Her response: Uh, yeah. I have a waterproof Kobo. Why do you think I take so many baths?
Me: Because you’re a dirty girl. You walked right into that one.
Her: That’s true. But yeah, you should get up on that shit, even though Book Boyfriends might ruin you.
Me: You don’t need Book Boyfriends. Your whole life is one big erotic novel.
Her: That’s true. I could write a book called “Slammed by the Single Dad.”
Oh my god. Blake and I could totally write a book called Slammed by the Single Dad! I quickly write that down and hope Rio never finds out.
Back at home I’m compelled to read as many books as I can but with Ana being home, I know I’ll have to put off getting off until later. Which means when it’s almost time for Blake to come and get me, I’m wishing he’d really come and get me. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to read all this smut then write all the smut with him? Him with his gorgeous eyes and devilish grin and taught, muscled body and those hands, those hands that could so easily pick me up by the waist and throw me on the bed before lavishing me all with his tongue and…
“Sweet one, your man is here!” Ana yells, snapping me out of my torrid daydream.
Fuck.
It’s like he knew I was thinking about him.
Fuck.
That means Ana is talking to him!
I scamper out of the bedroom and see him walking into the living room, looking around.
“I’m so glad we finally met,” he’s telling Ana who is grinning at him like he’s some kind of celebrity. I bet she thinks he’s Tom Hiddleston.
“No!” I yell and then stop as they both turn to look at me.
“Amanda,” Ana says, pouting. “I’m being very good.”
“She is,” Blake says good-naturedly. “She only told me once in the last thirty seconds that you and I need to have the sex together.”
“I said sex, not the sex,” she says. “My English is better than that.”
“Oh my god,” I mutter. I quickly gather up my stuff, sliding them into my messenger bag. “Let’s go.” I grab his arm and lead him away.
“Nice meeting you!” Blake yells over his shoulder. “I promise I’ll stay longer next time.”
“You will not,” I tell him as I march toward his car.
“Anything to see you all hot and bothered,” he says. “Have you seen your face? You’ve got quite the glow going on.”
I don’t say anything and get in the car.
“Could this be the aftereffects of the big O?”
“No,” I tell him quickly as the car starts and The White Stripes “Rag and Bone” starts playing. “Love this song,” I tell him, turning it up and grooving in my seat.
He looks completely taken aback. “Since when?”
I keep grooving and raise my hand slightly. “Jack White fan here.”
He reaches over and turns down the volume button. “Wait, are you trying to change the subject?”
“There is no subject to change. I didn’t masturbate. End of story.”
He laughs. “Fair enough. But I bet you were turned on.”
“Maybe,” I say, turning the volume up again as we take off down the street and continue to do my silly seat dance.
Soon we’re settled on his patio, our computers and kindles and notes crowding the table along with a growler of fresh home brew from Spinnakers. Sun fills the space, the breeze coming up from the harbor smelling of salt and the faint whiff of diesel fuel. I’m both nervous because of what we’re about to embark on and also completely at ease.
“All right so we still need a pen name,” he says. “And I have just the one.”
He’s trying so hard not to smile.
“What?” I ask cautiously.
“Amanda Lovecox!”
I roll my eyes.
“Unless you don’t love cocks.”
“I’m not going to answer that,” I tell him. Then it hits me. “Blake Lovecox.”
He shakes his head austerely. “I only love my own.”
“Blake is a girl’s name too.”
“You don’t have to remind me.”
“So why not? I think it’s perfect.”
“Oliver Klozoff,” he says, snapping his fingers.
“Do you want to get sued by Matt Groening?” I say. “Come on. This is just classy enough that people will believe it and it won’t get caught by the Amazon censors. Believe me, I’ve been doing my research and that’s an issue.”
“Okay fine. Blake Lovecox: she’ll make you love cocks too.”
“Well the best part is that Blake could go either way so it keeps the mystery of who we are.” I hold out my hand. “Deal?”
He shakes it, holding it for a second longer than he should. “Deal. I’m Blake and you love cocks.”
“I can live with that. What’s next?”
“We need a plot and then a title.”
I frown. “Nah, I think we need a title and then a plot. Otherwise we’ll never decide.”
“Okay,” he says, adjusting himself in his chair. He flips through his phone and pushes it toward me. “I’ve written down all the classic tropes and the elements the book needs.”
I glance it over and read aloud. “Dirty talking alpha male. Extremely large penis. Built like The Rock. A millionaire is good but a billionaire is better. Make sure he donates to Africa or does some charity work even though he’s an asshole with a damaged past. Must possess pillowy lips and intense eyes that gaze into your soul.” I shoot him a furtive glance. “Sure you aren’t talking about yourself here?”