Page 11 of The Opposite of Romance
The thought slams into me, almost knocking me off my feet. I pour myself another cup of coffee, hoping for it to clear my mind, and decide to bring some coffee to Logan in a totally appropriate, non-creepy way.
He’s unloading his van, carrying mammoth beams into my backyard.
“Can I help somehow?” I ask.
“Sure. Bring another round of these, would you?”
My eyes widen and he chuckles.
“Oh, a joke. Good one.” My cheeksflush with heat.
“It’s fine, Ms. Summers. I can handle myself.”
“Will you be doing it alone? I thought Chase Constructions had more workers.”
He walks right by me with another load of wood on his shoulder. “It does. But they had to keep working on the projects that we booked months in advance.” My mouth parts into an ‘oh’. “So, I’ll do this one alone.” The bite in his tone is playful, but my face is fully flushed now.
“About that … sorry. And thank you. I would have booked you months ago, too, but I hadn’t even known I’d be looking for a new house then.” Dropping the beams on the ground, he turns around, shooting me a questioning look. “I’m blabbing, sorry. I’ll let you get to work.”
He doesn’t break eye contact for a few more moments before dipping his chin and throwing himself into work. I watch him for a second before deciding I should get to work, too.
I place my coffee safely on my desk and drop into my comfy office chair. The writing gods have been merciful enough to throw me a bone the last few days, but I’m still thirty thousand words behind on my project. And that’s for the already extended deadline.
Groaning, I boot up the computer and open my manuscript. I can tell pretty much exactly how my writing day will go by the first five minutes of it.
If I start writing right away, not caring about reading where I left off or overthinking what happens next, it will be a good day. If I go three chapters back to reread my previous work, I’m procrastinating, and I probably won’t get much done.
Instead of starting Chapter 13, I click on Chapter 10 and get to reading. I left off at the beginning of a sex scene, hoping that I’ll be more in the mood to write it today.
Guess I was wrong.
I reread chapters ten till thirteen three times before deciding to take a break. My curtains are closed—that won’t work. Pulling them open, I realize I have a direct view of the deckbuilding business. First row tickets to the biceps and tight ass show.
Determined not to be a creep again, I focus on my manuscript and the words start flowing. My fingers click and clack on my ergonomically designed keyboard, and two hours later, the book is four thousand words and one hot-as-hell sex scene richer.
I shoot a text to Abby, my current PA, informing her of my progress.
Abby
Oh, thank God!
I didn’t want to alarm you, but I was really worried we weren’t going to make it.
Abby is sweet, smart, and not my sister. She’s a good PA but still a bit frazzled and scared about the whole gig. Sandy wouldn’t care about my deadline. She would say, “Fuck them. You’ll do it when you feel like it. They know it’ll be worth it, so they better wait for it.”
My lips pull up into a smile, thinking of her. Quickly, I snap her a photo of my backyard in progress.
Sandy
The backyard’s nice, but the backside’s nicer, if you know what I mean.
You selling tickets for this show?
Laughter bubbles out of me. Sandy is absolutely ridiculous and the sole reason I still have some remnants of my sanity.
Me
You’re an idiot.
