Mr. Write

by Monica James

  “How’s the new book going?” Mason has the audacity to ask. I’m not here to make chitchat. But I refuse to allow him to get the better of me.

  “It’s going great. Looks like I’ll be signing with a new publishing house.”

  “You are?” It’s Carrie who speaks, her surprise clear.

  Finally making eye contact with her, I nod, trying my best not to sound like a bumbling fool. “Yes. Gerry loves the chapters.”

  “Jayden, that is incredible. I’m so proud of you.” For a split second, she lets go of this animosity she feels toward me and smiles. I die a thousand deaths. That smile gives me purpose; it gives me hope. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

  Mason and his entourage are watching closely, but they mean nothing to me. I desperately need to clear the air between Carrie and me because I can’t stand this bitterness. I feel out of sorts knowing she thinks I’m some raging manwhore.

  “I have you to thank. If it wasn’t for your encouragement, then none of this would have fallen into place the way it has.” And I mean that in more ways than one.

  Mason shifts beside her, clearly uncomfortable with my honesty, but he can sod right off.

  The DJ gods are looking down at me because the reggae music quiets, and a golden oldie takes its place. The makeshift dance floor soon fills with amorous couples, which is my cue to offer my hand to Carrie.

  “Dance with me.”

  Just how when she asked me. It’s not a question but rather a statement.

  She peers down at my hand, biting her lip, but I’m done waiting. I take her hand, savoring the connection, and lead her toward the dance floor. She’s nervous, and her heaving chest confirms this. Her face is downturned as she stares at the floor, but that won’t do.

  Placing two fingers under her chin, I gently coax her to look at me. Each second is excruciating, but when those warm green eyes meet mine, everything fades into the background, and we focus on this tether, this electrical current which has captivated us since the first moment we met.

  I draw her into my arms, not satisfied until we’re pressed chest to chest. Even in her heels, she’s small, but she stands tall, daring me to make the next move. And I do. I lead her, swaying to the gentle rhythm, unbelieving how right this feels.

  “I missed you last night,” I declare, not seeing the point in being evasive.

  “I doubt that,” she counters, but she’s wrong.

  “What you saw, it was a misunderstanding,” I press, hoping it doesn’t sound clichéd.

  She rolls her eyes, but her sharpness seems to be subsiding. “It doesn’t matter. You can kiss whomever you like. It’s none of my business.”

  “Cut the bullshit,” I bite back, sick and tired of these games.

  “Excuse m-me?” She licks her lips, enticing me further.

  “I don’t want to kiss anyone else. I want to kiss”— here goes nothing —“you. And even though the feeling isn’t mutual, I need you to know that last night, I walked out of the bathroom and got mauled by a reader. I know that’s the oldest excuse in the book, but it’s the truth.”

  Carrie appears shocked by my revelation, but I don’t know which part has surprised her the most.

  “You want to be friends, and I respect that. But you need to tell me why you reacted the way you did last night.” When she opens her mouth, clearly flustered, I intercept. “Don’t. Don’t you dare lie to me. Tell me. Whatever you have to say, I can handle. Just please, don’t lie to me.”

  She attempts to break from my hold, but her efforts are weak. She knows she’s bound to lose a fight that has the ability to change everything between us.

  “I-I”—she takes a steadying breath—“I told you. I can’t do this with you.”

  “Why?” I press. If this is it, then I need to know I tried my hardest to make her stay.

  “Because you don’t just have the ability to break my heart…you would ruin me,” she confesses, her lower lip trembling. “And I’m scared! What I feel for you…”

  “What?” I pull her toward me, relishing in the whoosh of air that leaves her and bathes my cheeks.

  Her eyes search mine, frantic for me to assure her that I wouldn’t do as she fears. But I can’t. We’re both fucked up—our emotional baggage outweighing each other’s—but that’s why we take risks. That’s why we jump into the deep end with our eyes closed. When we break the surface, the daylight gives us new meaning, hope to go on.

  “What I feel for you doesn’t make any sense, and that’s the worst kind of…lo—”

  “Love?” I offer, filling in the blanks. “Isn’t that the reason we’re here? At the end of the day, it all comes down to love. Loving yourself and allowing yourself to love another. I may not be ready, but I’m willing to try. And so are you. Why would you text me otherwise?”

  Something awful happens, something that has me second-guessing if I know Carrie at all. She lies—the ultimate deal breaker. “I didn’t text y-you,” she says, but her stutter gives her away.

  I understand she is scared, and she has every right to be. I’m scared too. But I can’t accept her deceit. What does that say about myself because I’ve come to realize the most important love is loving yourself.

  Releasing her, I run a hand through my hair. I’m done. “For once, how about you stop hiding behind your fears? You told me you’re a hopeless romantic, but the truth is, you’re afraid of love. You’re not who I thought you were.”

  I’ve hurt her feelings. “I didn’t text you,” she presses, but it doesn’t even matter anymore. The truth is, I don’t even care. I don’t have time for liars. I’ve had enough deceit to last me a lifetime.

  Carrie is not the woman I believed her to be, and whatever feelings I believed to have for her are evidently for someone who doesn’t exist.

  “You don’t believe me?” she asks, her eyes wet with tears.

  “No, I don’t,” I cruelly state, done with these games. “You’ve not given me a reason to.”

  A betrayed tear slides down her cheek, but she wipes it away with the back of her hand. “I should be enough of a reason,” she whispers, “but clearly I’m not.”

  This was never going to be a long-winded affair. So I put us both out of our misery. “Clearly.”

  She nods once, biting her lip to stop the tears, and no matter how much I want to console her, I can’t. With nothing further to say, she pushes through the crowd while I watch something that could have been beautiful slip through my fingers one final time.

  An ache throbs in my chest, but I won’t chase her, not this time. I don’t like liars.

  Without a doubt, Nick has beared witness to this clusterfuck of events. I need a moment to clear my head. Making my way to the balcony, I remain hidden behind the greenery, happy to remain incognito for a little while.

  I have no idea why Carrie just lied. I could have shown her the proof on my phone, but what would have been the point? Her dishonesty speaks volumes. I just don’t understand why. I don’t understand anything anymore. And this is confirmed when someone casually stands by me.

  “Want a smoke?” Turning over my shoulder, I see Mason light up a Marlboro coolly, while offering me his open packet.

  This motherfucker has some nerve. But I suppose he’s come here to gloat.

  When he makes clear he has no intention of leaving, I decide to humor us both. “Why the bloody hell not?” He offers me his lighter with a grin.

  When I take the first drag, I savor the nicotine hit. “It’s been about five years since I had my last cigarette,” I reveal. “My ex-wife hated the smell.”

  Blowing a smoke ring and watching it dissipate into the atmosphere, I add, “I hated the feel of her Botox lips, but I still managed to tolerate it.”

  Mason listens quietly. “I don’t understand women, mate.” Why am I confiding in him? The world is clearly ending.

  “Neither do I,” he replies, snapping me from my pity party for one.

  “Carrie left.” I state the obvi
ous.

  “I saw. What happened?”

  I can’t contain my sarcastic chuckle. “She happened.” That’s his cue to leave me alone to wallow in my self-pity and chase after Carrie, but he doesn’t.

  “You really like her, don’t you?”

  Not bothering in pretenses, I take another drag before replying, “Yes, I really do.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  All touchy-feely, heart to hearts come crashing down around me. “Excuse me.” I turn to face him, about ready to give him an earful, but what he does next has me giving him something else.

  He kisses me.

  I’m in a state of complete shock, and as far as first kisses go, this is bloody horrible. But what the actual fuck.

  “I can’t leave you alone for five minutes,” says a playful voice behind us. Mason breaks the kiss, while I stand like a deer in headlights.

  What just happened?

  “I’m sorry,” he says, appearing beyond triumphant. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment we met.”

  My mouth opens and closes like a stunned goldfish. When I finally find my voice, I squeak, “You have? Why?”

  “Because you’re fucking hot,” is his simple reply. But I’ve never been more confused than I am right now.

  “I am?” I ask, pulling back. As far as conversations go, I am appalled at my lack of articulation. But what the bloody hell is going on? “What about Carrie?”

  “She’s hot too, and if I swung that way, I’d be all over that cream puff.”

  It takes me a minute, actually two, but when I finally catch up to speed, I ask, “You’re gay?”

  “Yes.” Mason looks at me like I’m daft, and at this moment, I too am wondering the same thing.

  How did I miss this?

  However, in spite of his response, I question, “So you’ve never been interested in Carrie?” because my brain can’t catch up fast enough.

  “No. She’s a great gal, but I caught up with her to ask about you. Seems we’ve both got the same taste in men.”

  Mason’s friend, the tall blond, comes and stands by us. He offers me his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Mason has been kind of obsessed.” Mason elbows him, blushing. “He’s read all your books.”

  Feeling like a sodding, arrogant arse, I state, “So this entire time you’ve been into…me?”

  “Yes. You didn’t know?” Mason replies, eyebrow cocked.

  “No. I had no clue.” No fucking clue.

  “I thought Carrie told you?”

  “Our relationship hasn’t been of the sharing sort of late,” I reveal, shaking my head in regret.

  “I know. She told me…which is why I stole her phone and texted you where she’d be. She’s been miserable.”

  His admission winds me, and I almost give myself whiplash as I turn to look at him. “You texted me?”

  He holds up both hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged.”

  I am such a douchebag.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Mason asks when he reads my inner thoughts. But this is all my fault.

  “No. This is all on me.” Mason waits for me to elaborate, but I don’t have time to explain.

  I’m about to excuse myself because I owe Carrie a huge apology, but I can’t leave with that god-awful kiss as my legacy. “By the way”— I smash my lips to his, leaving him stunned this time —“give someone a little warning the next time you kiss them,” I conclude smugly because that’s a legacy I’m proud to leave.

  Mason’s cheeks are flustered as he gushes, “Will do, Mr. Sparrow.”

  I leave Mason and his friend chuffed with my farewell and seek out Nick. He’s pulling the moves on some blonde, but I won’t be long. “I’m going to find Carrie.”

  Nick nods, shooing me away. But he soon narrows his eyes. He so can smell the depravity on me.

  “Yes, mate, if your theory is right, I just had my rebound kiss; therefore, I can tell Carrie everything.”

  Nick almost falls over his feet. “Who?” he asks, his tone filled with accusation and disbelief.

  Reaching for his beer, I take a sip before announcing, “Turns out Mason is a bloody good kisser.”

  His jaw hits the bar. “I’m not drunk enough for this, but just remember”—he holds up his finger—“I’m your number one bae.”

  “Always,” I counter, laying a big ole kiss on his cheek.

  “Go, go,” he says, playfully wiping his cheek. “Go get the girl.” The sound of that sings to my senses, and I take off like the devil is at my heels.

  The line for the elevator is a mile long, so I make a mad dash down the flight of stairs. Once I hit the pavement, I continue with my wild sprint. I don’t bother calling Carrie because I know she won’t answer me.

  So I lead with my gut, hoping for once, I’m right.

  The streets are bustling, hinting it’s almost time to bid farewell to 2017 and hope for a better 2018. But I don’t have time to reminisce.

  I use my cardio prowess to make it back to the hotel in record time. My boots skid along the polished floors, but I press on because it’s a race to beat the clock. Once the elevator arrives at my floor, I burst out the doors and continue my sprint.

  I hope I’m right because every part of me is telling me that Carrie is here, packing up her stuff, hell-bent on leaving. That’s what she does when she’s scared. She runs.

  But not this time.

  The moment I open the door, I know she’s in here. Her familiar bouquet whets my senses. “Carrie!” I shout, searching the room frantically.

  Please let me not be too late.

  “Carrie!” I call out once again, running into the bedroom. “No!” I cry when she’s not in here. I’m too late. I let the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time go.

  The thought leaves me winded, and I rub over my chest in distress. However, when a gust of wind sweeps into the room, my heart kickstarts again.

  “Carrie?” I step out onto the balcony and exhale in relief when I see her standing by the railing.

  She doesn’t turn around.

  Measuring my words and steps, I decide to throw caution to the wind. “I’m sorry, dove. I fucked up. I know it wasn’t you who texted me. Please forgive me for not believing you. I just have an issue with trust.” No need for me to detail why.

  Her shoulders sag as she dips her chin to her chest. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does,” I press, refusing to play this game any longer. “Look at me.” Her hand swipes at her cheek as she sniffs. I feel like an utter arsehole for making her cry. “Please.”

  She inhales, before giving in to my request.

  When I see her tears, I immediately march toward her, wanting nothing more than to wrap her in my arms. But she shakes her head. “Don’t. Please.”

  Her anguish is clear, but I don’t understand why.

  “Talk to me. I fucked up. Royally. I should have believed you. After Liz”—I huff, running both hands through my hair—“I have an issue trusting people, but you’re not any person. You’re you. The person who has…” Here goes nothing. “The person who has stolen my heart from the first moment we met.”

  Sadly, my honesty has the opposite effect. “Jayden, don’t. I can’t do this with you.” She squeezes her eyes shut, but I won’t allow her to shut me out.

  “Do what?”

  “This,” she replies, gesturing with two fingers between us. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. Remember?”

  I know she’s talking about her promise on the plane. “My New Year’s resolution is to quit booze, boys, and sex.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what do I do?” She throws her arms out to the side. “The complete opposite. I’m a fucking idiot. A complete glutton for punishment.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  She crosses her arms and shivers. I want to offer her my coat, but I don’t know how she’ll respond. I don’t know anything anymore. “Because, Jayden, I did what I sa
id I wasn’t going to do.”

  “And what’s that?” I take a step forward, while she takes one back.

  With a quivering lower lip, she confesses something that is sure to change everything. Forever. “I’ve fallen for you when I promised myself I wouldn’t. And now I’m acting like a crazy person again—something I promised myself I wouldn’t do. But it appears all of that is void ’cause when it comes to you…” She pauses, biting her lip.

  “When it comes to me, what?” I coax, fisting my hands by my side.

  With the emotions swirling inside me, and her confession, I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust that I won’t drag her into my arms and claim those plump lips as mine.

  When she lifts those eyes, I’m done for. Nothing will ever be the same. “When it comes to you, nothing else exists, and I’m scared. I’m scared of feeling this way because I’ve never felt this before.”

  And there it is.

  The woman I am smitten with has just confirmed that this is real. No matter the small amount of time we’ve known one another for, this ever-present, undeniable pull grows stronger every day.

  And yes, it’s scary. It’s fucking frightening but running from this is even more terrifying.

  Besides, I’m sick of running. From now on, I only plan on moving forward. And with no time like the present, I charge over to where Carrie stands and smash my lips to hers.

  The deed surprises us both, but that soon turns to wanton desire. I’ve been reborn.

  Threading my fingers through her silky hair, I tug softly, angling her mouth so I can devour every inch of her. I lick the seam of her lips, before diving in deep and dueling my tongue with hers.

  Her moans mingle with mine, and I’m certain I’m lost forevermore.

  Our mouths move in unison, a perfect meeting of give and take. I’m trying to be gentle, but holy fuck, I’m so worked up. I’ve clearly been doing this wrong all these years because I don’t remember kissing feeling this way.

  Our tongues circle the other, an intricate dance of what my flesh is craving. I bite her bottom lip, before suckling it the moment she whimpers.

  She stands on tippy toes and loops both hands around my nape, tugging at the longer strands of my hair. I’m going to eat her alive.