Writing Mr. Right

by T. K. Leigh

  “Really?” He cocked a brow, licking his lips. The heat in his eyes was carnal. I had a feeling most women Noah dated in the past probably weren’t as open about their sexuality as I was. What did he expect? He knew my secret. He couldn’t have expected anything less from me.

  “Really.” I nodded slowly. “So I think we should just get out of here, go back to my place…or yours…and do a little research.” I wiggled my brows. “It may just help with this book. I’m in a bit of a rut.”

  He drew closer to me, his fingers brushing up and down my side. “I’d love nothing more than to help you, Molly.” His tongue traced circles against my neck. “But not yet. Like I said…” He tugged on my earlobe, his teeth nipping my skin, sending sparks through me. “All in good time.” He pulled back, leaving me incredibly frustrated.

  “You’re the worst,” I groaned, throwing my hand over my head. “I’ve got a raging case of blue bean, but you’re doing nothing to help.”

  It was silent for a moment. “Blue bean?”

  “Yeah. The female equivalent of blue balls.”

  Noah stared at me, then laughed, his smile reaching those devilish eyes of his. “I have a feeling I’ll be adding a lot of new terms to my vernacular as I spend time with you.” He turned his eyes back to the sky, a serene look crossing his expression. As much as I would have loved nothing more than to haul Noah back to my apartment and feel his body writhing on top of or below me, this moment was perfect. We simply gazed at the clouds floating above us, basking in the feel of the grass below us, the sounds of the city the perfect ambient music.

  “This reminds me of growing up,” I commented after a long pause.

  “How so?” Noah glanced at me briefly.

  “I remember Drew and me lying on the grass in our back yard or at one of the neighborhood parks in the North End and looking at the clouds. Sometimes, we’d pick out the different shapes we saw. Other times, we’d just sit in silence, especially if one of us was having a bad day. There were times I’d get home from school and he could tell I had a rough day. All he had to do was grab my hand and bring me outside. Instantly, things would be better.”

  “You two are pretty close, aren’t you?”

  “I guess.” I shrugged. “Dad worked a lot when we were growing up so it sometimes felt like it was just us.” I swallowed hard. “Then when Drew started getting good at hockey, it was just me.” My voice trailed off, but I quickly readjusted my composure. “How about you? Are you close to your sisters?” I looked at Noah.

  “As close as any guy can be in a house full of women.”

  “Where do you fall in the spectrum? Oldest? Youngest?”

  “Right in the middle. My oldest sister is forty-six, and the youngest is thirty. There’s a big age span between all of us.”

  “Is Piper older? Younger?”

  “Younger,” he answered. “By two years.”

  “Your mom must be proud with two doctors in the family.”

  “She’s proud of all of us.”

  I nodded and looked back at the sky, one of the clouds looking too much like a penis. Even the clouds mocked my starving libido.

  “So why are you in a rut with your book?” Noah asked out of nowhere.

  I glanced at him, exhaling. “It’s nothing. Just something I have to work through.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  I gave him a lascivious smile.

  “Except that,” he replied, laughing slightly. “Naughty girl.”

  “If only you were interested in finding out how naughty I can be.”

  “I am, but only when the time’s right.”

  I sighed. “I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do to help me with this book. It just feels like every other book I’ve written for this imprint.” I shook my head, my frustration returning. “When I first started out, I had all these grand notions of how I could use my talent to bring attention to different issues going on in the world today. After all, I have a degree in journalism.”

  “What kinds of issues?”

  “I don’t know.” I lay on my side and propped myself up on my elbow. “Human trafficking. Abuse. Addiction.” I pulled at a few blades of grass. “What it’s like to have a parent who’s unable to remember you.”

  “Molly…” He ran his hand up and down my arm, comforting me.

  “I was working on something like that,” I added quickly. “It was still a romance, but the focus wasn’t on how kinky I could make the sex. Instead, it was a love story between two people who society said shouldn’t be together.”

  “Like us?” Noah remarked.

  “Yeah. Like us.” My lips turned up slightly in the corner, a tingle running down my spine as a relished in the feel of his fingers tracing circles on my flesh. “The mother of one of the characters was schizophrenic and was convinced her son wasn’t who he said he was. It’s not the same as having a father with Alzheimer’s, but it was close.”

  “It sounds like you’re passionate about that story.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  Noah sat up and I followed. “Why did you stop working on it?”

  I hesitated. I considered telling him the truth, that I’d used him as my unknowing muse for weeks, but I doubted that would go over well.

  “When I sent the first few chapters to my editor, she reminded me it wasn’t the kind of story they published.” I shrugged, focusing my attention on the grass in front of me. “Hopefully, one day, I’ll finally be able to write something I can be proud of, but right now, I’m under contract to deliver five books with pre-approved storylines. Until I’ve done that, I have an obligation to write what I’ve agreed to.”

  I could feel Noah’s gaze studying me, scrutinizing me, unnerving me. When the silence grew to a deafening level, I looked at him. He stood up, holding his hand out to me.

  “Come on.”

  I scrunched my brows. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I warily put my hand in his, allowing him to help me to my feet. I didn’t question him as he led me to the closest T station and we boarded a train that seemed to be overflowing with people wearing Red Sox paraphernalia. After a few stops, we disembarked, following the gaggle of baseball fans obviously heading to Fenway for tonight’s game. I kept thinking we’d turn away from the crowd at some point, but we continued down Commonwealth Avenue, turned onto Brookline, and headed up the hill toward Fenway Park. Approaching Yawkey Way, Noah pulled out his wallet and handed the gate attendant two tickets. A thousand questions were on the tip of my tongue, but I remained silent.

  I followed Noah under the grandstand of one of the oldest baseball parks still standing. Several years ago, the city proposed tearing down Fenway. The fans revolted, the idea of demolishing this park akin to ripping out the heart of the city. As I passed food stands, the smell of hot dogs and pretzels making their way to my senses, I couldn’t imagine seeing a Red Sox game without Fenway Park.

  Curious, I stole a glance at Noah. He appeared to know precisely where he was going, as if he’d already walked this path hundreds of times. I never pegged him for a baseball fan, but I guess learning all these quirks and idiosyncrasies was part of being in a real relationship.

  Skirting through the crowds of people, he led me up a ramp, placing his hand on my lower back. Still not saying a word, he directed me to two seats on the aisle about five rows up the third base line. He gestured to one of the seats. I lowered myself into it, staring at him with intrigue as he sat in the one next to it.

  After several intense moments of even more silence, I finally opened my mouth. “Noah—”

  “It’s in our DNA to try to fill every waking moment with things to do,” he interrupted, staring straight ahead. It looked like he was watching the game, but I had a sneaking suspicion that couldn’t be further from the truth. “Humans have a tendency to be so busy with work and families, we never take the time to do what we want, do we?” He looked at me, raising a bro
w.

  I wrinkled my nose, unsure where this conversation was headed. All I knew was Noah had taken me to Fenway Park to watch a Red Sox game. From the way he seamlessly found these seats without so much as glancing at any of the overhead directional signs or row numbers, I came to the conclusion he probably had season tickets.

  “We’re all guilty of it, including me.” He lowered his voice. “Especially me.” He turned his attention back to the game. “My father was so proud when I got into Harvard. My family didn’t have much money. My parents had to work extremely hard to make ends meet. I applied to Harvard just to see if I could get in. I was my class valedictorian, had a list of extra-curricular activities a mile long. Even if I did get in, I knew my parents couldn’t afford to send me there. I was the third to go to college. I didn’t even know how they were able to afford to send the first two.”

  I stared at him with rapt attention. For all I knew, we were in my apartment with the game on in the background. I was curious as to why he dragged me here, but I knew there had to be a reason.

  “When I showed my father that acceptance letter, there was no arguing. I was going to Harvard. He didn’t care if he had to take out a second mortgage on the house I grew up in, he was going to make sure I had this opportunity most people would kill for. I’ll never forget the look of pride on his face when we said goodbye after he helped me move into my apartment freshman year.” He glanced down.

  I heard the crack of the bat somewhere in the distance, but couldn’t tear my eyes away from Noah. The fans surrounding us stood up, their cheering growing louder and louder, but I kept my gaze glued to the turmoil and regret covering Noah’s face. It nearly broke my heart.

  “We came here that weekend. He’d always wanted to see a game at Fenway, but never had the chance. When I was growing up, he was always so busy with work that we rarely spent much time together. That weekend, that game, was one of the few times we were able to enjoy as father and son. I wished I had known then what I know now, that it would be the last time I would see my father smile. That it would be the last time he knew who I was.” Inhaling a long breath, he shook his head.

  “I was so preoccupied with studying and assimilating to college life, I ignored everything else going on, including the people who were making huge sacrifices just so I could be there. My father kept reaching out to me, saying he hoped to take some time off from the second job he got, in order to afford my tuition, and visit me so we could catch another game together. Instead of agreeing, I made excuses. I had to study. I had plans. I had a date. I had to work. I’d see him during the next school break.” He ran his hand over his face. “Then I stopped answering his calls altogether.

  “I’d made a new life for myself up here. I had new friends, a job in a research lab, a girlfriend I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. Those were my priorities when it should have been my family. It took my dad’s diagnosis to make me realize I had everything backwards.” He looked at me, a fierceness in his expression.

  “When I went home the following summer, the disease had begun to take its toll. He was confused. He didn’t know who I was. All the things I said we’d eventually do were thrown out the window.” He returned his attention to the game.

  “That October, I got the phone call I’d been dreading. I remember sitting in my bedroom, not knowing how I was supposed to feel. I knew I needed to go home to be with my mother and sisters, but I somehow found myself wandering to this area of town. It was almost like an outside force pulled me here. I bought two tickets from a scalper and watched the Red Sox play the Yankees in the playoffs. It may sound strange, but I felt my father with me during that game. I come here as much as my schedule allows because it’s the one place I can still feel him.”

  I reached out and grabbed his hand. He offered me a small smile, then his eyes became intense, almost pleading. “There will always be an excuse for why you can’t do something, why you have to wait. You can tell yourself you’ll do it eventually, that you’ll get to it someday. What if there’s no tomorrow?” he said passionately.

  I furrowed my brows, confused.

  “I would give anything to be able to sit here with my father and watch the Sox play,” he added with a subtle quiver. Taking a deep breath, his intense eyes locked with mine. “What I’m trying to say is I think you owe it to yourself to do what makes you happy, not someone else. If going back to the initial draft of your book is what makes you happy, that’s what you should do. There are too many people who have been beaten down by their jobs and other responsibilities.” He leaned toward me, the depth and fire in his gaze making my hair stand on end. “Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Molly.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  “I’M GOING TO DO it,” I said to Noah as he walked me up the front steps of my building.

  We’d stayed for the remainder of the game, the heaviness between us being replaced by the fun atmosphere of the ballpark. Regardless, his plea consumed my thoughts all evening. I’d often felt writing no longer held the passion and zeal it did when I first started. Back then, I couldn’t wait to get in front of my laptop to write. I’d often woken up in the middle of the night just to get in a few hundred more words. Now, everything felt forced…except for the previous draft of Avery and Jackson’s story. That was the first real thing I’d written in years. The spark and excitement I felt when I first began writing had returned.

  “Do what?” Noah cocked his head at me.

  “I shouldn’t wait to write what’s in my heart. I’m going to write what I want to write, not what my publisher wants. You never know.” I shrugged. “Maybe once they see the final draft, they’ll actually like it.” I just hoped I’d be able to find the draft on one of my hard drive backups. Even if I had to start again from scratch, it would be worth it to finally write something real.

  A brilliant smile crossed his face as he drew me into his arms. “I can’t wait to read it.”

  “Me, either,” I replied, less than enthusiastically. I didn’t see how I’d ever be able to share this story with Noah. It would be clear as day I used him as my inspiration.

  He pulled back, studying me. “Is everything okay?” he asked guardedly.

  I put on a fake smile. “Of course.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I reached up and toyed with the little tufts of hair that fell over his collar. “It’s just a little scary pushing the boundaries.”

  “If no one pushed the envelope, we’d still be living in the dark ages. Just remember that.”

  “I’m not sure I could survive without internet,” I responded, lightening the mood. “Could you imagine a world with no cell phones?”

  “Or phones in general.”

  “It’s certainly not a world I’d want to live in.” I grinned, staring at Noah for several protracted moments. Then my expression turned serious. “Thank you for tonight, for sharing all that with me, for opening my eyes.”

  “You’ve opened my eyes more than I think you know,” he murmured. His words chipped at another piece of the wall around my heart.

  I stood on my toes and our lips met, the kiss soft, unhurried, perfect. I’d never been kissed the way Noah kissed me…with tenderness, with passion, with heart. He wasn’t just kissing me as a means to an end. He kissed me in a way that made me think he couldn’t go another second without providing me the warmth and affection only his kisses could give.

  “Do you want to come up?” I asked in a breathy voice.

  He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead on mine. “You know damn well I do, Molly.” He released a heavy sigh. “But not tonight.”

  Arching my body toward his, I tugged on his belt. “You can’t stand there and tell me you don’t want me,” I murmured, nibbling on his bottom lip. “I can feel how much you do.” My hand brushed the erection forming in his pants.

  He grabbed my wrist and forced me against the door, pressing his body into mine. “You’re not playing fair.” His eyes grew hooded.

  “I’ve
been a bad girl. I think I need a spanking.” I raised my brows.

  “Fuck,” he exhaled through gritted teeth. “You’re making this extremely hard for me.”

  “No pun intended?” I traced circles against his neck with my tongue, savoring the slight stubble on his chin.

  “Pun definitely intended.”

  “I can help take care of that little problem,” I reminded him in a sweet voice. “Or, if memory serves me correctly, not so little problem.”

  “And I want you to.” He gently thrust against me, his breathing growing ragged. “But not tonight.” He stepped back, releasing his hold on me. I was surprised at the strength of his resolve.

  “Why?”

  He studied me, and I could sense his reluctance. “What I said last night is true, but it’s not the only reason,” he admitted finally. “I do want to date you without you thinking I expect something in return. Your presence and company is all I ever want.”

  “What’s the other reason?”

  He paused, then licked his lips. “I don’t want you to run again,” he answered softly.

  “I didn’t—”

  “You did, Molly,” he interrupted. “Something spooked you in the light of day yesterday morning. So much so, you didn’t go visit your father. You’ve never missed a day in all the months he’s been at the home. Call me crazy, but I have a feeling it had to do with what happened between us.” He clasped my hands in his, looking at me with earnest. “I don’t want you to get scared again. I need you to know this is the real deal, Molly. I’ve got both feet in.”

  The remnants of that wall around my heart came tumbling down. I flung my arms around him, happy to remain in his embrace. I marveled at how different everything was with him. It was oddly refreshing to be able to stand by my front door, a beautiful man’s arms wrapped around me, with no expectations of anything more than a breathtaking kiss.

  Before Noah, I felt like a tourist in my own life, each guy I slept with just another site to see in my travels. Now, as I relished in the warmth of Noah’s caring embrace, I felt like I’d finally found my way back home.