Page 6 of Write on Time

CHAPTER 5

Drake

Well, that went well. I sigh and grimace when I remember the anger on her face and in her voice.

She’s pissed. And honestly…? I understand it. I corresponded with her under false pretenses. But I didn’t mean anything bad by it. I’m just fascinated by her. The woman in those letters was fun and sweet and friendly.

And she made me feel like I was someone special. I’ve never been that kind of person. In high school and college I was not the guy that everybody loved. Hell…even liked!

I was almost furniture to all the people scurrying around me, living their best lives.

My dad left my mom when she got pregnant. Said he was going to have a beer with a buddy and just never came back. She checked. The buddy had no idea what she was talking about.

Yeah, he was a liar.

Then when I was in my senior year of high school my mom got sick. I came home from school, took care of her and then our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Franklin, kept an eye on her while I went to the grocery store down the road, walking, because we couldn’t afford a car anymore, and worked until eleven at night so we had money for food and medicine and rent.

So my life sucked. But I managed to keep my grades up and get a scholarship to community college. Everything looked like it was all going to work out. Just a little rough patch.

Until my mom’s cancer became more aggressive and she passed away two days after I started college.

The next four years were a blur. I could barely focus on anything but the most mind-numbing work. I hurt every dang day. I loved my mother. She was a wonderful woman with pride and a strong work ethic. Intelligence and charm. The whole package.

It broke my heart that she died so young and really didn’t have a chance to live a good life. It was always a struggle.

But that also fueled a fire in me that wouldn’t be quenched. There was one thing that my mom loved more than anything else. It was her escape. Her guilty pleasure.

And mine. Romance novels. My lips curl up even as I reach up to touch my chest, the ache ripping me apart. I can still remember how she looked, her long, dark hair thinning and sparse but her pale lips would curl as she read a really good part. Her lips would move like she was saying the words to herself. Like she couldn’t quite believe how beautiful the story was.

Like maybe the hero in that story wasn’t about to ditch his pregnant wife and disappear like a complete jerk. He was good and kind and as she put it, really hot.

I used to flush when I started writing and wrote the dirty parts, thinking about my mom’s reaction. But after awhile it got easier and easier. And in my senior year of college, I finally got up the nerve and learned how to self-publish a book. But I just felt like most women would want a woman writer. Silly of me maybe. But still….

Thus Lily L’Amour was born. Romance novelist extraordinaire. And that first book went off the charts, a runaway hit. Which attracted my editor’s attention and voila! Bythe time I finished college I had a contract for three books and enough money to buy a car and rent a place to hole up in during the day while I wrote steamy, sensuous love stories.

It didn’t take long for me to figure out that might be the only women I ever got close to. The ones on the page. The ones that I wrote about and dreamt about. The ones that always said what I wanted them to and loved the guy recklessly, with abandon.

But those women were not banging on the door of a reclusive writer with a little bit of a dad bod and thick glasses that perched on the edge of his nose.

Then along came Alanis. That letter was a god-send. A drink of cold, icy water to a parched, thirsty man. She was so funny and smart and I could picture her laughing as she wrote something particularly funny even though I had no idea what she looked like. I promised myself even as I wrote her back that I would not be a creeper and look her up.

But just the thought of seeing her in person, meeting her, had destroyed all my innocent promises and as soon as I saw her picture, so proud and sweet, I knew.

She’s meant to be mine.

But how to dig myself out of the hole that I’m stuck in? I didn’t know what to do. So I figured I’d rip the band-aid off and just tell her the truth in person.

I snort. That went well.

So now I’m pacing the bed and breakfast room that I rented and I’m trying to figure out how the heck to fix this. Because just seeing her put it all in perspective.

I love this woman. From the top of her sandy blond curls to her dainty little feet and I need to figure out how to spend some time with her so that she realizes I’m not such a bad guy.

My eye falls to a piece of paper that’s lying on the bureau by the tv remote and I reach out and pick it up, my lips curling.

Of course! The Love the Way You Love Me Karaoke night at Sandy’s Bar!

Perfect. If I know my girl, she’s going to be there tonight and hopefully I’ll get a chance to talk to her.

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