Page 7 of Guys Can't Write Romance
“Which is what me working with Chad is.”
Chad gave a big nod in agreement. “Sorry, Mags, but I don’t want Daisy boring-up my characters.”
“That’s exactly why I want the two of you helping each other. Now, Daisy, your male leads tend to be… oh, how should we say this… less than compelling. Chad here, in his own bizarre and twisted way, does have a knack for writing characters.”
“That get eaten,” Daisy said.
“Nonetheless, they do keep us turning pages.”
Chad snickered and stuck his tongue out at her.
“He’s sticking his tongue out at me,” Daisy protested.
Mags shot Chad a scowl. “And Chad. Let’s be honest and admit that you don’t know the first thing about structuring a romance novel.”
“That’s what Google’s for.”
“I highly doubt Google can give you the immediate feedback and suggestions that Daisy will be able to.”
“What if we say no?” Chad said.
“Then, neither of you will receive any feedback from this group.”
“That sounds like extortion.”
Mags grinned. “It is.”
Daisy frowned. “What if Chad ties me up and locks me in a trunk somewhere?”
“Then, I suppose Chad wins this bet the two of you made.”
Chad shot Daisy a devilish grin.
“Don’t even think it, McKenzie,” Daisy warned.
Mags sat back and surveyed the train wreck she’d created. A smile curled her lips. “There’s a reason I’m doing this, and I think you’ll figure it out. If you two can harness this — whatever it is between you — I think you’ll have literary gold.”
“Or two dead writers,” said Daisy.
Mags grinned. “It’s definitely going to be interesting.”
Chapter three
Stakes, Sass, and a Hint of Vulnerability
“God hates me,” Daisy groaned as she brushed on makeup in her bathroom mirror. “There’s no other way to explain this punishment.”
“Maybe this guy can help you with your characters,” came Chloe’s voice from the living room. “Your moderator thinks so.”
“My characters are fine the way they are,” Daisy said, putting away the makeup and closing the cabinet. She headed into the living room, where her artsy, blue-haired roommate Chloe Reeves sat on the couch armed with a glass of wine. Daisy’s spit-shined lawyer friend, Ava Anderson, watched from a nearby chair.
“Just saying,” Chloe said, swirling her glass of wine with one hand and resting her bare feet on Daisy’s coffee table (and leaving crumbs she’d later refuse to admit belonged to her). “If you make the male lead another one of your monosyllabic yawn-fests, I’m deducting friendship points.”
“A yawn-fest?!” Daisy said as she sat down on the edge of the couch and slid her feet into heels. “My male leads are not monosyllabic! They’re poised. Respectful. Strong, but not flashy.”
“Right,” Chloe said with her trademark sarcasm. “The human equivalent of a houseplant. Strong. Respectful. Thriving on predictability.”
That was something you could always count on from Chloe, whether you wanted it or not. She called things the way she saw them. Zero filter. Sass, combined with sarcasm and unfiltered reality, always made for an interesting, unpredictable time whenever Chloe was around. Daisy had met her eight years ago during a ‘sip-n-paint’ at the gallery Chloe managed on Melrose, and for reasons Daisy couldn’t remember on nights like this, they’d hit it off.
