. Dating is rough. It doesn’t come easily for everyone.”

  She snorted. “If you had seen her cry over a guy as many times as I have, then you’d understand.” She turned toward me. “Listen, Prim. I’ve known Brinley for almost four years now. She’s an amazing woman. She just … her luck runs thin in the department of the opposite sex. For years, I’ve been trying to get her to come out with me. To loosen up that permanent sad-girl hunch to her shoulders. But she can’t ever get out from under her mother’s thumb.”

  “Who’s her mom?”

  “An old hag with even older money. She lives with Brinley. Won’t let the poor girl fart without having to sniff it.”

  “God. That’s a terrible visual.”

  “Oh, it gets worse, but that’s talk for another day.” She pointed to Quinn, who was marching toward her office. “Back to work. Email me what you come up with before you send it off to the screaming banshee.”

  “Okay.” I glanced toward my computer.

  A second later, my phone buzzed.

  It was Grayson.

  I want to see you again. How does tonight sound? I have something special I want to share with you.

  Butterflies roared to life as I read and reread his text. It was a dream. Fully and completely realized. Although I’d felt the truth in his kiss, my brain still couldn’t wrap itself around it. Me. Primrose. He wanted to see me again. Share something special with me.

  I think that can be arranged. What time and where?

  It took him mere seconds to write back.

  My place. How does seven sound?

  Seven it is.

  Turning my attention to the computer again, I opened a blank document and stared at it as if it were a pit viper. My fingers hesitated on the keyboard, inching away with every second.

  You can do this. Just type some words. Any words.

  But my fingers wouldn’t move. My thoughts had cemented themselves in my brain, refusing to release. Glancing away, I stared at the picture of me and my sisters pinned to my wall.

  Be the alternate you. Let her write it.

  Yes. Be the alternate Prim. The one who had gotten me to where I was now. The one who would carry me forward. I could fill in some blanks. Give enough without giving much, just to buy me some time.

  I took a deep breath. Blowing it out, I forced myself to ignore all the reasons I shouldn’t even think about doing the article and typed in the heading.

  How to Turn a Player into a Stayer

  By Primrose Amberly

  Nostalgia

  Prim

  IT WAS A HOT NIGHT. The kind when the sky wouldn’t pour. It roared with frustration, letting only a smattering of silent tears slip through bright flashes of light.

  I was walking toward Grayson’s place, hand clutching the strap of my purse. My stomach floated in my belly, carried on the wings of excitement. All day, my thoughts had kept getting away from me, drifting into the clouds where the riddle of his surprise sat like a prized jewel on an altar.

  What could it be? I’d never once been surprised by anyone before.

  Well, not on purpose.

  He was standing by his front door when I approached, looking fit for the silver screen in a pair of dark-wash jeans and a white T-shirt that showcased his stupidly fit body. A tempting swirl played in his eyes, syrupy and inviting, accompanied by a smolder that cranked my heart to full speed.

  He was dreamy. Insanely, unfairly, absurdly dreamy.

  “Feeling better?” he asked as he came down the steps and wrapped his arms around me. Heat radiated around him as if he were his own furnace.

  What is this sensation? Like I could float off the ground at any moment. Being this close to him made my brain dizzy. Made my thoughts misfire, sending the wrong signals to my heart. The kind of signals that would get me in trouble.

  “I am now.”

  He kissed my forehead. “Good.”

  When he reached his hand out, I took it, and then we started down the street.

  “So, where are you taking me?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Can I have a hint?”

  “Hmm …” He rubbed his chin with a playful smile. “It’s in a building.”

  “Food?”

  “Nope.”

  We stopped at a crosswalk and then ran to the other side before a car came.

  “Movies?”

  His chuckle was as warm as the night air. “I haven’t been to a theater in years.”

  “Same, though I’m sure for entirely different reasons.”

  His brow lifted in question.

  “Instead of spending money to enjoy two hours of my life, I saved it to fund the big move to the city. I pretty much never go out—unless it’s for coffee.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Why?
”

  “Because the world is missing out on how wonderful you are.”

  My cheeks throbbed from grinning so much. “I reserve that wonder only for those who are special to me.”

  His hand came up to his chest, a charade of shock on his face. “Are you saying, Miss Amberly, that you consider me special?”

  I made it a point to keep my eyes on his as I said, “The best kind of special.”

  It was odd, seeing his cheeks slightly flush as his gaze searched mine.

  “Well then, I’m truly honored.”

  The flood of nightly traffic carried us forward until we were standing outside of what looked like an abandoned building. Grayson took a step forward while I took a step back. The second he recognized my hesitation, his chuckle spliced through the night air.

  “It isn’t what it appears to be.”

  “Oh, you mean a butcher factory for the criminally insane? Or maybe Dexter’s kill room?”

  “You watched Dexter?”

  “Who didn’t?”

  I peered past his shoulder. There were a few people standing in the parking lot under a flickering streetlamp. Ominous.

  “You do realize, this is the moment in every horror film where the female lead is yelled at for being an idiot and not seeing the signs?”

  “Well,” he said, linking his fingers through mine, “the only thing this female lead is about to experience is nothing short of amazing.”

  He aimed his savory grin at me, and my shoulders slumped in surrender. It should be banned to have a smile like his. Like a snake charmer or a magician, willing things his way with those pearly whites.

  I followed him to the door. Chewed on my bottom lip while he knocked.

  A slot slid open, and two big, round eyes appeared.

  “Rugrats,” Grayson said.

  A second later, the door opened.

  “Did you just …”

  He smirked and then pulled me inside. I found myself thoroughly floored. We were standing in a room covered in posters from the nineties. TV shows. Movies. Heartthrobs. Headlines. Overhead speakers played … “Baby One More Time” by Britney Spears.

  “It’s a pop-up art museum,” Grayson said, one hand tucked into his back pocket while the other smoothed through his dark hair. “I went with Fin awhile back. I figured it was something you’d be interested in.”