Page 82 of Rewrite the Rules

“I still don’t know what to write about or how to tie a standalone into a series.”

“Let me worry about the tie-in. You worry about the story. I can’t tell a singer how to sing or a writer how to write but let me give you a little advice. When it comes to love, you don’t have to reinvent the wheel. Write what you know.”

“Write what I know?”

“Exactly. That story will be the strongest because it’s yours. Anyway, I’m off to sushi with friends and not to name drop or anything, but I’m planning on having amarvelous time. I hope if I’m late I don’t get aScarlettletter.” Ted winks. “Write me a novel I can sell, girl.”

The Zoom pop-up takes over my screen asking me if I enjoyed my meeting.

No. No I did not, Zoom.

When it comes to love, write what you know.

Well, fuck.

* * *

A cold red gelatinous bear smacks me square in the chest and sticks like glue. Joel’s arms fly up in the air in celebration like he just sunk a three-pointer right at the buzzer.

“And you say I’m the child?” I peek above my laptop at Joel’s gorgeous, triumphant face. We’re cozy on the couch, my feet wiggling on his lap as he alternates from pinching my toes to playing gummy bear basketball with my collarbone as the backboard, my cleavage as the hoop. He’s begging for attention but I’m still typing away. Hours after my meeting with Ted I began a data dump from my mind. Putting every single scenario on the page to see if anything sings to me.

Joel lobs another gummy bear over my computer screen. I glance down at the blue bear nestled between my breasts.

“Swish, baby!”

“Stop that,” I mumble as I peck away furiously at my keyboard.

“That word or throwing candy down your shirt?”

“Both.”

Joel pulls the laptop from my hands and places it on the far side of the coffee table. He’s been patient since he arrived at my apartment over an hour ago, but it appears he’s hit his breaking point. His hands move up my thigh as he slides up my body. He ducks his head and sucks a gummy bear from between my breasts.

A ripple of anticipation moves between my legs. I try to clench my pelvic floor to shut off the valve before my panties dampen. Joel is on a mission tonight. His eyes are glowing embers. He wants it, and now, but I catch his hand before he can knock on his favorite new door.

“Joel. Slow down.”

He groans in disappointment but being a gentleman, he immediately retreats and slumps on the other side of the couch…pouting.

“You know how some men love when a woman plays hard to get, because they like the thrill of the chase?”

I narrow my eyes. “Yeah…I guess.”

“I’m not one of them.”

Joel thinks I’m hard to get.Hilarious. All he has to say is ‘here, girl!’ and I’ll come running like an eager puppy with a bell. You’ll hear me a mile away. I want him, like I always do. The smell of his cologne undoes me. His stubble is exactly the length I love. I can almost feel it scraping the inside of my thigh. He’s right here, he wants it…I want it…but it’s the aftermath I just can’t go through again.

I cried all night last time we were together. I realize it was my first time, but still.All night.Even after Reese came to comfort me. I don’t want to go through that again. I want Joel. Buthow? How do I have him without falling apart every time at what I know isn’t mine? How do I sleep with him again without getting attached, especially when I’m pretty certain I love this man? When I desperately want him to feel something too—

Knock, knock…thump!

I jump in my seat, alarmed. Joel is unsurprised at the sudden attack on my apartment. He opens the door and collects a plastic bag sitting on my doormat. He unpacks it right on my coffee table and sets up a living room picnic.

“You ordered food?”

“Yes. I kind of feel like it’s my job to feed you real food now. I talked to your dentist. He said you’re not attending the weekly candy anonymous meetings.” He pats the ground, asking me to join him on the floor. I slump down and duck my head, letting my hair fall over my face. Gentle fingertips cross my forehead instantly, pushing the chunks of hair aside. Joel taps my nose.

“You’re a liar. Dr. Bryson is in Cabo—Oh, I love this place.” I give Joel my most grateful smile when I see my favorite bistro’s logo on the lids of the plastic containers. “What’re we having?”

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