“Then go back!” Lynsey exclaims. “So you kissed him, and he turned you down? Big fucking deal! Your ex still technically lives in this house, and you refuse to move out, knowing full well he can come back any day. But one little kiss with the sexy mechanic, and suddenly, you’re a recluse again? I don’t think so!”
“She has a point, Kate,” Dean adds, completely unhelpful. “It’ll be awkward for a day, three days tops. It’s not like you have to gaze into his eyes from the waiting room. He’ll probably stay in the garage and avoid you too.”
I groan and drop down onto my couch, scrubbing my hands over my face. “You’re right. My house smells like shit now too, doesn’t it?”
They both nod down at me.
Lynsey adds, “You’re going to have to get someone in here to clean it.”
“Or throw a raging party when you finish this book, and we’ll trash it so badly that the smell of booze and puke will overwhelm the burnt rubber.”
Lynsey and I eye him with disgust.
He shrugs. “Just an idea.”
“Fine, I’ll go back,” I decide at last. “But only because burnt rubber is not the same as new rubber, and I couldn’t find a new rubber candle anywhere online. I wasted an embarrassing amount of time trying.”
I walk into the back door of Tire Depot with my head held high. I have a book to finish, damn it. Lynsey and Dean are right. I sure as hell shouldn’t stop sneaking in illegally and pilfering complimentary coffee in the CCC because of Miles and his hot and cold treatment.
It was one kiss. One kiss with some heavy petting. One kiss with some heavy petting and a boner the size of a fucking giant cucumber. This is nothing I can’t get over!
Thankfully, as soon as I sit down and sip my free long espresso, I get that buzz in my fingers again. The buzz that means I won’t need to stop for food because inspiration will be nourishing my soul!
And thankfully, I don’t even see Miles for the first few days I’m back. It’s nice—like the early days when I was literally invisible to everyone around me. Even Betty doesn’t notice me typing in the corner when she comes with a fresh cookie stash. And that’s good because I have work to do.
But on the third day I come in, I muster up the courage to wave at him through the window in the shop. It seems like a normal thing to do, considering I walk right past the garage every day and can clearly see him working through the window.
When Miles sees me waving like a moron, he blinks several times, like he thinks he’s seeing a ghost. Eventually, his face relaxes, and he gives me that lopsided smile that’s still sexy as ever.
It’s nice. It’s mature. We’re adulting.
The next day, it’s as if my wave to Miles in the garage was an olive branch he’s accepted because he comes striding into the CCC just as he’s done many times before “the black moment.”
“How’s the book coming?” he asks while grabbing a cookie out of the case and turning to look down at where I sit in one of the big, comfy armchairs.
Smiling shyly, I look over at the last couple of customers seated at one of the high top tables. One is on her phone, and the other is flipping through a magazine. Both clearly uninterested in our conversation.
Miles leans back against the countertop and bites into a cookie, his long legs crossed at the ankles, posture relaxed and friendly. I take a moment to drink in the enormous sight of him.
Freshly showered but not freshly shaved. Still hot as ever in simple jeans and a T-shirt.
“It’s coming along,” I reply, exhaling heavily. “This is the point in the story where I rip the couple apart and ruin everything they thought they knew about each other.”
“Ouch,” he states, pressing his fist to his heart in mock pain. “Can’t they just be happy?”
“What’s dramatic about happy?” I ask with a laugh. “My readers like the pain, the torture. They love when I rip stuff up and put it all back together.” I lean forward in my chair and lower my voice. “It makes the makeup sex that much hotter.”
He chuckles softly and shakes his head. “You know, my sister texted me and asked for your full author name so she could read some of your stuff.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Is that right?”
He nods. “I warned you that we were a family of readers.”
I eye him speculatively for a moment. There’s really no reason to keep my pen name a secret from him anymore. It’s not like we’re romantically involved. I squashed any chance of that several days ago.
Clearing my throat, I reply, “You’re going to laugh.”
“Why do you say that?”
I prepare to reply, but pause as a voice cuts through the overhead music and announces, “Jeremiah Park, your Honda Civic is done.” The couple sitting together both get up and make their way out of the CCC, leaving Miles and me alone once again.
Miles lifts his brows, clearly primed and ready for me to continue.
With a deep breath, I tell the unusual tale of how Kate Smith went from being a boring old copy editor to a bestselling erotic novelist, leaving out the whole real name part, of course.
“So my first book started off as a parody. I was actually working as a remote copy editor for a big publishing house and had no intentions of ever writing a book myself.”
“Okay …” Miles replies, crossing his arms over his chest and listening intently.
I do my best to ignore the way his biceps stretch the sleeves of his shirt and continue. “So my ex and I had this horrible experience at a bed and breakfast.”
“The ex who wanted you to lie to his family about what you did?” Miles asks, his jaw ticking angrily. I nod, and he clears his throat like he’s holding back some words.
Fuck, it would be so book-hot if he was jealous right now.
“Anyway,” I continue, “we show up at what we think is a normal bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere Colorado only to discover that we’ve walked right into a secret BDSM club.”
Miles’s eyes are bright and blue when he exclaims, “You didn’t?”
“We did! This is a true story!” I retort and keep going. “And somehow, they think we’re their honored guests for the evening. We think the people they were expecting never showed up. I guess. I don’t know, the details of that are still fuzzy.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“We kinda just rolled with it because we were tired and we thought, ‘all we need is a bed to crash in, who cares what this woman is doing with a dude on a leash. That’s her business.’”
“Your ex won’t tell his family what you do, but he was open-minded to that kind of scene?”
I bark out a laugh. “He was as high as a fucking kite! He had consumed three edibles in retaliation to the fact that I forgot to book a hotel room. I don’t know, he’s an idiot.”
“Agreed,” Miles adds with a scowl.
I can’t help but giggle at the serious tone in his voice. “I don’t think he even realizes what he’s seeing. Like I think he was actually seeing dogs on leashes, not human subs.”
A full-on belly laugh erupts from Miles, and he eventually asks, “What happened?”
My brows lift. “You mean, did we participate?”
“Yeah,” he admits with a shameless shrug.
“We did not,” I reply with a sad smile. “Since we were the honored guests, we were only there to watch. The Head Mistress was very clear about that. She ushered us into this Western-looking parlor room and seated us in frickin’ thrones, complete with sashes and crowns. Then, they basically put on a BDSM performance for us. It was frickin’ insane!”
“Sounds like it.”
“Naturally, I go to bed that night and think, I have to write down everything that just happened or no one will believe it. So I did. It wasn’t super hard for me because I was already a copy editor and a huge reader. But I was pretty much writing it like a book, not a journal. It was complete with dialogue, descriptions, and the whole nine yards. I thought it would be really fun to take creative liberties with the story, so I kept going. Next thing I knew, I had a damn book!