by Shandi Boyes
“It’s not the same,” argues Pepper with a brisk shake of her head. “Not even close.”
“I thought you liked the first half of my draft?” My voice trembles with anxiety.
“I didn’t like it,” she replies, shaking her head.
My heart slithers into my gut.
“I LOVED it! Why? Because you haven’t reached the sex scenes yet. You’re at the crazy flirty stage every reader loves devouring.”
Her lips quirk. “But I'll admit, you have me hooked. I'm dying to know who will bring Archer to his knees.”
I giggle, loving the eagerness in her voice. “I’m still working on the final scene. I’m not exactly sure how it will end for Archer just yet.”
Normally, I plot my entire storyline before I commence writing the first chapter. But even with more notes than I’ve ever compiled for a novel, the second half of Archer’s story is void of an ending.
“Maybe you could go through my notes and help me choose an ending?”
"I don't need to see your notes. Archer falls head over heels in love with a novelist named Paige; they have numerous Kindle-melting sex scenes. He then uses his endless bank balance to pay for Paige's wannabe actress best friend to star in her own movie. Then they all live happily ever after in a lust-driven relationship filled with multiple orgasms, and sheet-clawing sex. The end."
My eyes bug. “We all live happily ever after together?”
“No,” Pepper interrupts dramatically. “Archer and Paige live happily ever after. Pepper becomes famous and has sex with cabana boys while holidaying in the Caribbean six months out of the year.”
I giggle. “I’m glad to hear your cabana boy infatuation won’t end when you become famous.”
“There's no possibility my cabana boy fascination will ever end. Have you seen the cabana boys at some of the resorts? My god!”
I laugh even louder. But it isn't strong enough to miss gravel crunching under tires.
“Archer is on the move. I’ll call you back,” I say into the screen.
“No,” Pepper squeals before I have the chance to disconnect the call. “Just the quickest glimpse. Please,” she shamefully begs. “Then I can make sure you're describing him right.”
I run my teeth over my bottom lip while I contemplate her suggestion. She’s been begging me relentlessly the past six weeks to snap a sneaky picture of Archer. I’ve denied every one of her requests. I don’t know why, but photographing Archer seems like it would be crossing the line I drew in the sand to ensure my stalker fixation with him didn’t become manic. Like stalking someone is completely sane to begin with.
After a beat, I say, “Okay, but I don’t have much zoom power on my iPhone.”
“It’s fine. I’ll grab my glasses,” Pepper retorts, giggling.
While Pepper moves around her bedroom, seeking her glasses, I pace to the only window in my writing cave. The beat of my heart kicks up the closer I get to the small arched opening. I’ve never considered writing suspense novels, but with the range of emotions I’ve been experiencing the past six weeks stalking Archer, I’m contemplating penning something suspenseful and mysterious.
When I reach the window, I pull back the lace curtain and peer down at the driveway in front of Archer's house. His brunette companion is dressed back in her tight black pencil skirt and fire red satin blouse she was wearing earlier. Her arms are flung around Archer's shoulders, and she's nuzzling in close to his neck.
The further the yellow and black taxi rolls down the driveway, the tighter her grip on Archer's shoulders becomes. My jaw gains a spasm when the brunette encloses her red painted lips over Archer's lipstick smeared mouth to kiss him farewell. From the excitement on her face, and the length of her kiss, she has no clue this will be her one and only encounter with Archer. I've seen him with a range of women the past six weeks, but not once has he slept with the same woman twice.
My heart leaps out of my chest when Pepper reappears on my phone screen, loudly declaring she's back. After apologizing for giving me my first gray hair, she requests for me to turn the camera on my phone to Archer. The unnamed brunette naïvely blows a kiss to Archer as she slips into the backseat of the taxi. Archer remains standing on the front porch, barefoot and in a pair of jeans and plaid shirt rolled up at the sleeves. His attire of choice.
"Wow, your description is pretty accurate, Paige. Although he's wearing a little more clothing than I've imagined," Pepper whispers, like she's afraid Archer might hear her.
I giggle.
My laughter dissipates when Archer cranks his neck to the side and peers straight at the window I’m gawking at him from.
“Move, move, move!” Pepper barks orders like a TI drill sergeant breaking in a bunch of rookie recruits.
“He can’t see us,” I assure her while maintaining my original position. “It's a mirrored window. I can see out, but no one can see in.”
“Are you sure?” Pepper’s voice judders. “Because he looks like he’s staring right at you.”
“I’m sure.” The weakness in my tone dampens my assertiveness. “The same thing has happened a few times the past week. I swear he's staring straight at me, but he can’t see me. I’ve checked. Numerous times.”
After several heart-thrashing seconds glancing at my window, Archer runs his hand along the edge of his beard-covered jaw before pacing into his house, switching off every light on his way.
Chapter Three
The crispness of a late afternoon fall wind causes a gathering of goosebumps to form on the nape of my neck. I adjust my position while praying for the sun to emerge from the cloud it has snuck behind. I've spent a majority of the last hour lazing on the pristine beach of Bronte's Peak, relishing in the unusually warm conditions for late fall.
When the glare reflecting off the white pages of the novel I'm reading becomes too much for me to bear, I bookmark my current page, set the book down onto my towel, and roll over. My lips purse when the sting of a sunburn tingles my shoulders from my abrupt movements.
With it being fall, I stupidly decided to forgo my sunscreen. From the warmth spreading across my shoulder blades and down my back, I can tell my complacency will cost me dearly. It's fair to say I have pasty white skin. It takes mere minutes for the rays of the sun to have my skin switching from Alaska snow white to pastel pink. Within an hour, I'm nearly as red as a lobster.
Although I flew across the country to finish my novel, after being busted by Archer last night, my desire to write is waning. I’ve never penned a single sentence when my mood is woeful. Last night was no exception. I figured if I basked in the sun for a few hours and enjoyed the splendor of the scenery surrounding me, my mood should improve, closely followed by my word count.
The bark of a dog echoing in the silence gains my attention. Scampering onto my backside, I peer over the sand dunes and down to the flat beach below. A gorgeous golden retriever is charging along the water's edge. His coat becomes saturated when he dives into the waves barreling onto the shore.
I straighten my spine and dart my eyes in all directions when he vanishes under the no doubt frigid water. The beat of my heart increases when he fails to emerge from the pounding waves. I dart up from my seat and pace to the edge of the dune. With a hand covering my eyes from the rapidly setting afternoon sun, I scan the horizon of the ocean, seeking any signs of the dog in the dark blue waters.
I release the breath I'm holding in when the golden retriever emerges from the sea with a large stick dangling from his mouth.
That darn dog nearly gave me a heart attack.
Clutching my erratically beating chest, I slump back down onto my towel and watch the drenched dog race across the sand, not the slightest bit concerned he had me on the verge of heart failure.
My chances of falling into coronary attack amplify when I discover who the golden retriever runs back to. Archer. What's he doing here? He’s rarely home during the day, and if he is, he has not once stepped foot onto the sand beyond his back patio in the six weeks I’v
e been watching him.
Slumping lower into the dunes to conceal myself, I drink in each inch of him. Unlike every other time I've seen him dressed, his legs aren't covered by designer jeans and a plaid shirt. He's once again barefoot and wearing a pair of black knee-length board shorts with a plain white t-shirt. His long dirty blond hair has been pulled off his face, exposing more of his scruffy beard, defined cheekbones, and piercing eyes. He looks incredibly appetizing.
From this distance if I squint my eyes, Archer reminds me a lot of Jax from Sons of Anarchy. Although Archer is more built than Charlie Hunnam, and he has a much more extensive tattoo collection, they do have a lot of similarities.
My pupils distend, and my heart freezes. Archer couldn’t be Charlie Hunnam, could he? He does live in an extremely elegant-looking glass house in an exclusive neighborhood. I've also noted numerous expensive cars in his four car garage at the side of his driveway. Shit, imagine how much trouble I’d be in if I were caught spying on a celebrity? Stalking is a big no-no in general, but I’d be ridiculed for life if I was found to be spying on someone famous. The press would have a field day.
Through rattling hands, I snag my iPhone out of my Nordstrom beach bag, open up the Safari app, and type Charlie Hunnam into the search app. I sigh loudly when the first bit of information I stumble over is Charlie's eye color. His eyes are hazel in color. After peering into Archer's heavy-lidded gaze last night, I can recall with the utmost certainty that his eyes are as blue as the darkness of the ocean as the sun sets over it. Thank goodness.
After gathering my belongings, I prepare to slip down the path, tread through the dunes back to my rented bungalow. Although I’ve reached my quota of sun for one day, I also don’t want to run the risk of Archer spotting me sitting here. If he thinks I'm spying on him during the day, it might be the final push he requires to switch me from the category of nosy neighbor to verified stalker.
My attempts at a quick getaway are foiled when a cold wetness runs down the side of my bare thigh. I spring into the air, my heart leaping out of my chest. A giggle escapes my lips when I realize what has caused my third heart stutter of the day. It's the gorgeous golden retriever who was the cause of my earlier panic. My laughter bubbles up when the bumps of his tongue tickle the skin between my fingers as he licks off the sticky remnants of the Boston bun I devoured for afternoon tea.
After running my hand through the gloriously smooth fur on the top of his head, I dig the leftover bun from a white paper bag at my side and hand it to him. I swear he swallows the entire half of the bun without taking a single bite. My heart constricts when I catch sight of the name engraved on his bone-shaped pendant dangling from his leather collar. Charlie.
“Please tell me your name is Charlie?” I gaze into his big adorable brown eyes that are pleading into mine, no doubt begging for more bun.
"Because I know people can create fake identities all the time. Hair color, eye color, none of that matters if you have the right amount of money. Trust me; I wear contact lenses all the time."
I’ve definitely reached my quota of sun for one day. I’m talking to a dog for crying out loud. If that isn’t bad enough, I'm waiting for him to reply.
My pulse speeds up when a chocolatey smooth voice rumbles over the padded cell quietness surrounding me.
"Charlie, come on boy," calls out the male voice I usually only hear in the midst of sexual activities. "Come on, Charlie, it's time to head home."
Charlie’s head cranks to the side when he hears Archer calling him.
"Go on, boy," I say, encouraging him to leave before he blows my cover. "Go to Archer."
Charlie angles his head to the side and peers at me with his tongue dangling out of his mouth. Even being a dog, I can’t miss the confusion on his adorable face.
“You don’t like the name Archer? I thought it was very fitting. You’ve obviously missed the amount of times he arches women over his couch.”
My blubbering stops when the top of Archer’s head peers over the sand dunes. I inwardly squeal and flop to the ground. It's only from my warrior crouched position do I finally understand Charlie’s interest in me. The large stick he has been playing with the past ten minutes is resting against my beach bag.
Charlie’s eyes dance between me and his beloved stick when I stretch my hand out to grab it. The instant my hand wraps around the slobber-covered branch, Charlie stands from his seated position, ready to play fetch. His tail wags excitedly, spraying me with splatters of salty water from his wet coat.
“Here you go,” I grunt heavily, throwing the stick as far as I can from my hidden position.
When Charlie takes off for the stick, I get hammered by a massive amount of sand from his eager sprint. My mouth, my nose, and unfortunately my eyes are invaded by the grittiness of fine white sand particles.
Moments later, I'm still rubbing the sand from my eyes when a cold wetness brushes my thigh, closely followed by a drool-covered stick. Furrowing my brows together, I open my eyes and peer into Charlie's big brown eyes.
"You're supposed to take the stick back to Archer," I reprimand. Although my words are meant to come out as a threat, neither Charlie nor myself are buying my attempt at sternness. How could I be angry at a dog as beautiful as Charlie?
"Who's Archer?" queries a voice at the side. A voice I immediately recognize. A voice I usually only hear in the middle of ecstasy.
After snarling at Charlie for blowing my cover, I shift my eyes to the side. Archer is standing to my right with his heavily tattooed arms braced in front of his well-formed chest, his eyes firmly fixated on me.
"Charlie's owner," I say, my voice as unconvincing as the perplexed look on my face.
“You know Charlie’s owner?” Archer’s murky blue eyes glare into mine.
I purse my lips and shake my head. “No. I just like naming random strangers.”
If he doesn’t call the looney hospital after that line, I might consider calling them myself.
Surprisingly, Archer finds my attempt at humor more entertaining than my woeful shot at anger. But even more shocking is the stir of emotions twisting my stomach from hearing his deep, throaty laugh. I didn’t think anything could sound as provocative as the carnal moans he makes during sexual activity, but his laugh has made a quick liar out of me.
Once Archer’s chuckles ease, he uncrosses his arms and offers me his hand to shake. “Hunter,” he introduces, grinning a smile that does weird things to my inside.
“Paige,” I reply, keeping my surprise out of my introduction.
Although his name isn’t exactly Archer, I was pretty darn close.
I stand from the ground and wipe the sand off my hand before accepting his handshake. His eyes rake my barely covered body. Thankfully, I'm wearing a gorgeous gold and black sequined O-ring side-tie monokini I purchased on a shopping spree last summer. Unfortunately, my chest doesn’t resemble any of the busty ladies I’ve seen Hunter with the past six weeks. That whole “more than a handful is a waste” platitutde is one I use regularly when I’m describing my less than stellar female anatomy.
“Enjoying the last few rays of sun?”
Hunter’s eyes return to my face. I smile, appreciating the glint of lust in them.
“I like to take advantage of anything I’m offered.”
He tries to conceal it, but I don’t miss the corners of his lips tugging into a wry grin. “Then why didn’t you take advantage of my offer last night?”
My cheeks turn the color of my sun-kissed shoulders. “Brunettes aren’t really my thing.”
I bite on the inside of my cheek, fighting to keep my smile at bay. I've never been good at this whole witty, flirty thing I'm aiming for, but I appear to be a quick learner. My attempts at hiding my smile become worthless when a broad grin stretches across Archer's face. Shit, I meant to say Hunter.
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” Hunter bends down to clip a lead onto Charlie’s collar.
Leading Charlie back toward t
he beach, he adds, “I’ll see you around, Paige?”
Since his statement sounds more like a question than a declaration, I nod.
It's only when he's halfway down the dunes does it dawn on me what he said. I was so enthralled by his eyes, I was frozen in an idiotic trance.
I cup my hands around my mouth, ensuring my voice is projected down the dunes. “Sexually cavorting with women isn’t really my thing either,” I shout, hoping he understands my objection wasn’t because the female was a brunette.
I cringe when my loud voice echoes in the quietness of the late afternoon. My face turns a shade of crimson when a group of teenage boys down by the water’s edge responds to my declaration.
"You don't know what you're missing out on."
"Give it a go; you may just like it."
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
I wave my hand in the air, silently thanking them for their recommendations. Even with the teenage boys’ snickers bellowing into my ears, I don't miss Hunter’s hearty chuckle.
Grimacing at my stupidity, I gather my bag and towel from the ground and head back to my bungalow. “If you learn to laugh at yourself, life will become a whole lot funnier,” I mumble to myself.
That was one of my mom’s favorite quotes. I’ve lived by that saying as often as possible the past twelve weeks.
Chapter Four
“No!” I scream, staring at the blank screen of my laptop. “Don’t you dare, you son of a bitch.” I shake the monitor, begging for the words I just finished typing to magically reappear.
“No! Oh god, you can’t do this to me now.”
I push away from the desk and start pacing back and forth in my writing cave. Hours upon hours of hard work vanished in an instant. I don't know what happened. I was eagerly typing away, then the screen glitched before the whole device plunged into blackness.
After roughly yanking on my hair, I pace to my desk and call Pepper.
“Jake, I’m taking a quick break,” she shouts, closely followed by, “Hey, sweet pea. Any sand stuck in crevices stories to share today?”
