Author Next Door (Temptation Next Door)

“I have nowhere to go,” she sobbed. “I’m freaking out, Chucky. What if my career comes to a screeching halt? What if he goes around and badmouths me to different publishers? I don’t think I could take that kind of a hit.”

“Carl wouldn’t do that. He’s not that kind of–” I stopped myself midsentence. I didn’t think he was the kind of guy who’d have an affair with my wife, but look where we were now. “Don’t worry,” I said. “You’ll figure something out.”

“I’m sorry for the way I acted at the party. You were right. I shouldn’t have said any of those things.”

“Forget about it, Sandy. I know I have.”

“Do you… Do you think we could maybe get a coffee?” she asked.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Sandy immediately broke out into a wail, crying so loudly that Clarissa could hear her over the phone.

“What’s wrong with Mommy?” she asked, face curling up in concern.

“Go get changed, baby,” I told her. “Mommy’s just having a hard time right now.”

“Can you tell Mommy I love her? I’ll give her a big hug when I see her.”

“I’ll do that, baby. Now, get going.”

Sandy let out a shaky breath. “Was that Clarissa?”

“Yes. She told me to tell you she loves you.”

“She’s such a good girl. She gets that from you.”

“I have to get going. I’m very busy.”

“Please, wait!”

“What?” I grumbled, harsher than I intended. The stress was really starting to get to me.

“Can’t you spare five minutes to meet up with me?” she begged. “Please, Chucky. I really need to see you. I know you probably won’t ever forgive me, but I could really use a friend right now. I don’t even have a place to stay. The hotel I was staying at was booked under Carl’s name, and my book sales have been declining and I can barely afford a plane ticket back home without maxing out my credit cards. I just want to talk, Chucky. Please?”

I could have easily just hung up the phone, but I knew that would have been a dick move. Sandy always seemed to know how to push my buttons, to say the right thing to have me feeling guilty enough to do as she asked. “Fine,” I grumbled. “We’ll grab a coffee and chat for a couple of minutes. Nothing more.”

“Right. Of course. I totally understand. Thank you, Chucky. You’re a good man.”

“Mhm,” I mumbled, not entirely convinced. “I’ll see you later.”

11

Lara

I was walking down the street headed toward Ramen Books, mind still swirling from my two morning lectures. I’d learned a lot that day about H.P. Lovecraft and the uncharted territory of speculative fiction. There were so many endless possibilities when fiction wasn’t grounded in reality. Literally anything and everything could be subject material for a new story, but only the adventurous and truly creative could come up with worlds and creatures never before thought up by humanity. I had a significant number of books I’d been assigned by my professor, so I was admittedly feeling a little swamped with homework, but I was eager to get to my part-time job regardless. The sooner I got to work, the sooner I’d earn a little money. And the sooner I saved up a bit of money, the sooner I could consider taking Chuck out for a fancy dinner. Things were a little limited on my student budget, but I felt like Chuck was well worth the time and effort. Maybe we could even take Clarissa along and enjoy an entire evening out together.

My route from campus to the bookstore took me right past a local café, La Éclair Chocolat. I’d never been inside, mainly because a coffee cost four bucks and I didn’t have that kind of money to just throw around. It was a fancier spot, with potted plants hanging from the windows and an expensive-looking red brick exterior. All of the café tables and chairs appeared to be handmade, mimicking the style of Parisian bistros, what with their curling metalwork and intricate floral designs worked right into the frames. Every time I passed by the café, I noted the buttery scent of freshly baked croissants and the sweet smell of icing sugar on little fruit cakes. Small tarts and warm breads were always on display in the window, tempting onlookers like me off the street and inside where snooty baristas could somehow mispronounce my name. I could always tell a café was on the higher end of fancy by the level of which they garbled it.

But today, it wasn’t the pastries that caught my eye. As I passed by the café’s street-facing window, I happened to catch a glimpse of a familiar face. I could only see him in profile, but I could recognize the slant of his nose and the height of his cheeks and the fullness of his lips anywhere. He was sitting across from someone at a far corner table, but I wasn’t entirely sure who. I approached the window carefully, leaning against the brick wall to remain out of view as much as possible. It was when I noticed the woman’s bright red hair that a bitter disappointment gripped at my heart and made my stomach sink into the pits of my gut.

Chuck and Sandy were talking, smiling, laughing. I obviously couldn’t make out what they were saying, and I wasn’t an expert lip reader. Curiosity took hold of my thoughts. What were they talking about? Why were they meeting up? Why did they look so damn happy? What on Earth was going on? There was an unbearable sting in my chest, a twinge of jealousy leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I thought Chuck and I had something special. I thought that, just maybe, he was falling for me like I was falling for him. An irrational fear settled in my very bones. I didn’t know what else to think. Was he getting back with his ex-wife? What was going to happen to me, to us? Why couldn’t I fight back the nasty thoughts of Sandy clawing her perfectly manicured nails into Chuck’s back and never let go?

There was a voice screaming in my head, yelling at me to go inside and confront Sandy. What did she think she was doing? She had her chance with Chuck and she’d majorly messed up. I felt like she was encroaching on my territory, taking Chuck who was once hers and hogging him all to herself. But I knew better than to burst in and make wild accusations. I didn’t have a confrontational bone in my body. There was no way I could go up against someone like her. Sandy was beautiful, smart, and she knew Chuck in ways I’d only began to discover. She had the advantage here, and I didn’t think I had a shot in hell of winning Chuck’s affections if Sandy was the one I was contending with.

I hurried past the café and practically sprinted to get to the bookstore. I ran so hard that my lungs burned, and the back of my throat was scratchy and dry. My eyes were stinging, the corners of my vision blurring as tears started to well up along the edges of my eyelids. I brushed right past the few customers who were browsing through the new releases and right past Alistair, not stopping until I was safely behind the employee bathroom door. I turned the faucet on and splashed some cold water on

my face, willing myself to take normal breaths and try to concentrate. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe this was one giant misunderstanding. But I simply couldn’t explain why Chuck would agree to meet with Sandy and appear as though he were actually enjoying her company.