Page 47 of The Opposite of Romance
“How can you be sure he’s morally gray? Or a grump?”
“Well, I told you about the gang rumors. That’s pretty gray. And his favorite word is something between a huff and a growl, so I think him being a grump is a safe bet.”
She might be right. “Yeah, maybe I haven’t thought this through.”
“Nope. You’re not giving up already. It’s just sex, right? Do his morals really matter?”
“I don’t know…”
“We thought the age gap billionaire was a guy with good morals. Look how that turned out.”
“But…”
“No buts, you should really know better than to judge a book by its cover.” I chuckle because she’s referring to a horrible cover I had on one of my early books.
“This isn’t a cover, though. His cover is stellar. It’s what you heard about him. Which would make it the reviews, I guess?”
“Yeah, well, reviews are sometimes written by a bunch of pearl-clenching prudes.”
Another chuckle escapes me. This time, she’s referring to when my work was under attack by a church group from Texas who accidentally chose one of my books for a book club. And then left me one-star reviews for literal months. It stressed me at first, but it became funny over time. In the end, it ended up boosting my sales.
“I don’t want to hear excuses,” she continues. “You need to get laid. And morally gray grump or not,thatguy looks like he knows what he’s doing.”
“Fine,” I groan. I might act like I’m resisting, but I want her to push me. I want to break this freaking dry spell and find someone to have fun with.
Love would be great, yeah. But in the meantime, can I please just have some dick?
Chapter Nineteen
I can barely lookDavid in the eyes when he picks up the kids on Friday. He tries to make polite chit-chat, but I have zero interest in participating.
“Having a bad day?” he dares to ask.
Luckily, my glare is enough to make him back off. Seeing him now, I can’t remember the reasons I fell in love with him.
I know they existed, but they’re dead to me now.
I press a kiss to both Asher’s and Olivia’s cheeks and wave at them as they drive off.
They looked forward to being with him this weekend,I tell myself to keep from bursting into a fit of female rage.
Rather, I grab my to-do list and check if I did everything I needed to do today. Even though I have a to-do list and calendar set up on my computer (and handled by my PA), I prefer them on paper. There’s something about crossing off an item with a pen that clicking a computer mouse doesn’t provide. So each evening, I copy the list from the screen to my little blue planner.
I did quite a lot today. My upcoming date with the Viking mechanic brought me plenty of inspiration for the spicy scenes, and though I’m still stuck on the emotional part, the plot has finally been moving along.
By original plan, the book was supposed to be finished by now. But I was also supposed to be happily married, so I guess I can forgive myself for it. I’m close to finishing the draft, but there will be so much to edit, I don’t think I’ll even feel the success of finishing draft number one.
Finishing the to-do list for tomorrow, I underline ‘date with the Viking’ three times. I feel like a teenage girl writing in her secret journal, but I love it.
I need the excitement of flirting, of falling in love, of feeling another’s weight on top of me. It’s not enough to write and read about it anymore. Pretty soon, I’ll start sounding like AI, robotically describing the actions I have no recollection of.
Next morning,my mood is back to shit. I just got my period. The stress from the car troubles and David’s betrayal are probably the reason it’s early, but it ruins my plans.
I never had sex on the first date before but tonight was supposed to be the night. That was the whole point.
What will I even talk about with the morally gray grump? Are we going to grunt and growl our way through dinner?
I pop two Ibuprofen in my mouth, hoping to prevent the upcoming cramps because the last thing I need tonight to be is a competition in who can out-grump who.
