“You really need to take a cooking class,” he informs me.
“I would probably just bang the cooking instructor,” I reply.
“I swear to God, I just laughed out loud. You are a soulless monster.”
Grinning, I type back, “I tried to tell you.”
I put the phone down and open up my web browser to do some work, but a couple minutes later, my phone lights up.
It’s Henry saying, “I ordered you take-out. It will be there in 20 minutes.”
“You are the best cheated on boyfriend I’ve ever had,” I tell him, attaching several red heart emojis.
“You are a cruel woman,” he replies.
“Hey, take your compliment and be happy.”
“Am I the ONLY cheated on boyfriend you’ve ever had?” he sends back.
“No. I kind of cheated on my first boyfriend with Derek, too. In high school.”
“Gotcha. So, keep you far away from Derek.”
“It should be effortless now,” I assure him. “Derek isn’t all about working for things, and I already shot him down multiple times yesterday when he asked for my number.”
“Before or after fucking him?”
“After.”
“At least you’re not just cold to me,” he replies, really owning the bright side. I almost admire it.
“Nope, I’m an equal opportunity ice queen,” I assure him.
“I can’t believe that bastard looked in my eyes, shook my hand, and then fucked my girlfriend,” Henry replies.
“He really is a bastard. I can’t dispute that. That’s actually something I would completely expect him to do.”
“No honor, I tell ya.”
“Absolutely none,” I agree.
Derek plays dirty; I could have told him that.
Chapter Twelve
Monday morning means my muffin ban is lifted, the weekend of my father’s wedding is behind me, and my life returns to normal.
Well, normal except that I’m writing another book. I’m 26,000 words in now, and I’m having a hard time pulling myself away from it to focus on work. I don’t check in on my old trilogy much anymore. It served its purpose in my life and I filed it away, but as I’m writing, Derek’s words from breakfast come back to me. He faked me out, giving me an example from my own books as a fake memory. That means he read all three of my books. Read them and paid so much attention that he could pull an example from his memory to feed me, the creator of said memory, and be convincing.
My trilogy still provides a nice little passive income, but since I’ve entirely stopped promoting it, nothing like it used to. People have to find out about it from other readers or stumble across it. Today I decide to give Janie a little bit of attention, setting up a sale on book one and emailing some of my promo companies to see if they can squeeze me in for a summer sale. I wrote the trilogy under a pen name—Nikki Reid—so they’ll just think I need it for one of my authors.
Once all that is taken care of, I eat cereal for lunch and pound out another 1,200 words before getting back to work.
I need to text Bethany and ask if she would consider being my cover model. She could wear her wedding dress, and I could have a photographer take some shots of her from behind, since her blue hair and dreamcatcher tattoo represent the heroine she inspired.
I’m just about to text her to ask when the doorbell rings. I frown, putting my cereal down. That’s strange. It’s after lunch time, and if Henry ordered in, he probably would have told me it was coming so I didn’t eat on my own.
“Want me to get it?” Louise asks from her station, since she’s closer to the door.