Page 25 of Foreplay on Words

“Since college.” Her coy smile indicated she knew I was avoiding.

“Creative writing?” I guessed.

“Am I that obvious?” She rolled her eyes.

“Nah, most of the writers I know who went to Boston College majored in creative writing.”

“What about you? Does Stanford have creative writing?” she asked with a smirk.

Ah, so she’d done her research. “Someone’s been Googling.”

“Oh, shut it. I can’t help myself. Cyber-stalking is my superpower,” she laughed, but I could tell by the pink on the high points of her cheekbones that she was embarrassed.

“So, what did you find out about me?” I was genuinely curious to see how deep she’d dug into her background search.

“Not much. Still play soccer?”

I couldn’t help but laugh as we stopped where the trees opened to the water.

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or scared?” I laughed, shooting her an amused smile.

“How have we not met before now? We were in the same place at the same time and had the same publisher,” she asked as she looked over at me. “I’ve attended dozens of author events and I’ve never met you.”

“I’m not sure, but maybe me being horrible at describing sex wasn’t such a bad thing.” If we’d met under different circumstances, I knew that my guard would have been up. I’d have never talked to her like I was doing now.

“Full disclosure. I didn’t want to come here,” she confessed quietly.

“Then why did you?” I knew our editors were pushing it, but they could easily have sent someone else. “Adrian confirmed you’d agreed the day after I asked for you.”

“Is begged me, and...” She stopped talking abruptly, her cheeks turning pink.

“And?”

“Then she showed me your picture.” The vulnerability in her voice as she came clean made my pulse jump. She’d come here for me.

“And that alone didn’t frighten you off?” I teased.

“Hardly,” she scoffed. We had drifted closer to each other, our shoulders touching. I could feel the plastic from the water bottle she held brushing against my knuckles. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you. It sounds vain, I know, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“I looked you up too.”

Her face turned in my direction as I whispered my confession.

“Should I be scared?” she teased.

“I wouldn’t be,” I laughed quietly. “Although I prefer you without all the makeup, your picture was the main reason why I was so adamant it be you.”

“Did you fall down the rabbit hole too?”

“I didn’t Google you, no,” I shook my head. “But I may have...”

“You may have what?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Never mind.” I shook my head, suddenly nervous. She would think I was a stalker if I told her how much I’d become obsessed with her words. Or the things I’d done in response to them.

“No, tell me,” she coaxed.

“Not important.”

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