Read My Mind

by Natasha Preston

  She’s an addiction I’ve never been able to kick… and now I’m getting significant doses.

  I run my fingertips over the notebook. I’m in my office now with another mug of coffee. She was hilarious earlier, not wanting me to read it in front of her. I could see her squirming in her seat until she snapped.

  I wonder what happens in bed when her control breaks.

  Don’t think of that.

  There’s no time to shower her out of my mind right now. Not that showering her away has ever worked before.

  Opening the book, I notice her doodles first. Little scribbles, some which make sense, and others that are just shapes and squiggles, like she wasn’t sure what to write but her pen needed to be doing something.

  I understand. I’m restless, too.

  Her handwriting is neat to start with, but it gets messier. I imagine her pen flying as she really gets into the plot, trying to write everything down before she forgets.

  I bite my lip as I begin reading. This feels intimate, and it’s probably the only way I’m going to have any real piece of her. I’ll take it.

  It’s much better than hoping we’ll walk out of our houses at the same time.

  Which we don’t do nearly enough.

  Watching her from my window and then running out of the door when she appears seems a step too messed up. I might be a desperate fool but there are lines I don’t need to cross. I’ve watched YOU; I don’t need to be going down that road.

  I’m now going to meet Jason at the gym in an hour so he can punish me… or train me, as he calls it.

  So, I read and re-read.

  Then, I re-read it again because she’s good. Her premise is strong and captivating. I want more, and I really believe she could have something great here. There’s a little work that could be done to tighten the plot, and I don’t yet know her characters well, but she’s got something compelling.

  Her mind may also be a little twisted.

  I open my laptop and type up some notes, thankful I don’t have to tell her it’s awful. That might not do well for my chances. Not that they’re particularly good right now.

  When I’m done, I print the two pages of praise and ideas, and I slip it into her notebook. I change into my gym clothes and head across the road to her house.

  Mila’s mum Dawn answers, and her smile widens. “Well, hello, Reid.”

  “Hi. Is Mila home?”

  “Mila, you have a gentleman caller!” she shouts over her shoulder. With a little laugh, she winks and walks away.

  I’m a gentleman caller?

  All right.

  “Reid?”

  Jesus. She’s changed into tiny shorts and a tight black tank top that should be illegal. It’s not hot today, yet she looks like she’s absolutely refusing to accept that it’s autumn.

  It’s quite possibly my favourite outfit on her.

  Eyes on her face, I tell myself.

  “I’m returning this.”

  She takes the notebook and frowns. “Is it a good thing that you’ve brought this back after, like, ten minutes?”

  It’s more like thirty. “It’s good. It’s really good. I’ve made a few notes for you to consider.”

  Her lips part as if I’ve just offered her a seven-figure book deal. “Thank you. Seriously, you liked it?”

  “I did. How much have you written?”

  “Only a few chapters.” She hugs the notebook to her chest.

  “Have you thought about an agent?”

  “No,” she chokes. “Jesus, no. That’s… real.”

  “I can help you with a query letter, if you like.” She stares at me like I’m speaking another language. “Mila?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m still stuck on the fact that it doesn’t suck, and now you’re talking about agents, which will lead to a submission. The frightening kind, not the having someone else take control kind.”

  I fist my hands. “You want to be published, don’t you?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m lost here.”

  She laughs quietly and drops her gaze.

  My own eyes head south, too, to her perfect breasts, toned stomach, and those hip bones I want to bite.

  When she looks back at me, my eyes are back on her face.

  “It’s scary, I guess.”

  “You don’t seem scared of anything.” Except for her relationship with Liam. Or, rather, ending it. Maybe she never will. They must have had an argument the night she was drunk.

  It would be a tragedy if she stayed with him forever. Even if she doesn’t end up with me, she should be with someone who makes her world brighter.

  “Maybe I’m just good at hiding the fear.”

  My stomach tightens. “You’re really good, Mila, and I’m not just saying that because you’ll probably key my car if I don’t.”

  “I wouldn’t key your car. I like it. I would graffiti your front door. It would say something about you enjoying sucking off pigs or goats.”

  Laughing, I shake my head. “My mistake. Send me what you have when you’re ready. I left my email and phone number on my notes.”

  That’s my not so subtle way of getting her to message or call me. I should have left her with just my email since she has a boyfriend, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “Where are you going in… that?” She gestures to my shorts and Under Armour T-shirt.

  “To the gym.”

  “Right. How often do you go?”

  “I aim for two to three times a week, but I have some equipment at home. Jason is awful.”

  “He’s a PT, right? I need a personal trainer.”

  You don’t look like you need anything.

  Well, except for one thing…

  “He’s good. He’ll push you hard.”

  She blinks rapidly. “I’ll have to give him a call.”

  Nodding, I step back. “I’ll see you later, Mila.”

  I retreat before my thoughts of her in that tiny top make me do something I won’t regret.

  I grit my teeth—the sweat running down my face and back. One. Last. Rep.

  Lowering the weight, I set it on the floor and take a breath.

  “How was that?” Jason asks. I don’t need to look at him to know he’s smirking.

  “I needed today to hurt.”

  “Say hi to Mila for me. Row for fifteen.”

  He means minutes, not reps. “Fuck off, I’m done.”

  Laughing, he throws my towel at me. I rub it over my face feeling no cleaner. I need a hot shower.

  “What happened with her?”

  “Nothing really.”

  “I call bullshit.” He leans against the wall and scowls at some arsehole trying to chat up a woman on the treadmill. He’s probably jealous.

  “She was over at mine for most of the evening a couple days ago. She was drunk. I sobered her up and let her read a manuscript. That’s it.”

  “That’s not it. That’s your way in, mate. I’ve watched you pine over her for years, Reid. For the love of God, don’t overthink and fuck this up now. You two aren’t your grandparents.”

  My fist tightens around the towel. “I don’t think we’re my grandparents.”

  “Not yet, but you will, and it’ll freak you out. Nothing bad is going to happen. Keep talking to her. Keep letting her read whatever she wants.”

  “Jason…”

  “Don’t Jason me. Just go and be happy. Now, I know you prefer showering at home but have one here because you’re disgusting.”

  I roll my eyes. “Later.”

  With a salute, he heads over to stop the man chatting up the woman who is clearly uninterested. Jason is tall, towering over the other guy, so it won’t take him long to sort that problem out.

  I head for the showers, and once done, I head home.

  When I pull up outside my house, I spot Mila walking across the road. Cutting the engine, I get out and watch her coming towards me.

  “I’m coming in,” she says, folding her
arms as if I’ve previously told her that she can’t.

  No objections here.

  “You don’t mind inviting yourself over, I see.”

  “No. I want to see all the books again. I want to see your notes. I love that you print manuscripts out. Did I tell you that?”

  “I’m not letting you rummage through my work.”

  “I won’t rummage. I’ll search carefully.”

  We walk up the path together. Me, freshly washed with damp hair. Her, bouncing at the thought of snooping around in my office.

  “You’re very precious about your manuscripts, you know. I want to read them all, even the old ones that are already published.”

  “Demanding.”

  “I know what I want in some aspects of my life.”

  “And then you go full force.”

  Pursing her lips, her frown turns to a scowl. I’ve hit the nail on the head. What she’s confident about, she grabs with both hands.

  “Are you going to unlock your door, Reid, or shall I break in?”

  “You can pick a lock?”

  Her amber eyes glow. “I can throw a brick through a window.”

  I hold up my key. “We’ll use the door.”

  “Come on, this is like a writer’s mecca. I want to feel the books before they’re published. I need to read them and smell them, when I’m totally sober.” She places her palms together. “Please, Reid, I’ll love you forever.”

  Oh, fuck’s sake.

  I let us in. “Fine, you can come in my office again. Do you want coffee while you’re helping yourself to my work?”

  “Coffee would be great, thanks,” she replies, turning straight into my office.

  “I’ll be there in a minute.” I grin.

  I have to clench my hands to stop myself from following. Make the coffee and calm down. I like having her here too much. Jason was wrong. I don’t need to worry about repeating my grandparents’ history. Mila is here for the books, not me.

  I make our coffees while picturing her going through my things. Once done, I take them into my office. She’s sitting on my chair, pouring over the manuscript she started last time she was here.

  “Enjoying it?” I ask.

  “Shh.” Her eyes flit from side to side as she reads.

  I put the coffees on the desk, sit on the wingback in the corner of the room, and I watch her read. It could be considered creepy on my part, but I don’t know how long she will be here for or if we’ll talk again after today.

  Mila has a way of making you feel like you’ve broken through the wall and made it into her inner circle, and then it all ends. The last time we had a decent conversation, I was on a high and thought we’d speak again. However, that night ended in a tragedy that should have made me stop wanting to be around her.

  To be fair to her, I was the one who backed off after that conversation. Not as much as I should have, but I didn’t initiate a conversation again.

  Since that night… well, I’ve barely been able to get out of my own head. It’s taken extensive therapy, and I’m still scared of loss.

  She leans closer to the pages, her lips slightly pursed.

  “You’re going to bang your head on the table in a minute,” I warn her.

  Amused eyes peek up at me. “Well, this is good. Do you always read the printed version for every stage of edits?”

  “Mostly the first.”

  “That’s backwards, you know.”

  “I just have to add notes to the word doc after. I see far more in print, and I have to give the first round the most attention.”

  She looks at my wall of books, each shelf crammed full. “I could live in this room.”

  Don’t think about her living here.

  “What do you edit? All kinds of things?”

  “It’s a small press so I flit between mystery and suspense thrillers. I’ve also worked on one or two romances.”

  Her dark eyebrows rise. “You have?”

  “It wasn’t through choice.” Every single one of them had grand declarations of love. Three words don’t seem nearly enough for me. There’s so much more to it than a big ‘I love you’.

  Mila stares at me like she’s trying to figure out who she’s lived opposite for years. I barely know her, either, really. Phoebe thinks I’m crazy. A lovesick fool who is going to get his heart crushed. She’s been playing the protective big sister for years now.

  She might be on to something.

  “Do you have any romance manuscripts?” Mila asks.

  “No.” Her shoulders slump. “You’re a romantic, Mila?”

  “I love love! The butterflies, the always wanting to be around the other person, that feeling like you’re flying. What can beat that? Can you score me one from work?”

  “You want me to steal a manuscript from work?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  I kick my legs up on the footstall. “I’m not stealing.”

  “You must have something with a hint of romance for me? There can be suspense and mystery and all that. Just with some character flirting?”

  Laughing, I shake my head. “I’m sure I can get you an ARC. Are you going to read more of that?”

  “Yep. Can I read your emails to the author, too?”

  “Boundaries, Mila.”

  She rolls her eyes. “That’s all I ever seem to hear. Can I, though?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. What do you like about editing?

  “Content is my favourite. You have the chance to shape the manuscript with the author. It’s always annoying when they don’t go with your suggestions, though.”

  “I’m going to go with yours. They’re good.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nods, not looking up because she’s too busy running her finger over my annotations on the page, tracing some of the letters.

  “I figured you know what you’re talking about… even if you don’t like romance.”

  “Weren’t you considering killing the guy in the end?”

  “Well, there is that. What else do you do? When you’re not working, I mean.”

  I tilt my head as I watch her stare at the page. Does she really think I’m a hermit? I try hard not to be.

  “I go to the gym, drink with Jason, travel, go off roading.”

  Now I have her attention. Her mouth parts, and I imagine slipping my tongue inside it. Stop.

  “You go off-roading? In what?”

  “Jeeps.”

  “Oh my God, that is so cool!”

  “I thought you might like that.”

  “Liam’s been a couple times.”

  “You never went with him?”

  She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I can tell from the drop in her smile that she’s hurt.

  “You should take Wren and Indie.”

  “Pft, they’d never get in a car with me like that.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to offer to take her. That’s not something you do with another man when you have a boyfriend, no matter how complacent that boyfriend has gotten.

  “Hey, you think I should skip the sex scene in the book? Like, have it fade to black?”

  I shake my head. “No. Write it.”

  It’s the closest I’m ever going to get to being in her bed.

  Twelve

  Reid

  Mila hasn’t been back to my place in three days. Not that she needed to, but I thought she might venture over. Perhaps she’s been working on her manuscript… or been busy with her boyfriend.

  I opened my submissions again yesterday and wanted to tell her. She would love reading some of them in an assistant capacity. Her notes on the first third of Red Grave have been good.

  Stupidly, I had planned on inviting her over to go through them.

  I’m an idiot.

  But it’s not like I’m twiddling my thumbs, looking for things to do. Jason and I are heading to Wales today with his brother Marc and a couple of Marc’s friends for a lads’ weekend.

  The two brothe
rs are heavily into fitness, so we’re climbing mountains between getting drunk. Jason has planned the perfect mix of activities and alcohol, and I can’t wait. It’s been a while since I’ve gone out. I need to let off some steam and forget a raven-haired woman with amber eyes and a smart mouth.

  I read a new text from Mum, demanding I don’t die on a mountain.

  I’ll do my best.

  Then Dad’s name flashes on the screen of my phone.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “He’s alive!”

  “Funny. I’ve been busy, Dad.”

  “Too busy to check in with your old man? Your mum is driving me up the wall, asking what’s going on with you, as if I bloody know.”

  I lean back in my chair and kick my feet up on desk. “Why does she think something is going on?”

  “You know what she’s like. If you don’t reply instantly, she thinks something is wrong. She worries that you won’t go back to the counsellor if you need to. It’s not going backwards, you know? Is there anything on your mind? Or anyone?”

  I sensed that coming. Dad has been prepped for this conversation. I can almost hear my mum saying, ‘Remember to ask him if there’s a lady friend, Eric, or he won’t tell you’. My dad isn’t a talker unless you go to him with a problem, so I know she’s behind this call.

  “I’m fine with going back to therapy if I need it, but I don’t. Tell Mum I’m okay, and I’ll see her soon.”

  Dad knows all of this. We’ve had extensive conversations about the things I’ve witnessed and how they’ve affected me.

  He clears this throat. “Is there someone?”

  “I’m not seeing anyone, no.”

  “Oh. It’s just been a long time since that blonde lass.”

  Gretchen and I dated for a couple of months last year. It was nothing serious, and she didn’t meet my family before we called it off, but it did allow Mum to begin to dream. Phoebe is settled with a good job, a husband, and a daughter. Apparently, I’m lagging behind by only having a career, as if that’s not a reason to be happy. I don’t need everything all at once.

  “I’m twenty-four, Dad.”

  “I know, son. Your mum just worries about you being there alone.”

  “You make it sound like I never leave the house. I have a career and friends. I’m not alone. Plenty of people move away from their family.”