by Jen Morris
Oh, hang on. That’s not true at all. I’ve met a lovely man—a man who makes me feel like anything is possible. Mum was so against the idea of me staying single, so surely she’ll be excited to hear I’ve met someone.
“There is something else, though, Mum. I’ve met a guy.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. He’s my neighbor. He’s a writer as well. He’s a great guy and—” I snap my mouth shut. That was close. I almost, without even realizing it, said, “I think he could be the one.”
As in The One.
Bloody hell. That thought hit me out of nowhere, but now that it’s here, I can’t help but think, well… shit. I think he is.
There’s a flurry of nerves in my stomach and I have to force myself to take a deep breath. When I arrived in the city I promised myself I wouldn’t do this again—I wouldn’t let myself get swept up in some fairy-tale romance—because I always end up hurt and disappointed. It was fine when we were just fooling around at Michael’s cabin, but now we are back in the city and I’ve met his ex-wife and been to hospital with his son and there’s no denying we are in a full-on relationship. He told me he was falling for me. And I’m… well, I don’t even want to think about what I’m feeling. It’s terrifying.
But when I picture Michael’s face, when I think of the things he says to me and the way he holds me, I don’t feel terrified in the slightest. Because this is something else. This is it.
“He’s what, Alexis?” Mum barks impatiently, and I jump.
“Sorry. He’s just… he’s really great,” I murmur, smiling to myself. I wait for her reply but the line is thick with silence, and I feel myself bristle. “What?”
“I’m sure you think he’s nice, darling. But that’s what you thought about Travis, isn’t it?”
I frown. “Well, yes. But—”
“You do have a tendency to do this sort of thing. You’ve only been over there for a few months and you already think you’ve found Prince Charming! I thought you went over there to write, Alexis. That’s what you’ve been carrying on about this whole time.”
“Well...” I swallow down the sense of unease rising inside me. “I can do both.”
“But you’ve already given up on your writing,” she says, and anger flares in my chest.
“I haven’t given up on it,” I snap. For fuck’s sake. Here I was thinking she’d be pleased I’d met someone after her negative reaction to me being single, but now she’s just finding reasons to be negative about this! Why does nothing I do ever make her happy?
My phone pings and I pull it back to see an email from Justin flash up on the screen. My heart jerks. “Mum, I’ve got to go.” I end the call and, with shaking hands, open Justin’s email. And there, on the screen, is the news I’ve been waiting for.
I’ve got the job.
40
I knock quietly on Michael’s door, not wanting to wake Henry. My whole body is fizzling with nervous energy. I’ve spent all evening thinking about the job offer from Justin. Apparently it wasn’t so unrealistic to believe I could get a job as a writer over here. I’ve worked my butt off and earned this, and that feels good.
Well, it’s bittersweet. Mel obviously hasn’t said anything to Justin about Michael, but it’s only a matter of time. There’s no doubt in my mind she’ll make good on her threat if she wants to.
I’m trying to tell myself it’s okay. I’ve made my choice and that’s being with Michael. I feel bad for letting Justin down, and I guess I could ask to write about something else, but Mel did say that was unlikely. Besides, I’ve spent the past month proving I can write about being single. To ask for something else now wouldn’t be fair. I’ll just have to let it go. Maybe I’ll do what Michael suggested; focus on my romance novel and see if I can do something with that.
I can’t deny how torn I feel, though. I wanted this job and now that I’ve finally got it, I have to give it up. And while I know that’s the right choice, I still feel uneasy about it. Mum’s words echo through my head—I thought you went over there to write—and I keep trying to push them away. I know that if I can just see Michael, just talk to him about all this, I’ll feel better.
The door swings open. He’s standing there in a navy blue T-shirt that shows his muscular arms, his hair is slightly mussed, and he’s visibly struggling to contain his grin. “Hey, beautiful.”
Oh God. I feel better already.
“Hi.” I bite my lip at the sight of him, feeling strangely shy. “How’s Henry?”
“He’s great.” Michael’s eyes track over me, then without warning he pins me up against the door frame and claims my mouth with a blistering kiss. Heat pools in my belly, spreading out along my limbs. I get a mental image of Agnes catching us and have to stop myself from giggling.
“How is it possible that I missed you so much after only one day?” he murmurs into my hair, his hands snaking their way around my waist and holding me close against him. I can feel how hard he is already, and as he kisses me again, I’m overcome by the urgent need to get his clothes off.
“Sorry.” He draws away from me with a sheepish laugh. “I probably shouldn’t maul you the second you get in the door. Let’s have a drink.”
“What?” I blow out a breath in disbelief. “Fuck that. Bedroom.” The words slip out before I can stop them and Michael’s eyebrows shoot up.
Jesus, what is wrong with me?
“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling warmth spread over my cheeks. “Just ignore me.”
He shakes his head, his eyes sparking as he slides a hand down to lightly smack me on the butt. “No. Bedroom it is. Now.”
Oh, there’s that bossy voice. Fuck.
I giggle, stumbling into the apartment and finding my way to his room. Then he’s peeling my dress off, kissing his way down my chest and slipping a hand into my underwear as I stand, grasping his shoulders because I’m weak at the knees. I reach for his belt buckle impatiently, but he pushes my hands away, nudging me back onto the bed.
“You promised,” he murmurs, tugging at my underwear and sliding it down my legs.
“What?”
He kneels on the floor at the foot of the bed, taking my legs and hooking them over his strong shoulders. “I’ve been waiting forever to do this.”
I give him a wry smile. “You mean you’ve been waiting a few days.”
“No.” His eyes smolder as he gazes at me. “Try three months.”
His words send heat searing through me and I drop my head back onto the bed with a moan. He slides his hands under my butt, angling my hips up. I feel the scratch of his beard on my inner thigh as he lowers his mouth onto me, then his tongue sweeps over the throbbing, wet heat between my legs.
“Oh, oh God,” I groan, and he immediately stops.
I glance down to see amusement dancing in his eyes. “We have to be quiet, with Henry here.”
“Shit.” I cringe. “Sorry. You can stop if you want—”
“Fuck no,” he growls, then he buries his face between my legs again.
My hands drop to his head, pushing into his hair, holding him right where I want him. And he’s happy to comply. He slides his tongue over me greedily, working his fingers into me as he does, and it only takes a few minutes until I’m a panting, heaving mess, arching against his mouth and trying not to scream the roof off.
His grin stretches from ear to ear as he pushes to his feet and drops his pants. He takes his hard length in his hand and strokes, chuckling as I try to gather myself together on the bed. I watch him roll on a condom, feeling the familiar ache to have him inside me again.
He climbs on top of me, pinning my hands above my head and capturing my mouth. His tongue strokes roughly over mine as he nudges my legs apart. When he pushes inside me I gasp in delight, my hands flying down to him, my nails digging into his back as I suppress a moan.
It’s not long before I’m writhing beneath him, pulling him deeper into me, and the moan I managed to contain earlier escapes from my lips. He has no c
hoice but to put a hand over my mouth as he watches me with hooded eyes, and it’s the hottest thing. A few moments later it’s his turn to keep quiet, and I take in the pleasure on his beautiful face as his body tenses and releases, shuddering against me.
Afterward, we lie in bed gazing at each other in the soft lamplight. I run a hand over his cheek, my body still aching to feel him as if I’ll never get enough.
“So how was your day, anyway?” Michael asks, and I laugh.
“Shouldn’t you ask me that before you take my clothes off?”
He flashes me a grin. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“Me either,” I say, leaning in and stealing a kiss. “Um, my day was okay. I slept most of it. Then Mum called.” I swallow nervously. “And then, er, I got an email telling me I got the column.”
His eyebrows lift, then his lips tip into a smile. “Wow, Alex, that’s… Congratulations.” His smile slides away as he drags his teeth across his bottom lip, an uneasy silence settling over us. “So what are you going to do?”
“Well...” I hesitate, wondering if I should mention Mel’s threats from the hospital. Eventually, I sigh. “Mel told me last night that if I don’t stop seeing you, she’s going to tell them I’m not single.”
His brow furrows but he says nothing, and there’s a twinge of annoyance in my gut.
“That’s it? I thought you might be a bit more shocked that she threatened me.”
He gives a hollow laugh. “Not at all. That’s Melanie.”
Huh. That’s not quite what I was expecting. “You don’t feel the need to, I don’t know, defend me or tell her to back off?”
“I—” He grimaces. “I try not to piss her off. It’s not worth going back to court and putting Henry through all that again.”
I open my mouth to protest, remembering how reluctant he was to speak up to her last night. But I force myself to stay quiet. I don’t want to argue with him about that now.
“Well, anyway,” I mumble. “I might not have a choice about the column, thanks to her.”
Michael strokes his beard. “Maybe it’s for the best? You don’t want to write about that stuff anyway, right?”
I pull the sheets up to my armpits and smooth them down over me, trying to ignore the irritation crawling under my skin. “Well… I don’t want to lose the chance to be a featured writer on Bliss Edition.”
“But you can’t write a column about being single if you’re not, right? And I don’t want you to be.” His mouth slants into a smile and he reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine.
“I don’t want to be, either,” I say, giving his hand a squeeze.
“Exactly. I think you should forget about the column and focus on your romance novel. I read it and I think it’s great.”
“You read all of it?”
“I did, and I think you have something good there. I love Matthew and Annie and their story.”
“Oh.” I smile, buoyed by his encouragement. “So you really think I should turn down the column?”
He gives a slow nod and confusion swirls through me. How can he be so supportive of my novel but not the rest of it?
“Michael… you said you’d support whatever I decide to do. Do you remember that?”
“Yeah, I do. But I think you’re wanting to write this column for the wrong reasons. I mean, you’re not interested in writing it, are you?”
“Well—”
“It’s more about proving yourself to your parents.”
I pull my hand away. “What?”
“Am I wrong?”
I chew my lip, staying silent. I don’t want to think about it like that, but maybe he’s got a point.
“Alex, it’s okay. But”—he shrugs—“it’s a little immature to let that influence your decisions. You just have to get over it.”
His words hit me like a slap and I shrink away, feeling a cold, prickly sensation wash over me. I think back to an hour ago when I was anxious to come up here and talk this through with him, certain he’d understand why I’m feeling so torn. Instead, he’s just making me feel like shit and expecting me to give everything up without a second thought.
And now I wonder if turning this job down could be a big mistake. This is the best opportunity for my career that I’ve ever had—which is why I came all the way over here in the first place. Maybe Mum was right: I am giving up on my writing. Do I really want to throw it away because I’m hoping for my happily ever after? I might have had an amazing week away with Michael, but if he can’t understand why this is important to me then maybe he doesn’t know me so well after all.
He studies my face. “What’s wrong?”
I stare at him, incredulous. Right. Well. If he doesn’t get why I’m upset right now then he really doesn’t know me.
“I don’t know what you thought was going to happen,” he says, looking perplexed. “If we want to be together then you can’t write the column. You get that, right?”
“Of course I get that!” I blow out a frustrated breath. “It’s not even about the job, Michael. It’s about the fact that you can’t understand why this is difficult for me. I thought out of everyone, you understood what my writing means to me, and how complicated things are with my parents. I thought you’d support and encourage me.”
“I do understand—”
“You don’t, because you’re telling me to get over all this stuff with my parents and abandon my career, just like that. In fact, you were telling me on the drive home to give up on this. So clearly, you don’t understand me—”
“Alex, you’re being ridiculous. I do—”
“Stop!” I raise my hand, anger boiling hot in my blood. How dare he call me ridiculous for defending myself. Fuck—he sounds exactly like my mother.
I climb out of bed, pulling my clothes on with trembling hands. I’ve had enough of the people I care about not supporting me. I might not be able to control who my parents are, but I sure as hell can control who I give my heart to. And it’s not going to be someone who can’t understand what matters to me.
“You know what?” I say, zipping up my dress. “You might be this hot-shot writer with loads of books published, but I’m not sure you should be telling me what to write. What about your historical novel? How can you sit there and tell me what I should or shouldn’t write when you won’t even take your own advice?” I glare at him, waiting for his retort. But he just stares at me.
I turn to go, thinking I’m done, when more words rush up my throat. “And as for Mel? I can’t believe you’re okay with her speaking to me like that. I understand you have to look out for Henry, but that’s no excuse for letting her push me—or more importantly, you—around.”
“Fuck, Alex,” he growls, sitting up in bed. “I can’t believe you’re giving me a hard time about Melanie right now. You have no idea what I’ve been through with her.”
“But have you thought about the example you’re setting for Henry? He sees you being manipulated by her. He sees her walking all over you.”
Michael’s jaw tightens. “Oh, so now you think I’m a bad father too? I’m sorry I’m not some kind of perfect Prince Charming, Alex, but I do have flaws.”
I suck in a shocked breath. “What? Is that what you think I’m looking for? Prince Charming?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “You’ve told me you think I’m perfect. And let’s face it, Matthew is pretty perfect. It’s hard to live up to that.”
I gape at him in disbelief. Matthew is a fictional character; I don’t expect Michael to be faultless. God. It’s one thing to hear my mother say that I’m searching for some unrealistic ideal of romance—I expect it from her. But to hear this from him?
“Melanie is always giving me shit about how I’m a crap father,” Michael mutters. “Always pointing out my flaws. And now you’re—”
“You’re comparing me to her? Are you fucking kidding me?”
A muscle ticks in his neck and his eyes are cold as they move over my face, but he
doesn’t deny it.
“Wow.” I swallow hard, realizing just how wrong I was about him. Because if he truly thinks I’m no better than his cruel ex-wife, then he really, really doesn’t know me at all.
Fuck, I’m an idiot. Of course there’s no such thing as a happy ending. Why on earth did I think this time would be different?
“Okay. Then I’ll make this easy for you, Michael.” I draw in a shaky breath, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I choose my writing.”
The anger on his face gives way to alarm. “Alex, wait.”
“You know,” I say bitterly, “I’m surprised you even wanted to be with someone as immature and ridiculous as me in the first place.”
He scrambles out of bed and reaches for his pants. “I didn’t mean—”
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t do this, I’m sorry.” And as I gaze at his handsome face, his pleading eyes and knitted brow, I know I am sorry—sorry that I can’t be with this beautiful man. But I’m not going to stay with someone who doesn’t understand me or care about the things that matter to me.
With tears escaping down my cheeks, I dash out of his apartment and down the stairs, hoping there might be some way to rescue my career.
41
When I push the front door open, Cat is sitting in the living room and my heart sinks. I haven’t seen her in days and I’d been so eager to talk to her about Mel. But now that’s the last thing I feel like doing.
I try to slip in quietly and go straight to my bedroom nook, but before I can even get in the door she turns to me, her eyes narrowed to slits.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
I feel a bolt of shock. “What?”
“How could you do that to Mel?”
With a weary sigh, I lower myself onto the chair next to her and wipe my cheeks. “I… have a lot to tell you.”
“Yes, you do. Honestly, Alex. Mel went to all that trouble to help you with your writing and then you get together with Michael? After everything he did to her?”
