Page 50 of One Short Summer

I detect the slightest hint of excitement in her voice, which spurs me on even more.

“I’m going to get started right away and will send some over as soon as I have a few chapters written.” The cursor still blinks at me on the bright screen, and I can’t remember the last time I felt this inspired to write.

“Sounds perfect. This could be it, Gabe. Do it. Can’t wait to get my fingers on it. You know where to find me.”

“Thank you. Talk to you later.”

Her goodbye barely registers as I hang up the call and get started on my new manuscript.

* * *

A quiet rustle comes from the doorway, and I peel my gaze away from my laptop. My eyes blink furiously, trying to adjust to the dimly lit room, the only light spilling in from the hallway.

Monica leans against the doorframe, looking at me with sleepy eyes, and I realize I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting in this same position, my fingers furiously typing away on the keyboard. Now that I’ve actually stopped, I notice my hands are only seconds, maybe minutes away from cramping up, already stiff and slightly achy.

After saving my document in several places—can’t ever be careful enough when it comes to a manuscript—I turn my attention back to Monica.

The oversized T-shirt she put on after we got home is slightly rumpled from sleeping on the couch. A loud yawn escapes her mouth, and I look at the clock on my laptop.

Wow. It’s almost morning. I’ve been writing for a good five or six hours straight, not stopping once.

I haven’t had a writing spell like this in a very long time, not that I’m complaining in any way. Quite the opposite, actually. I’m ecstatic, my body humming with an energy that only the excitement of a successful session like this can bring.

“Have you been in here all night long?” She yawns again and crosses her arms over her chest, slowly starting to look more alert.

I nod and grin at her, quite possibly looking like a lunatic, before focusing back on the laptop for a moment. After double-checking the work is saved, I catch a quick look of the word count in the lower corner. When I see the high number, I can’t help but feel another wave of excitement rush through me.

“Wow. This must have been a really good night for you. You look like a kid at the candy store that was just told to pick whatever he wants.” She walks over to me, an amused smile on her face. Despite not being able to see a clear outline of her body in the unshapely clothes, I can’t help but feel my heart taking an extra beat at the sight of her.

Has it always been this way?

My brain jumps back and forth between thoughts of my writing and thoughts about Monica, like it’s on crack.

Monica’s comment is the PG version of that, I suppose. Thinking about my writing session again, I chuckle and barely refrain from rubbing my hands together in pure glee. “I feel like one. Inspiration for my new project finally hit, and it’s been going well. Like, really well. There aren’t enough words to tell you how awesome this feels.”

The irony of that doesn’t get lost on me either.

“I think I have a pretty good idea from just looking at you.” A lazy grin spreads across her face as she stops next to the desk. “That’s awesome though. I’m very happy for you.”

Her voice is free of any expectation, and I appreciate that more than I could ever tell her. Almost every other person I’ve talked to about this series project has some form of presumption of me, my writing process, or the success of my books. Oftentimes, that leads to disappointment—not to mention, extreme pressure—when things aren’t going the way they were planned.

With Monica, I’ve never had that feeling. Maybe the reason is because she hasn’t ever read any of my books, but somehow, I have a feeling she’d be the same even if she read them all. Contrary to Charlie, Monica has never been much of a reader. I still remember the awestruck moment when she first saw all the bookshelves everywhere in my house.

“Come here.” A sudden urge to have her close overcomes me, and I kick the big office chair back so I can invite her into my arms.

Thankfully, she doesn’t hesitate for even a moment, her footsteps quiet as she closes the gap between us. Rather than sitting down on my lap sideways though, she somehow straddles me instead. We’ve only exchanged a few kisses since our make-out session in the hot tub, but my hands move to her butt almost of their own accord, pulling her even closer and loving the warmth underneath my palms.

“Hey there.” Her hands circle around my neck, her body pushing into mine while her fingers press deeply into my skin and tense muscles.

Pure bliss.

“Hey yourself.” I have no control over my body’s reaction to having her so close. It’s an absolute loss. My senses go on a treasure hunt at the close proximity—my heart beating loudly in my chest while my lungs feel like they just got a little tighter, unable to dispel the same amount of air as before.

She touches my nose once with hers before pulling back. “Thanks so much for tucking me in on the couch earlier.”

I shrug my shoulders since it wasn’t a big deal. “I didn’t want to wake you, you looked so peaceful.”

“Well, now I’m awake. And you look really awake too.” Her words come out in a low murmur as she scoots up even further on my lap. There’s a twinkle in her eyes, and I’m pretty sure mine display something similar.

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