Writing A Wrong (Write Stuff 2)

I stood in front of the door-length mirror in my hotel room, lethargically going through the motions of changing into something more appropriate for the dinner. My body had about as much substance as a puppet with no strings. I felt like I just wanted to flop on my bed and sleep for an entire day.

Greg was leaving his own room as I closed my door behind me.

"Hey," he greeted me. "How you holding up?"

"Fine," I lied, pasting a smile on my face.

He slung an arm over my shoulder, pulling me in for a one-armed hug. "Liar. You forget, I have four sisters. I can read chicks. I'm sure Alec is going to realize that mistakes happen and get over it."

My shoulders slumped. "No, he won't. Not only did I cheat on him, but I did it for all the wrong reasons. If I were in his shoes, I don't know that I would ever be able to trust me again. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if I didn't hear from him—ever." Saying the words aloud made my heart drop to my toes.

"He'd be a fool if he let you go that easily. We're young. We make mistakes."

"That's a cop-out. We're adults and we should know the difference between right and wrong. If we don't, we shouldn't be in a relationship."

"Whoa. That's harsh. I'm just saying I don't think you should give up hope yet."

I shrugged. Maybe my words were harsh, but definitely realistic.

He gave me another squeeze before dropping his arm and guiding me toward the elevators. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready for some food. I went overboard on the freaking chocolate. What I wouldn't do for a pan of my mom's lasagna right about now," he groaned, rubbing his stomach.

I smiled meekly. I appreciated the fact that he was trying to change the subject, but I was in no mood for idle chitchat. I wanted so badly to be able to forget that Alec still hadn't called, but the truth was, the longer I went without hearing from him, the more it hurt. My mood would change by the time we arrived at the dinner. I would make sure of that. No one who spent time and money to meet me deserved anything less.

"So what are you going to do with your free time until your flight leaves on Thursday?" he asked while we waited for the elevator to arrive.

"Write, write, and write some more. I'm terribly behind schedule. The plan is to crank out at least fifteen thousand words in the next three days. I'd love to hit twenty thousand, but I'll have to get into a serious groove to accomplish that. I bet you'll be happy to be home."

He shot me a devilish grin. "Now that hooking up with you is out of the question, I need to get back out there and fix my bruised ego."

"Aw, poor thing. How will you ever cope?" I teased, stepping onto the elevator.

Greg walked in behind me, clicking the button for the lobby. "I won't lie. You left a chink in the armor. I think I'll hit some clubs with my friends and find a couple chicken heads to build up some momentum."

"Chicken heads?"

"Ha. You may think even less of me if I tell you what it means."

I quirked an eyebrow at him. "Great. Well, now I'm not sure I want to know, but go ahead. Let's have it," I said, waving my hand.

"Chicken heads are chicks at clubs who are eager for attention."

"Oh, okay, so what girl at a club isn't?" I thought maybe he was about to tell me something outrageous, like they were prostitutes or something. They sounded like typical girls at a club to me.

"Well, there is a little more," he said, smiling. "Chicken heads tend to be more than willing to perform certain acts—acts that guys really like but not all chicks do, if you get my meaning?"

I got the meaning loud and clear, especially after he bobbed his head up and down for emphasis. "Oh my god. Could you be any more of a pig?"

"I told you it might make you think less of me," he said, chuckling.

Guys were such trolls, but I couldn't help laughing with him. We reached the lobby and the doors opened, revealing a group of people waiting to go up.

"Nicole." My name was called from off to the side as Greg and I stepped off the elevator. The laughter died in my throat. "Alec," I whispered.

The air left my lungs in a whoosh as I watched his eyes narrow, taking in the scene before him. It was irony at its finest. For the past forty-eight hours I'd barely been able to crack a smile, let alone a laugh, but the moment I finally lighten up for the briefest of seconds, he was suddenly there.

"Oh shit," Greg said, taking a punch across the jaw before he could protect himself. He flew backward against the wall, landing in a heap.

Chapter 18