Page 7 of Hating the Book Boyfriend

"For that to happen, I'll have to first survive being trapped in a room with him." I pick a piece of lint off my shirt. "Go tend to your mess. We'll talk later."

"Okay, bye," she clicks off, and I roll my eyes. Ava would see the glass half-full in this situation, but maybe she's onto something.

My phone pings with a text.

Archie: In case you haven't looked outside I won't be making it to you today. I'm stuck an hour outside of Talon.

JoJo: Talon? Why are you in Talon?

Talon is south of the hotel I'm currently staying in and home is north.

Archie: Don't worry about it. I'll see you tomorrow as soon as the roads are drivable. Keep your phone on you. I'll text when I'm close.

He must have been out picking up some more equipment for the distillery operation he's been expanding.

JoJo: I will. Be safe.

Archie: Always.

"Great," I sigh as I let my phone fall out of my hand onto the bed. This weekend has turned into a complete shit show. The signing wasn't bad. Meeting readers in person makes all the lost sleep and debt worth it. It's a found community, a piece of you that you didn't know was missing until suddenly it was there. But then there were cocktails with the girls and our hair-brained idea to start the BBB. I was already drowning in my self-imposed timelines, running on empty, praying for a Hail Mary before we ventured down this road. Now, by some stroke of genius I haveto take on clients to train. That's not all bad. It means money, but it also means less time to write.

Yesterday, I sat at the computer for hours. I wrote ten thousand words. That's more words than I've written over the past month. Impostor syndrome has been hitting hard lately. Self-publishing is not easy. You don't just write the book, and readers magically appear. You have to go hard every day, promoting yourself long after the hype of a new release has faded and readers have moved on to the next hot book, which happens daily. There are so many highs and lows in this career. In the past few months, I've had a lot of lows, but yesterday was a good day. I forgot about word counts, goals, and deadlines.

Some people will tell you writer's block isn't real. You either have a story to tell, or you don't. Yesterday, I had a story to tell, and it felt good, and I can't help but think Ava might just be right. While Colton Callahan is the last person I cared to ever run into again, like it or not, he ignited something within me. I told him I'd leave today, but now I think I might stay. Staying might be what fuels my next bestseller, and god knows the money couldn’t hurt.

That’s it. My mind is made up. I’m staying.

I've been debating ordering room service for the past hour. I have no idea where Colton ran off to after he helped me into the bath this morning. I'll admit there were tender moments where I thought his sole goal in life wasn't to find joy in my discomfort. But in hindsight, it's clear whatever we shared was sympathy, with a few passion-filled moments on my part that couldn't be helped, most likely roused by one too many protector romances. He didn't forgo sleeping in his boxers last night,either. I'm sure it was intentional. Another play to force me out today. However, even a blind woman wouldn't be immune to his good looks, especially when he has you cradled in his strong arms as your head rests against his chiseled chest. I had to hold my breath, knowing in my moment of weakness, his body and the kindness he was showing me were already trying to run away with my better sense. Breathing him in put me at risk of lust, something I've been trying to find a better word for all morning because lusting after a man who would rather have me sleep in the hotel lobby than in his room is pathetic. The door opens just as I toss the menu on the center of the bed, opting to starve rather than pay the price of room service.

"You're still here," he says, but his tone is wrong. It's lacking its usual venom.

"I am," I say cautiously as I watch him cross the room and stand at the window. "I don't think anyone is getting out today. Colorado knows how to manage snow, but that's a lot out there." I roll my lips and pull a cleansing breath in through my nose as I prepare for whatever comments he will send my way once I deliver my next words. "I'm not leaving."

"I know," he says casually as he shoves his hands into his pockets, for which I'm grateful because if he saw the utter shock on my face, I'm sure he'd have snide commentary to add. Admittedly, his agreeability is catching me off guard. I'm at a loss for words. "When did you start having those types of episodes?"

"It doesn't matter. They don't happen regularly. The medicine I keep on me is similar to a person carrying an EpiPen for allergies."

"That's not what I asked. I asked when," he says firmer, his head slightly turning toward me.

"Shortly after I fell out of the tree. I had an episode after falling asleep watching a movie on the floor at a sleepover.When I went in for x-rays, we found that I had damaged some vertebrae in my back. It wasn't anything that surgery would fix, but physical therapy and working out help. I haven't had an episode like the one you witnessed in a long time." He's quiet. Likely reliving the day that caused my injury. "Look, I know I gave you shit at the bar the other night, but you should know I don't blame you or anyone else for my injury. No one made me run up that tree. That was my choice."

It doesn't matter that it was ill-thought out due to my fear. I may not like Colton Callahan, but allowing him to believe he's the cause of my injury feels like a low blow, even though a small part of me wants to dish them out in spades. I can't let someone carry that weight.

"You may not blame me, but you'd be wrong not to. Life is about decisions and choices. It was on me to think through possible outcomes caused by my actions. Don't try to lessen your pain by worrying about mine."

He removes the black peacoat he was wearing, revealing a casual sweater, a stark contrast to the courtroom shark I've seen in the tabloids over the years. I by no means have kept tabs on him, but Colton Callahan is a very successful corporate litigator. His net worth and looks land him on many "Most Eligible Bachelor" lists. I would know because writing books doesn't pay the bills. At least not yet. My job as a freelance public relations specialist does that, and part of that job requires me to keep a pulse on what's trending, gauge public interest, and ultimately capitalize on it to help my clients with their image. The man before me isn't the one I've seen lately.

"Are you hungry? I'm assuming you haven't eaten anything in what…" He checks his watch. "Christ! Please tell me you ordered room service while I was gone yesterday."

I shake my head. "I ate a protein bar after my bath. I had one in my purse, and it's not good to take medicine on an empty stomach."

"Get up!" he commands.

"What?"

"We're going to the restaurant downstairs." He grabs my bag off the table. I'm slow to move, and he reads it wrong. "This isn't me hustling you out of staying another night. You'll be sleeping in my bed tonight." I quirk a brow at his choice of words. "Don't look at me like that. You know what I mean. Let's go."

He starts toward the door, and I wordlessly follow. I'm starving.

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