Mr. Write

by Monica James

  Nick shakes his head as he folds his arms. He’s clearly up to something. “Rebound kiss.”

  “What in the ever-living hell are you talking about?”

  “You need to have a rebound kiss. Yes, you’ve fucked plenty of women but never kissed them, right? So really, the rebound is still kind of an issue? Fucking we can do, but you seem to get attached, hence the no kissing.”

  I want to scoff at his theory, but I’m listening.

  “For you, a rebound isn’t just physical, it’s emotional, and Carrie still thinks you’re attached to your cunt of an ex. So that’s why she pushed you away. She’s scared, which means she likes your handsome ass. Oh, my fuck. I’m in the wrong industry.”

  Bad language aside, Nick just may be onto something.

  Technically, if I kissed Carrie, she would be the rebound kiss as I haven’t kissed anyone after Liz. I told her what a kiss means to me.

  I haven’t kissed a single one. I know that’s not something to be awfully proud of, but a kiss is something treasured.

  So she’s scared because…could it be, she likes me?

  No, I can’t allow myself to be wrapped up in something that probably isn’t true. Nor can I take my best friend up on his offer as he leans across the table, pursing his lips. “Come on then. Let’s make it quick.”

  “Thank you for the offer, but I’m not kissing you. I’m not drunk enough for that.”

  He slumps back into his seat with a dramatic flair. “I feel so unloved.”

  Standing, I seek out the bathroom. “Never say never, mate.” I leave Nick gloating in his seat. I fucking love this guy.

  Once I’m done in the restroom and have washed my hands, I reach for my cell from my pocket. I want to text Carrie and explain that she could never be my rebound. I know she just wants to be friends, but I need her to know how I feel. Before she writes us off as a DNF, she needs to know that this, she means something to me.

  With that as my driving force, I storm from the bathroom, intent on going back to the hotel and telling her how I feel. Sadly, the only thing my lips will be doing is kissing some random stranger who latches onto my face like a depraved octopus.

  I’m stunned as she literally catches me off guard and tackles me from out of nowhere. She slams her lips to mine, molesting my mouth as she thrusts her tongue inside like an epileptic slug. I don’t want to be rough, but I grip her upper arms and attempt to push her aside. But she latches on tighter as she wraps her arms around the back of my neck. Holy shite. This woman has lockjaw.

  “Nick!” I call out. “A little help!”

  “I love you!” my admirer gasps, sucking my face while I attempt to breathe. “You’re my favorite author.”

  “Thank you,” I say from around her lips, prying her fingers from my neck. “However, a simple hug would have sufficed.”

  This isn’t the first time a zealous reader has kissed me, but kudos to this woman, as she’s the only one who’s held on for so long.

  “Hey, break it off. Back off, lady,” Nick says, yanking her off me. “You break, you pay.”

  “Oh, I’d pay anything for a night with J.E. Sparrow,” says the blonde woman smugly while I wipe my lips. Her red smeared lipstick is a trophy she sports with pride.

  She goes back to the table of her giggling friends while I feel like I need a shower. Stat.

  Nick bursts into a husky fit of laughter, and I deadpan him. “This isn’t even a little bit funny. I think she impregnated me.”

  My comment sets Nick off, and he bends at the waist, holding his ribs in laughter. “Oh, it so is. You wanted your rebound kiss. There you go.”

  “Fuck you. I need a new best friend.” I leave him to his laughter as I turn to leave, but I stop dead in my tracks. “Dove?”

  Nick’s cackles soon die in his throat when he shoots upright. His silence is confirmation that I’m not imagining her here, looking at me like she’s moments away from bursting into tears.

  “Wh-what are you doing here?” My falter gives away my guilt. My lips, even though taken against their will, were just pressed to another woman’s. What a rotten scoundrel.

  “That’s n-not your co-color,” she spits, reminding me of our conversation when we first met. This time, however, it’s laced with utter contempt.

  I have no idea what she’s talking about until she walks over and stands on her tippy toes. My heart is in my throat when she wipes her thumb across my lips, and it comes away with hooker red lipstick.

  Fuck.

  “Carrie, I…”

  But she shakes her head, wiping her thumb with disgust. “I came to see how things went with Gerry. Obviously, they went well.”

  She’s angry, but more so, she’s hurt. Her pain kills me, and I want to drop to my knees and beg she listen. But she doesn’t owe me anything. I’ve just confirmed her fears.

  We will only end up breaking each other’s hearts.

  “The lipstick, it’s—”

  She holds up her hand, stopping me from explaining. “I don’t care. I’ll be staying elsewhere tonight.”

  “Where?”

  “What does it matter?” She looks over my shoulder, curling her lip. I hear giggling. It’s akin to Satan’s doorbell. “I’m sure you can find someone to keep the bed warm.”

  “I don’t want anyone else. Just stop. Listen to me.” I attempt to reach out and touch her, but she jumps back as if I’ve just asked her to sell me her soul.

  “Mason is waiting for me outside.”

  Motherfucking Mason.

  I was right. She was having dessert with that abbreviating dropkick and here I am feeling guilty for something that wasn’t even my fault. “We wouldn’t want scholar Mason waiting,” I bite back, my jealousy baring its teeth.

  She crosses her arms, quick to jump to his defense, which pisses me off even more. “He’s actually studying law.”

  I scoff, then burst into a bitter laugh. “Well, that’s a waste as he clearly should be studying English seeing as he can’t spell for shit. By the way, LOL is not a word! You can tell him that from me.”

  Oops. In my rage, I just gave away the fact I read her text message, but it’s too late to take it back.

  She marches forward, jabbing her finger into my chest. “So now you’re reading my text messages? What else have you been doing? Spying on me in the shower? Watching me sleep?” The watching her sleep was only that one time, but that’s beside the point.

  “I can’t believe I agreed to come here with you. I must be out of my mind.” She pins me with those fierce eyes, not backing down.

  “It does run in the family.” Fuck me and my quick wit.

  Her ferocity soon simmers, and she steps back, swallowing.

  That was a low blow, and I immediately need to apologize. “I was out of line. Please…”

  But she shakes her head, not interested in a word I have to say. I’ve said enough. “I was stupid to think you were actually different.”

  “Dove…” I call out, but she wipes away one betrayal tear before turning to leave.

  Sighing, I raise my face to the ceiling and close my eyes. What the fuck did I just do?

  “Dude…”

  “Nick, just don’t,” I say, not in the mood. I just fucked up epically.

  “I just wanted to tell you Gerry texted. He loves the chapters. He said he’d pay anything to sign you.”

  This should be good news, but it’s not because the reason those chapters are any good just walked out that door, and like a fucking wanker…I let her go.

  Christmas. New Year’s. It’s all horseshit and can sod right off and blow me. I know, not the most eloquent of phrases, but no other words describe how I feel.

  Last night was a fucking disaster.

  Carrie stuck to her word and stayed elsewhere. Not that I slept, but the bed felt empty without her. These things shouldn’t happen. You shouldn’t fall in deep with someone you’ve only known for seven days. But that’s what happened.

  A week shouldn�
��t have the aptitude to change your life in unfathomable ways, but it has.

  I called Carrie endless times, but no surprise, her phone was switched off. I needed to explain myself, but the radio silence was a clear indication she wished to be left alone. Ironically, her walking out on me showed me just how much I cared. And I was prepared to tell her that, but sadly, I was molested before I had the chance.

  The only good news is that Gerry loves what he’s seen. It appears I’ve gotten my mojo back, but I wish I could share that with the reason that is.

  “Dude, seriously, if you thought about writing as much as you did Carrie, you’d have written a trilogy by now,” Nick says from my sofa. He’s been here all day, organizing the contract to email over to Gerry.

  I would be stupid not to accept Gerry’s offer. And it’s not just the illustrious terms. It’s the fact I can cut ties with Axle.

  “I’ve written over eight thousand words today,” I defend, lifting my glasses and rubbing the bridge of my nose.

  “And how many of those words were inspired by Carrie? Hmm?” he adds when I flip him off over my shoulder.

  He’s right. The only reason I was able to write was because she never strayed far from my mind. I wondered where she was, but most importantly, I wondered why she reacted the way she did at the thought of me kissing someone. She was the one who set the rules, so that makes no sodding sense.

  Nick’s rebound kiss theory floats to the surface, but I refuse to pay heed to it.

  Groaning, I reach for my coffee cup, only to find it empty. Today can go to hell.

  “Right, we’re going out. We’re in Paris, and it’s New Year’s Eve. I need to find a hot Parisian and bring in the new year with a bang—and I mean that literally.”

  Rolling my shoulders and cracking my neck from side to side, I reach for the bottle of whiskey behind my laptop. “I’m happy right where I am. But you go out.”

  “I need my wingman,” Nick counters.

  “And I need to finish this book. Go, have fun. Get laid. I will live vicariously through you.” I hate to be such a buzzkill, but if I go out, I may quite possibly end up stabbing someone in the eyeball with a party horn.

  Nick won’t take no for an answer, though, and I know my best friend. If I don’t go to the party, he’ll bring the party to me. Strippers and copious amounts of alcohol will fill this hotel room before I’m finished with this chapter.

  My cell chimes from the coffee table. Turning in my seat, I see that Nick is holding my phone with the biggest shit-eating grin plastered across his cheeks.

  I instantly get the feeling my plans of staying in for the evening have just gone up in flames.

  “I don’t want to spend New Year’s without you,” Nick reads, while I rock back in my seat, unsure who the sender is. He reveals who a moment later. “Meet me at Le Bateau de L’amour. I miss you. And the sender is none other than the lovely Carrie.”

  The seat is like a trampoline as I spring upward and hustle toward a grinning Nick. “Give it here.” I curl my fingers, indicating for him to pass over my cell because I don’t believe him.

  But when he complies, I know he’s not lying. And the proof is right in front of me.

  “Holy shite,” I say, shaking my head in awe. “Why would she send this? The last time I saw her, she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

  Nick shrugs, appearing just as baffled as I am. “I’ve given up on understanding women. What I do understand, however, is my desperate need to get wasted. And I won’t do that without you. This isn’t negotiable.”

  Carrie texting is a whole different ballgame because I miss her too. But more than anything, I need to apologize for being a gigantic dick. Knowing I’ve upset her tears a hole straight through me.

  “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

  “Atta boy!” Nick exclaims, all but fist pumping the air.

  I sweep the room for my coat, but Nick is soon to point out the obvious. “How about you shower first? You wouldn’t want her to think your new cologne is I rolled in dogshit.”

  Looking down at my sweats and white tee, I wonder when I ate spaghetti ’cause I seem to have splatters of marinara all over me. Or maybe it was the Bloody Mary I had for breakfast. I can’t really tell.

  Either way, he’s right. I don’t want to give her any more reasons to stay away.

  Grabbing my jeans and a button-down shirt, I dash into the bathroom, intent on washing the hobo from me. Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed, looking and smelling better than I did. I can’t deny both my nerves and excitement at seeing Carrie.

  However, the fact she texted me is a good sign. I try not to overthink it by focusing on what I plan to say to her. I need to clear the air between us, and for that to happen, I just may have to divulge my feelings.

  Nick and I decide to walk to the rooftop bar Carrie is at because the traffic is madness. The streets are filled with partygoers eager to start the new year with wine in one hand and a fetching suitor in the other. The vibrant atmosphere is contagious.

  I wrap my arm around Nick’s shoulders. “Thanks, mate. For everything. You may be a pain in the arse, but you’re my pain in the arse.”

  Nick chuckles. “If I was going to annoy anyone for the rest of my life, I’m glad it’s you.” The mood lifts, and I’m thankful to be bringing in the new year with my best mate.

  When we get to Le Bateau de L’amour, the line extends around the block. But when I peer up and see the building soar into the skyline, I know the view will be worth the wait. Nick, however, doesn’t share the same sentiment.

  I watch as he moseys up to the bouncer and taps him on the shoulder. When he has the buffoon’s attention, he says something behind his cupped hand before they both look up and make eye contact with me. The bouncer nods once, and Nick waves me over.

  I feel like a right royal arse for cutting in the line, but the thought of seeing Carrie has me promising to buy all these people drinks. The bouncer, who could be The Rock’s cousin, snaps up the red velvet rope, indicating we’re to enter.

  “Bonsoir Monsieur Eastwood.” I almost trip over my boots, but Nick grips me by the elbow before shoving me inside.

  “Really?” I question as we enter.

  “What?” He feigns ignorance. “It’s not my fault you could be a body double for Scott Eastwood. Blame the good genetics on your parents.”

  I don’t bother arguing.

  As we wait in a short line to catch an elevator to the seventh floor, which is where the bar is actually located, I check my cell, wondering if I should send Carrie a text to let her know I’m here. I decide to surprise her.

  When the elevator doors open, I’m pleasantly surprised how chic this place is. The huge circular bar is situated in the center of the floor, lit up by wreaths of colored lights. There are sofas and wicker chairs decorated with massive throw pillows and blankets draped over the arms.

  Candles and outdoor patio heaters provide warmth and light and set the comfortable vibe.

  “What are you drinking?”

  “Beer is fine.” Nick heads to the bar while I subtly scope out my surroundings, hoping to see Carrie.

  The place is packed, so I decide to grab a table and do my hunting with Nick because two sets of eyes are better than one.

  The view from up here is incredible. The 360-degree view of the twinkling Parisian skyline has me suddenly wishing I was seeing it with Carrie. Retrieving my cell, I scroll to her message and read it over with a smile.

  “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in the world, he walks into mine.”

  My head snaps up and every part of me backflips in excitement because standing before me is Carrie. She is a vision. Her soft waves tumble around her shoulders, highlighting her breathtaking face. Her lips are coated in a pink gloss and visions of tasting that mouth tackle me from behind.

  I want this woman more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. I’m so screwed.

  “We’ll always have Paris,” I finally say, unable to hide my adm
iration of the fact we’re quoting Casablanca—one of my favorite movies.

  She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous habit of hers.

  I want to say so many things, but more than anything, I just want to tell her how much I’ve missed her. Sadly, all talking is put on hold when Mason appears out of nowhere. “Here’s your mocktail, party pooper.”

  Carrie’s cheeks redden, and it has nothing to do with the subzero temperature.

  When Mason sees me, he clears his throat. Looks like he wasn’t counting on me to rain on his fun parade. Well, tough luck. “Hello, Mason. We haven’t formally been introduced. I’m Jayden, Carrie’s friend.” The word, supposed to denote unity, sounds like profanity.

  Carrie lowers her eyes while chewing the corner of her lip.

  I thrust out my hand, which he shakes firmly. “I know who you are, Jayden.” That cocky bastard. His tone is swimming in victory because Carrie is here with him and not me.

  Nothing but tension bounces between us, so when Nick arrives with our drinks, I almost kiss him in gratitude. This was a bad fucking idea. “Ma chérie. Where have you been? We’ve missed you.”

  Carrie seems thankful for Nick’s appearance also. “I’ve been around. Besides, I thought I’d give you and Jayden some privacy.” Her tone is dripping with vicious innuendo, coupled with avoiding eye contact with me.

  I wish she’d allow me to explain what actually when down last night. But when a group of men surround her, it appears she’s readily moved on. When the three men high-five Mason and draw in for a group hug, it’s apparent they’re his friends. That’s all I need—more competition. I’m man enough to admit that these dudes are bangable.

  Nick senses my retreat, but he nudges me forward with his elbow—a not so subtle hint to man the fuck up. “Hi, I’m Jayden.” I offer my hand to the blond Adonis first. He shakes it, but his lopsided grin hints he too knows who I am. So do his other two friends who have similar responses when they shake my hand.

  I feel like everyone is in on a little secret, bar me, and that could be because I’m the butt of everyone’s joke. I gulp down my beer, suddenly wishing I had stayed in my hotel room where it was warm, and I wasn’t questioning my manhood.