Page 10 of Mister Write

Nate

I’m gonna lose my shit.

I’ve taken walks, gotten hopped up on sugar, and breathed in the ocean air, but nothing seems to be working. It’s been nearly a week, and all I have to show for it is two lousy chapters.

I confirmed with Emily that my novel needs to be at least ninety thousand words. When she emailed back to tell me that a hundred thousand would be even better, I faceplanted onto my desk and groaned for a solid minute. I’m even further behind than I thought.

This is the fucking worst.

And because my day just keeps getting better, my phone rings out with ominous music. It’s Peter beeping through on FaceTime.

“And the hits keep coming,” I say as I answer the call.

Peter gives me a faux-offended look. “I’m just checking in on my dear little brother! For all we know, your Tracey—”

“Teddie,” I answer before I can stop myself. I immediately regret opening my mouth when Peter gives me a mischievous grin.

“Right,” he drawls. “Tawney—”

I suck on my teeth. “Pete. Petey. Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater…”

He snorts and raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were never going to call me that again.”

“Well, you’re intentionally goading me.”

His grin quirks up at the sides. “I’d call it more of a test. You failed, by the way.”

“What? How could I fail?” I blurt out before relaxing back into my seat. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re testing, but I’m good at taking tests. I’m quite intelligent.”

Peter shakes his head in amusement. “And yet you fall for my tricks every time. I can’t lie, though. I rather enjoy it.”

I’m getting annoyed that he’s beating around the bush. “What was the test?”

“Well, I thought I’d check and see how you’re getting on with… Teddie.” I narrow my eyes at him, and he rolls his before adding, “Yeah, I knew her name. And the fact that you corrected me means you know it too.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Of course, I know it. We’ve been together for five days, fourteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes. Give or take.”

“So, you’d say your routine has been shaken up? And how does that make you feel?”

“Don’t lose sight of your qualifications, Peter. You’re a pencil pusher, not a therapist.”

He shrugs. “My plan is working. I don’t care what you say. You obviously like her since you’ve felt bothered enough to remember her name. She might be just what you need.”

I grunt and lean back in my chair, far enough to crack my back. “What Ineedis peace and quiet. What Ineedis time alone. But what Igetis Teddie.”

“What do you mean?” Peter cocks his head to the side like a dog trying to understand his owner’s gibberish.

“She’s everywhere, all the time! Whenever I leave my room, she’s in the kitchen baking cookies or cakes or whatever the fuck she’s making for the day.”

Peter gives a low whistle. “Sounds rough.”

I glare at him, trying to think of other things I find annoying about Teddie. “She’s always... humming or singing.”

“Yikes. Can’t carry a tune?”

I throw my hands up. “No! Always on-key with perfect pitch, which makes it even worse! She’s like an angelic little songbird.”

Peter gives me a sarcastic look through the screen. “Ah, yes, that must be fucking horrible.”

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