“I should’ve texted you,” I go on. “I totally spaced.”
“Oh, hush,” Kait laughs. “We had a great time, didn’t we, Giz? I painted his nails and he tried to paint mine, but he needs to improve his technique.”
I giggle. “I’ll sign him up for a few beautician courses, then.”
“Anyway, stop trying to change the subject. How did it go last night?”
“It?”
“You know … it.”
I can almost see her rubbing her hands together gleefully as I gaze into the sky, the snow white clouds reforming into the image of my best friend with a tell-me-about-your-sex-life look on her face.
“It went,” I say.
She claps and in the background, I hear Gizmo purring as though joining in on the excitement.
“I knew it would,” she says. “And?”
“And what?” I laugh.
“You’re not seriously telling me that that’s all the juicy details I’m getting.”
“I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’m telling you,” I say, tightening my robe as a gust of wind makes it ruffle behind me like a cape. “We shouldn’t be much longer, anyway. I’ve got work this afternoon.”
“Oh, goodie,” Kait says sarcastically. “Because you’re really getting in the way of my extremely important plans … not.”
“Have you given it any more thought?” I ask. “About what you’re going to do?”
“No,” she sighs. “I will, though. I promise.”
“Okay. See you later.”
“Sounds good. Now go and have the dirtiest sex imaginable.”
I shake my head, laugh, and then hang up the phone and just stand there for a few moments. I make myself reflect on the moment, the absolute unreality of it … the absolute reality of it.
Because it’s happening, it’s real.
And I’m tired of doubting that.
I’m standing on the balcony of a presidential suite with my childhood crush waiting for me inside, my alpha writer hunk who last night revealed his deepest secret to me.
It made me feel so much closer to him when he told me the truth, as though fragmented sections of our souls were fusing together, to make something whole, both of us combined.
I head inside to find Tanner sitting on the regal couch, the piece of furniture looking like something out of a Victorian manor house, Tanner seeming incongruous hunched over in just his boxer shorts. The muscles of his back shift and become taut as he leans over the ornate table, one hand propped on a notepad and the other holding a pen. Both the paper and the pen have the hotel’s logo on them.
He’s writing.
The sight is something to behold, the way his eyes star fixedly on the paper, the way his hand moves as though possessed by some greater force. He doesn’t even look up at me, his concentration is so great, and I don’t care …
No, more than that, I don’t want him to look at me, not until he’s ready.
This is a huge moment for him and that means it’s a huge moment for me too, watching him fulfill his passion, his purpose, after so long of being blocked from it.
I sit down and simply watch him, unable to stop my body from buzzing and tingling at the sight of his monstrously muscled body, the fresh morning sunlight cutting fresh lines in his marble form that I didn’t notice before. It makes the steel in his hair shine like metal.
For an hour or more, we stay like this, my eyes consuming his every movement, hypnotized by the tsk-tsk of his pen on the paper.
Finally, he looks up at me as though waking from a dream, a faraway look in his eyes before they finally settle on me in passion I recognize from last night.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he sighs.
A thrill moves through me.
“Never mind that,” I say, even as I think, Liar, I mind that very much. “You’re writing, Tanner. This is great.”
“Yeah …”
He stands up and walks over to me, reaching down and gripping my hands in his. I collapse against his bare chest, moving my hands over his back. I can’t believe how natural it feels.
“And I have you to thank for that,” he says. “Waking up next to you this morning – and talking to you about what happened to me last night – I don’t know, Tess, it’s like it changed something inside of me. I can’t explain it. All I know is that when I came in here and saw you standing out there, like a fucking painting – beautiful and sexy and just plain perfect in that robe – I had to grab a pen. I had to start writing.”
“So you’re saying I’ve cured you?” I say.
I’m trying for sassy, but a look of dead seriousness comes over his face.
“You did,” he says passionately.
“I expect a note in the dedication page,” I banter. But then I quickly add, “It will have to be anonymous, though. I don’t want to piggyback on your success to get a book published. I want to do it on my own.”