by Logan Chance
“Mom?”
“I’m trying to process it.” Process is good. That means she’s not totally opposed to the idea. “Why didn’t you say anything before now?”
I push the lettuce around in my bowl. “Well, I didn’t want to disappoint you. You never seemed to approve of the writing.” I look up at her. “But this is what I want to do. And I’m going to.”
Her gray eyes are solemn. “You’re my baby, Rose. That was a long time ago, and really, I didn’t know what I was doing back then. It’s a lot of trial and error.” She sighs and leans across the table a bit. “Want to know a secret?”
“Sure.”
“I read Fifty Shades Of Grey.”
“You did?” I can’t believe my own ears.
She nods, and with a hint of laughter in her voice, shocks me, “I’ve read quite a few racy books.”
“Mom, you’re so naughty.”
She swats at my hand, her cheeks turning a bright shade of crimson. “Oh, stop.” Then her expression becomes serious. “And don’t tell your father.”
I do the motion of zipping up my lips and throwing away the key. “I won’t say a word.”
She asks about my book, and I tell her as we finish our lunch. Then I clean the rest of the slate by telling her Declan is a sex therapist. And we’re involved. And he’s leaving.
My poor mom takes it much better than I expected. “Rose, I don’t expect you to be a saint. They’re your choices to make. I don’t know if we can choose who we love, I think that’s unavoidable, but you can choose whether you’re with them or not.”
“Why does being an adult have to be so hard?”
She laughs. “It only gets worse.”
We finish up our lunch, and I feel a slight burden has been lifted when I leave. Mom is human just like me, and maybe if I spent less time in my head, I would’ve seen that. She’s an ally, not an enemy. Instead of going home right away, I stop at the bookstore and browse the aisles for hours until I get a text from Declan that he’s finishing up his shift.
For some reason, the thought of telling Declan is scarier than my parents—which is probably why I started with my mom—but I’m going to do it.
Maybe I’m a sex addict? Because when I arrive home and see him waiting outside my door in worn jeans and a simple black T-shirt, I don’t think about tomorrow, or the future, or my book. Instead, I walk to him like a junkie needing a fix and rise on my tiptoes to kiss his sensual lips.
He charges through the front door like a bull in the streets of Pamplona and slams it shut with his foot. And he almost growls at me as he sets me down, his hand connecting with my ass.
“I need this,” he groans, my ass still in the grip of his hand.
He’s created a monster; I really must be a sex addict, because I love this new savage beast side of him. This can’t be normal to have this much sex. To remove your clothes right in your entryway, like I just did.
He marches me to the back bedroom, and flings me onto the bed, and I land with a little bounce.
Like a tiger about to pounce, he moves up the bed, over me, on top of me. I want to tell him all the things, but like some demented heroine who can’t get her shit together, and makes my eyes roll out of my head, I make another bad choice and don’t.
27
Declan
Having studied Human Anatomy for many years in school, doctors are well-versed in the art of love making. This fact is completely made up.
I’ve never been so greedy, or hard, or so close to coming undone in all my life. Everytime I think I can’t take another second of her, she smiles, or draws her hand over my chest, or moves the slightest bit to where I could possibly combust.
I can feel the need taking over. The need to fuck, push my dick in, tighten my grip on her.
I want to take this slow, but fuck, how can I? How can I take things at a snail’s pace when this woman stares at me the way she does? Like she’s the needier between the two of us.
Not fucking possible.
And in this moment, I know I’m completely crazy for this girl.
I work my way up her body, licking, kissing, sucking, nibbling, fucking making love to her sweet, sultry skin with my lips. She cries out my name when I press my mouth to her pussy, dipping my tongue inside. I am in-fucking-satiable for her.
“Touch yourself, Rose,” I tell her.
Her back arches, her knees slipping further apart, and I’m right here, taking it all in as she runs a hand over her pussy, her confidence never wavering. And it’s fucking sexy.
“Is that where you want me?” I ask her.
She nods, biting her lower lip.
I slip on a condom before I thrust long and slow inside her, filling her to the hilt with my cock, loving the visual of my dick sliding in and out of her. I lean back, spreading her legs just a bit more, so I can watch as her pussy owns me. It’s next level with her, and I try my best to not be consumed by thoughts of forever and happiness, and stay in the here and now, but it’s hard when I see the dimple that surfaces when she smiles ever so slightly. Or the hint of freckles scattered across her nose. God, how I love those fucking freckles.
Thundering through the onslaught of emotions rising from deep within me, from places I never knew I possessed, I kiss her through our orgasms. I kiss her as my mind begs me to say those three little words I’ve never said to any woman. Words that scare the fuck out of me. Words that keep me awake long after she falls asleep curled into me. Since I can’t sleep, I pull up the book site on my phone and search for Doctor Love. This book has me questioning a little. Eclan Bigcock is too much of a coincidence. While Rose sleeps, I purchase the book, prop up a little, and head off to chapter one. And before I know it I’m sucked into the book.
Like I can’t believe I’m reading a romance novel. And it’s not because the storyline is riveting, it’s, hmm…familiar.
It isn’t until I come to a scene where Eclan fingers the heroine in a nightclub that I really take notice. I keep reading, glancing over at a sleeping Rose with her hand tucked under her cheek, wondering why my sexual experiences with her are in this book.
Did she tell someone all this? Something tugs at my brain and then I back track to a scene and re read it. It’s the one Rose had me read in my office.
Did she write this?
I finish reading off the story, in full confusion over a few more scenes that play out just like with Rose and me.
Why?
I mean, it’s obvious she wrote these words. And if she didn’t write them, then she obviously told someone about our sex. And the thought makes me feel used. I feel like the biggest lie in this place. Like I was used as a pawn in a much bigger scheme. Maybe I’m making too big of a deal about this, but it’s not everyday I fall in love.
It’s not any day, actually. This is a first for me.
Even now, being this close to her has my heart in an outrage. Has it beating this uneasy tempo. Part of me wants to kiss her and wake her, but the other part wants to walk away and never look back.
Quietly, I slip out of bed, get dressed and before I leave, I cut the strings and place the ereader on the pillow next to her. And then, because there’s one thread still clinging, I kiss her gently on the forehead before I walk out.
28
Rose
“Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go.”
—E. L. Doctorow
This is bad. I woke to an empty bed and no sign of Declan. When I picked up the e-reader on his pillow, the light came on. And then I sat on the edge of the bed in disbelief. And that’s where I still sit, still in disbelief. Pru ripped off my book. And Declan was reading it.
She didn’t only steal my title and have the balls to make it Doctor Love instead of Love Doctor, she used my sex scenes from the critique group. I can’t even feel my face. Oh god, she kept the name Eclan Bigcock. I changed mine to Gabriel. I changed it all to hide it was Declan. I didn’t use any of these scenes in Love Doctor.
/> Even though I know he’s probably thirty thousand feet in the air, I grab my phone from the nightstand and text him. He doesn’t answer.
Julie is my next text. “Can you come over? Now.”
“Yeah. What’s up?” she replies.
“I’ll explain when you get here.”
“Be there in fifteen.”
While I wait, I skim back through. She did add one of her own scenes. She’s got Eclan in a threesome. I guess this is my retribution. What must he have thought being blindsided with this? I wallow in my misery until Julie arrives.
“What’s going on?” she asks as soon as I open the door.
Her expression ranges from shocked to dismayed as I tell her what happened. She follows me into the living room, and I grab my laptop from the coffee table before plopping down beside her on the couch.
Then I pull up the bookstore website and...oh my god, Pru’s book is a bestseller. Even the cover is a rip off.
“Look.” I thrust the computer so Julie can see what I’m seeing.
“Oh no she didn’t,” Julie bites out, eyeing the copy of her work.
“I can’t believe this…” my words catch in my throat. Tears well in my eyes, hovering, threaten to spill over, but I won’t cry over this.
Rebecca was right. This really is how Pru releases so fast. She steals other people’s stories with no shame.
“There has to be something we can do,” Julie says. “I know people.”
“I didn’t copyright my chapters I let everyone read.”
“Probably wouldn’t have mattered,” she says.
A tear finally escapes, racing down my cheek. “Declan read it.”
“What?” Julie’s mouth drops open. “What did he…”
I wipe the tear away, but another quickly follows. “I haven’t talked to him. He was flying to New York this morning and was gone when I woke up. He left the e-reader on his pillow.”
Julie’s arm reaches around my shoulders, and she pulls me in for a hug. “Shh. It’s ok. We’ll fix this. No one knows it’s him.”
“But she used that name.”
“First things first, you need to call Pru.”
I don’t like this industry where people steal things and profit. I don’t want to be an author anymore. But I want to make sure I’m smart about this. I want to make sure I have all my ducks lined in a neat little row, before I make a move.
29
Declan
Medical doctors are just as likely to abuse alcohol just like the rest of us. This fact is not made up.
Sometimes you have to drink your problems away.
Instead of flying to New York to meet with the real estate agent, I changed my flight to tomorrow. Who really needs a place to live when you’re Eclan Bigcock? I’ll just hang out under my big cock. Maybe I’ll just become a porn star. Nah, I’d need a fluffer and I’d need it to be Rose. And then I’d just fuck her all day.
I want to call her. But, I don’t know what to say yet. Is that what the no strings was about? Was all the sex for a sequel?
“Jonah, what’s up?” I slur a little as he slides on the stool next to me at the sports bar where I’ve set up shop.
“Well, you asked me to meet you. You ok?”
How do I even answer that question right now? Am I ok? No, I’m very much not ok. What I am is Eclan Bigcock. Handler of pussies.
But, I don’t give him that weighted answer. “Yeah, man. I’m fine.”
Jonah being Jonah sees right through my bullshit. “You don’t look so fine.”
“Oh, what are you? A doctor now?” I’ll admit I’m in a bad mood. And I know I shouldn’t be taking it out on him, but he’s the one here right now. So, lucky him. “Doctor Love? Is that your name?” I hold my glass up for a cheers. “Eclan Bigcock. Nice to meet you.”
“Dude,” his dark brows pull together, “what the hell are you talking about?”
I swivel on my stool to face him, my finger wagging in his face, and for the first time in a long time, I tell him exactly how I feel. For so long in my life, I’ve always been the listener. Being a therapist, it’s always come easy for me. But, I purge everything and it feels damn good.
“She wrote the book?” he asks me.
I shrug. “Not sure.”
“Well, I think you should at least find that out.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out. Another text from Rose lights up my screen in the dimly lit bar.
“It’s her,” I say to Jonah. “She wants to explain.”
“Go talk to her. It’ll drive you crazy if you don’t. I’ll drop you off.”
I finish off my beer and follow Jonah to his Jeep. Chances are, if I go to her house, I won’t be able to think straight. Not because I’m drunk, which I am, but because she’s more intoxicating than any top shelf liquor I could ever consume. She makes my veins burn. And Eclan Bigcock can not have burning veins. I hold up a finger to Jonah beside his Jeep and pull my phone out to dial her number, swaying just a bit as I do.
She answers on the first ring. “I didn’t write the book, but I know who did,” she says in a remorseful tone.
“Who?”
“It’s a girl named Pru Palmer, and she’s in a writing group with me. I went there while working on my own novel, Love Doctor. It wasn’t about us, or anything. But, I was writing scenes that you were helping me with—sexy scenes. And well, she stole them. I never meant anything to come of it. But, she’s just a horrible person and well…”
I rub a hand over my stubbled chin.
“You’re a writer?” But more important, “Was that angry sex note yours?”
“Um,” Jonah cringes a little before opening his door, “I’ll just wait in the Jeep.”
“Yes, but as Ruby Red.” Ah, fitting. “And yeah it was. You made me really mad about that muffin,” she informs me, “because I was attracted to you and didn’t want to be.”
This is why I can’t go over there, because angry sex. I need distance. And lots of it. Although, I am Eclan Bigcock, I’m sure I could reach her from here. I wobble a bit on my feet and brace my hand on the Jeep. Seems like there’s something important I need to know. Oh right, “What about the sessions, Rose? Did you ask for my help to help you write sex scenes?”
“Yes, I did.” Regret pervades her soft voice. “But, it wasn’t a lie. I really was inexperienced and wanted to know more.”
I shake all the memories of us together from my head. “I broke so many rules for you. All so you could use it as filler in your novel?”
“No,” she adamantly denies. “It was so much more than that. You made me more confident in my writing. You helped me.”
“Well, I’m glad I could do that for you.”
“Declan…”
“Rose, it doesn’t matter.” The real issue is one she can’t write a happy ending for. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I just have a few last-minute things I need to get together.”
“You’re not there in New York?”
“Nope. I was thirsty, so I decided to drink the bar.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, quietly. “You have to understand.”
“I do understand.” It’s her who doesn’t understand. She’ll be here, and I’ll be there, and that’s really what matters.
“We can talk when you get back,” she says in a voice that makes me want to go over there. The parking lot swirls around me, and I tell her goodbye, climb in the Jeep and pass the fuck out.
New York is great. It’s as great as great can get. And although it’s great, I try my hardest to pretend this void inside me isn’t there. It’s like a black hole growing larger every second. Maybe if I say great again. New York is fucking great.
Nope. It doesn’t help.
As I walk through the spacious luxury apartment on Fifth Ave, I have this one fantasy I keep replaying over and over in my mind. It’s of Rose and I, living in this apartment, her tapping away on a keyboard. Me, reading in my lounger, watching her.
“I�
��ll take it,” I tell the realtor.
She smiles, pulling out her Montblanc pen. “I thought you’d like this one.”
Something doesn’t feel right. And it may never feel right. I walk across the light oak hardwoods in the living room to the wall of glass and look out on the bustling city of millions. All these people and the one I want is in LA.
30
Rose
“Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.”
—Benjamin Franklin
“I need you to get me a miracle,” I tell my father in his office after the Sunday evening filming of his show.
His confused gray eyes narrow on me standing before his desk. “It doesn’t exactly work that way.”
I’m desperate. Desperate enough that I sit down and proceed to tell my father about my writing, my book, and Declan. “I’m sorry to shock you with this. But I’m an adult now, and I have faults. And you can’t exactly give me away, so we’ll have to meet in the middle.” I choke back a sob. “I really need that miracle.”
He rises, crossing around the desk and envelopes me in comfort while I cry. “I’ll see what I can do.”
It feels like another weight has been lifted by getting this out in the open. “We all have faults,” he remarks, when my tears subside. “You should have more faith in love, Rose.”
“It’s hard to trust something you can’t see,” I tell him.
He leans back a bit and grabs a tissue from the holder on his desk. “But do you feel it?” I nod, wiping my eyes. “Then it’s there.”
For someone who writes romance, I sure don’t know what I’m doing. His assistant knocks and lets him know it’s time to go over some business for the show.