I wonder how long I can blame it on erotica for.
“So, what do you think?” he says, his voice lower as he leans in.
“About your smell?”
“About which book to write. But now I want to know how I smell.”
“You smell like the opposite of Axe body spray. And I think we should close our eyes and point to one.”
“Deal.”
So with our eyes closed and our fingers poised above the pad of paper, we take the plunge and laugh when we open our eyes.
Falling for the Secret Male Stripper it is.
“Okay,” I tell him. “But promise me you’ll demonstrate some of his dance moves in the scenes.”
“Only if I can demonstrate his other moves on you.”
I brush him off, shaking my head. “You’re terrible.”
And I think I’m starting to like it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Blake
It’s been another busy day at the store even though there’s been quite a few returns. I’ve never understood people who return books after they’ve obviously read them. “Oh no, that dog-eared page was there when I bought it.” Like hell it was. How about I punch you in the bloody face and tell you that bruise was there before and then we’ll call it even.
I’ve got a meeting with Amanda tonight and every time I think about it, I have to stop myself from calling it a date. It’s not a date but I have to admit, sometimes I wish it were. I mean, obviously writing Falling for the Secret Male Stripper (or FFTSMS or Stripper or Cock Book) has ended up being a lot of fun but it’s almost too much fun. We’ve gotten together every night this week and by the time she leaves I have blue balls the size of Donald Trump’s head.
Honestly, I don’t know what’s happening. I’ve had to cancel a date I had with the Mr. Mercedes girl (Sansa?) because I’d rather be with Amanda instead, even though it’s taking every ounce of my goodwill to not make a move on her. I mean, I don’t want to think of her in that way since she’s my writing partner and all and I’ve made it this far without fucking up our strange little relationship.
But when we’re dealing day in and out with hard cocks and slick holes and every romance cliché imaginable, it’s nearly impossible not to be turned on. It doesn’t help that Amanda is good-looking. I mean, her eyes are this vivid blue-green that light up every time she writes the word dick and she has this smile, so beautifully cheeky, it sometimes takes my breath away. Okay, so that’s a bit of a cliché but I do feel breathless when the majority of my blood flow is heading straight to my pants. It’s amazing she hasn’t noticed my constant erection, though maybe she’s just being polite about it. She’s so humble she probably wouldn’t assume it’s for her.
Then there are her lips, which I’ve been a fan of since day one. If anything they seem to get wetter, the way her mouth hangs open slightly and her pink tongue peeks out as she’s thinking and I really have to keep myself back and remind myself that she probably wouldn’t appreciate me kissing her wildly while she’s trying to write.
Probably.
That’s what makes it all worse because I know, I know, she’s getting turned on as she writes. Her eyes get this glossy glazed look and her cheeks flush and she squirms in her seat. She may laugh at the overuse of the word clenching but damn I know she’s squeezing her tight little pussy together in my presence and so help me god, I want in on that.
I’m not made of stone.
And I know it’s just a matter of time.
“Blake,” my father calls to me, snapping me back to reality. It’s almost closing and though the store is a mess, I have places to go and porn to write.
I look up to see him and Kevin come toward me. I guess Angelica must have just dropped him off. And, shit, Kevin’s eyes are all puffy and red under his glasses, while my dad’s face looks etched in concrete.
“What’s up?” I ask them cautiously. I look to Kevin. “Did you reread that scene again where Dumbledore dies?”
“Hey, spoiler alert!” someone among the stack of books yells.
“No,” Kevin replies in annoyance, wiping his nose. “We have something to tell you.”
My dad comes over to the cash and clears his throat. “This may be a shock to hear,” he says, lowering his voice. “But Angelica and I are getting a divorce. We’ve signed the papers. We wanted to wait to tell Kevin so it wouldn’t affect his school but there’s a small chance they might be moving over the summer.”
I knew the divorce part. I did not know the moving part.
“Noooo,” I say softly, looking at Kevin. “You can’t go.”
“I don’t want to go!” he says, stamping his foot.
“Kevin!” my dad turns around to admonish him before leaning in close to me. “Don’t make this worse, Blake. He’s going to have a hard enough time as it is.”
I glance at Kevin, standing there in his cape—silver this time—his knee high suede boots, his wooden staff and his glasses and I know when he moves to another school the kids are going to be brutal. He’s almost ten and if I remember correctly, the double digits is when all the world goes to hell.
“It would be nice if you came and had dinner with us tonight,” he says.
My heart sinks. I look between the two of them. “I’m sorry. Tonight I can’t.”
“Blake,” my dad warns.