Authors: Nicole Edwards
Chapter Twelve
Presley
Sunday night
“Honey, you need to get laid,” Blaze bellowed before tossing back another shot of tequila. “You know, by some outrageously hot guy who’s gonna pin you against the wall and make you beg for mercy.”
I tossed my shot back before I answered her. “Not gonna happen.”
“Please don’t tell me that Adrian was the last guy you got horizontal with.” Blaze’s expression turned serious. “That dude’s the world’s biggest douche.”
“Can’t argue with you there,” I told her, pouring another shot. The last thing I wanted to do tonight was talk about Adrian. Or anyone, for that matter.
I’d spent the entire day at the shop handling three walk-ins, all of whom had wanted tattoos that took more time to prepare for than to actually ink. And now, I wanted to sit back, get wasted, then pass out and sleep until I felt better.
“How was the sex with him, anyway?”
“With who?” I asked, playing dumb.
Blaze narrowed her eyes at me. “Adrian.”
I didn’t miss a beat before I said, “Boring.”
“Really?” Blaze snorted. “I always heard rock stars had it going on.”
“Yeah, well, I think rock stars are the ones who started that rumor.”
Blaze grabbed her shot glass. “You’re probably right about that.”
We downed two more shots, and our laughter continued until the front door opened and in walked Gavin.
As soon as he stepped in the doorway, he stopped cold, watching the two of us closely.
“Wussup, Gav?” Blaze greeted him, her words slurring. She looked at me and grinned. “He’s an outrageously hot guy,” Blaze said in what she probably assumed was a whisper but wasn’t.
“I definitely am,” he agreed, that mischievous smirk on his face. “Is this party just gettin’ started? Or are we about to turn on the decision-maker lights?” Gavin closed the front door behind him and tossed his coat onto one of the barstools, his eyes never straying from us.
“The night’s still young,” Blaze informed him. “Can’t say the same about you, though.”
Gavin continued to watch us. “How much have you had?”
“Not enough,” I admitted, reaching for the bottle to pour more shots. “Now quit acting like an old man and come drink with us.”
“Hold up,” Blaze said, snatching the bottle out of my hand. “Not until he pays the ten-dollar buy-in fee.”
“Buy-in?” A crease formed in Gavin’s forehead. “What the hell’s a buy-in fee? This ain’t poker.”
Blaze pointed a finger in his direction. “I paid for the booze, and you gotta buy in if you want some. Ten dollars.”
Gavin grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket, flipped it open, and pulled out a five-dollar bill, then tossed it in Blaze’s lap.
“Dude, who’s the one who’s been drinkin’ tonight?” Blaze slurred. “That ain’t ten bucks.”
“No, but you bought cheap booze, so there’s a fifty percent discount.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Blaze snatched up the money and tucked it into her bra.
I smiled at Gavin. “Grab another shot glass.”
After a quick detour to the kitchen, Gavin returned, setting his glass down beside the other two, then dropping onto the couch beside Blaze.
With an unsteady hand, Blaze filled all three but ended up with more on the glass table than in the shot glasses.
“What’re we drinking to?” Gavin asked.
“Hot guys nailing us to the wall,” Blaze blurted.
I rolled my eyes.
“Ain’t no guy nailing me to the wall,” Gavin grunted. “Hot or otherwise.”
For whatever reason, I found that funny and ended up downing my shot and nearly shooting it out of my nose.
“I’ve got a question,” Blaze said when the laughter died down.
“No questions from you tonight,” I said immediately, glancing over at Gavin.
As usual, Blaze ignored me. “I wanna know why the two of you have never had sex.”
“Not a question,” Gavin grumbled.
“Okay, fine,” Blaze snapped. “
Have
the two of you ever had sex?”
“Eww. No,” Gavin and I said in unison.
“Are you fucking serious?” Blaze did not sound convinced.
I placed my shot glass on the table but waved Blaze off when she started to pour me another. “Dead serious.”
“Why?” She looked genuinely confused.
“Because he’s not my type?”
Blaze’s eyes bounced back and forth between us before landing on me. “But he’s hot.”
Yeah, well, I didn’t think so. “I don’t see him like that.”
Gavin was watching Blaze intently and I knew this wasn’t going to be good. For the longest time, I’d gotten the impression that these two had a thing for one another. Although Blaze pretended to be interested in other guys—or maybe she wasn’t pretending—I got the feeling that if Gavin told her to get naked, she’d do it in under three seconds flat.
“What about you two?” I asked, realizing the liquor was now talking for me. “Why haven’t the two of
you
hooked up?”
Gavin grabbed the bottle and poured another shot, but I noticed he didn’t answer. I looked at Blaze.
“Y’all are best friends,” she said, as though that made some kind of sense.
“So?”
“So, you and I are best friends,” Blaze added.
“Does that make us all best friends?” I asked, trying to do the math in my head.
“No,” Gavin noted. “It means we’re not willing to sacrifice that friendship.”
“Oh.” I watched the two of them for a moment. Then it dawned on me what he meant. “
Oooh.
”
Laughter erupted, along with a few snorts.
“I was tellin’ Presley that she needed to find some hot guy and get laid.”
“Can’t argue there,” Gavin said, but his eyes dropped to the floor.
I could tell something was wrong, but my head was too fuzzy to formulate a question. Not to mention, the room was beginning to spin.
I studied them both for a minute. “I think the two of you should do it.”
“Do what?” Gavin asked, his blond eyebrows lifting in question.
“You know … do it.”
They both gave me a questioning look.
“Sex,” I snapped. “Do I need to spell it out for you?”
“Actually, yes.” Gavin poured himself another shot, looking completely disinterested in the conversation.
“S-E…” I frowned. “What were we talking about?”
Blaze fell over sideways, her raspy laughter echoing in the room, right up until we all realized her head had fallen right into Gavin’s lap.
When her big brown eyes locked on Gavin as she sat up, I knew that was my cue to leave.
“I’m … uh…” I managed to get to my feet. “I’m gonna go to bed.”
“Presley, don’t go,” Gavin said, his tone serious.
“I’m wasted and if I drink any more, y’all are gonna be holding my hair back while I pray to the porcelain god.”
“Been there with you before. Not your finest moment,” Blaze noted.
“Exactly.” I stabbed the air in her direction. “So, with that said, I’m out.”
I stumbled toward the hallway, glancing back once to see the two of them staring at one another.
“Oh, hey…” I waited until they both looked at me. “If y’all wanna … you know … play hide the salami in the … uh … whatever … you’re both adults. So, do what you gotta do.”
“It doesn’t work that way, sweets,” Gavin said, but he looked somewhat sad. I didn’t want to ask why that was.
“Whatever.” I planted my palm on the wall. “But if you do … you know … be sure to use a condom.”
With that, I managed to stumble down the hallway to my bedroom. I made it the ten feet to my bed and face-planted. For the first time in forever, I passed out. And slept like the dead.
Chapter Thirteen
Jake
One week later, Saturday night
By the time seven o’clock rolled around, I was going stir crazy. My total word count for the entire week was a big fat fucking zero. And like I’d assured Liz when I talked to her on Wednesday, I had tried. Really.
Okay,
mostly
.
After I’d spent two hours at the coffee shop that morning and managed to research everything from tattoos to tater tots—on my phone, because, fuck, what the hell else was I going to do?—I’d come back to my condo, changed, gone to the gym, watched the midday news, showered, and fought the urge to clean more shit around the house that had no business being cleaned. Not by me, at least.
Same shit I’d done almost every day this week.
And
last week, now that I thought about it.
Now that the sun was down and the night was coming to life, I needed to get out of the building. To do something productive that didn’t involve staring at a blank screen or a blank page and wondering whether or not I would ever be able to write anything again.
So, that was the plan.
A night out.
I had moved to downtown Austin for the scenery. I’d lived in the area most of my life— with the exception of the five years I’d spent in New York—having grown up twenty-something miles north in the city of Round Rock. The suburban life had worked well for my mom and stepdads (all nine of them)—still did—but I needed something a little more … lively. My sister, Paige, thought I was having a midlife crisis. At thirty-six, I seriously doubted that. I was reserving that for when I turned forty.
As I was riding the elevator down to the lobby, my cell phone rang. After digging it out of my pocket, I glanced at the screen and sighed.
Liz.
Great. It was eight o’clock in New York—on a Saturday, no less—where she lived and worked, so I knew this wasn’t going to be a
hi, how are you?
conversation. I answered anyway.
“Jacob Wild, where the hell are you?” Her raspy, take-no-shit tone made me smile.
“Elevator, why?” I asked, pretending I didn’t know what she meant.
“Where have you been?”
“
Before
I got in the elevator? Well, if you have to know, I was walking down the hall.”
My editor growled. Actually growled. And it wasn’t one of those sexy purring things that some women did. This was an all-out Gremlin sort of sound that made me want to laugh. I refrained. Barely.
“You should be at your desk.”
“Why?” I stepped off the elevator into the lobby. “Nothing going on there at the moment.”
My comment was met with silence, and I could picture Liz standing in the middle of her Manhattan apartment, hand fisted in her short blonde hair as she stared at the phone in disbelief.
Truth was, I liked Liz. She was one of the top editors in the publishing industry, and she always played me straight. After I had self-published my first book and it had done surprisingly well, and after my agent had landed me my first seven-figure, three-book deal, I had been working with Liz directly. I’d liked her so much, and my books had done so well with her help that I’d even signed another contract, for another three books—with, get this, an eight-figure advance.
Which, I knew, was the reason she was calling.
That was a lot of money to invest in someone, and the first book was due to her in roughly thirty days, and she’d come to expect me to be ahead of the game, as I’d frequently turned in my first draft manuscript way early. It probably hadn’t helped that I’d asked for an extension this go-round—a three-
month
extension.
“Where’s my book?” she demanded. “I was looking forward to spending the weekend reading your stuff, enjoying a bottle of wine, and now I have no choice but to go to that stupid gala.”
I barked a laugh. I couldn’t remember what it was she was doing, but I recalled her mentioning it had something to do with her husband’s public relations firm. From what Liz told me, she did not enjoy getting dressed up and going out. But I’d known her long enough that I recognized the lie for what it was. She did enjoy it; she simply didn’t want anyone to know she did.
“I’ve still got a month,” I told her as I stepped out of the building, the cold wind slamming into me.
There was a brief pause before she said, “Tell me when I can schedule an interview. Your fans want to know what the hell happened to you.”
“You know I don’t do interviews,” I told her. That had been a point of contention between us from the beginning. I’d been called reclusive and mysterious, but the truth was, I didn’t like being in the public eye. I just wanted to write.
“You’re going to have to give in sometime,” she said. “Seriously. The media fucking loves you. They want to see your face.”
“Liz, shouldn’t you be getting ready for your thing?” I asked, purposely changing the subject.
Liz huffed. “What’s the book about? At least tell me that much.”
I should’ve known she wouldn’t let it go. I sighed. “I will, just as soon as I know.”
More silence before she said, “Jacob.” Her tone was admonishing and I understood her pain.
“I’m looking for my muse,” I assured her.
“Your muse? What the hell are you talking about? We agreed—”
Before she could go off on a tangent—something Liz was
really
good at—I interrupted her. “Don’t worry. I haven’t let you down yet, have I?”
Another growl. This time I did laugh.
“Fine. But next time I call you, you better answer the damn phone.”
“I
did
answer the phone.” Just not the first twenty-two times she’d called since yesterday morning. “Talk to you later, Liz.”
Depositing the phone into my pocket, I pulled my hood over my head, then rubbed my hands together to warm them and headed down the sidewalk. Although it was relatively early for a Saturday night, the area was getting busy fast. Due to the many bars that lined Sixth Street, people came from all over to experience Austin’s tourist hot spot. Even when it was hovering at the thirty-degree mark at the end of January.
If you were looking for live music and a diverse crowd, Sixth Street was the place to go. As for me, I enjoyed the bar scene—not nearly as much as I had in my twenties, however—but I tended to steer clear if possible. Granted, I wasn’t above hanging out just to watch people. I’d come up with some damn intriguing characters by sitting still and observing, and I hoped I’d get lucky again tonight. Only I wasn’t going to a bar.
The book I was working on—or supposed to be, anyway—needed to be phenomenal. They all were, at least in my head. I wanted something that intrigued people, caught their attention, made them run through myriad emotions when they read it. As far as I was concerned, I’d been lucky so far. Sure, I knew I had some talent, but so did a lot of other people, and not all writers—even ones who were far better than I was—had the opportunity to make a living doing what they loved to do.
As I walked down the sidewalk, I took it all in, mentally snapshotting the little details of the buildings, the cars, the people. I noted the noises I heard, the aromas I smelled, tied them together in my head in a way I would remember for a scene later. For nearly an hour, that was all I did until I saw a crowd gathered in a small alcove near an alley. I knew what they were looking at, so I tucked my hands in my pockets and walked over to join them.
Peering over the heads of the group gathered, I saw the familiar man standing in front of a table, a large sheet of thin, white hardboard before him. The guy wielded a circle cutout in one hand and a can of spray paint in the other, a respirator mask covering his mouth and nose. I watched him work for a good ten minutes before he completed the painting. And when he pulled off his mask, then lifted the board to show the audience, I nodded a hello while the others clapped.
“What’s up, Jake?” the man sporting the strange man bun and scruffy goatee greeted me as he carried the painted board to the front and set it in one of the open spots.
The paintings wouldn’t last long, selling rapidly on the weekends, so I looked it over quickly, trying to decide if I wanted it. When the woman beside me got excited, I decided to pass. I already had fifteen of them leaning against the wall in my guest bedroom, waiting for me to find a place for them.
“You’re out early tonight.”
“Tell me about it.” I stepped out of the way, moving around to stand beside my friend.
I had met Gavin Dennis nearly a year ago, right after I had moved back to Texas and into my condo. One night, I’d been wandering around aimlessly when I stumbled upon a scene much like this one, only in a different location. After I’d watched Gavin work for almost two hours, I guess he’d gotten curious as to why I was continuing to stand there. I’d introduced myself and that had been that. And since that day, Gavin and I had become friends, gone to a few bars, had some drinks, shared some drunken conversation. But mostly, I had spent at least one night a month sitting on that very stool beside Gavin, watching him work and checking out the hordes of people who stopped to admire the masterpieces Gavin would create.
It was crazy to see a man design some magnificent artwork using nothing more than cardboard cutouts and spray paint, but Gavin never seemed to run out of ideas, and not once had I seen him paint the same thing twice.
Imagine my surprise when last weekend I’d learned that Gavin was none other than my new neighbor. One of my two new neighbors, who could throw one hell of a party. Granted, I still didn’t remember a lot that had happened that night, which was probably a good thing.
“Don’t let me bother you,” I told him, taking a seat on the stool nearby as a couple of people made requests for his next painting.
Gavin smirked, then turned to the crowd once again. “Anyone here read? And I’m talkin’ books.”
I rolled my eyes.
A few people raised their hands.
“What do you read?” Gavin asked, pointing to one woman in particular.
“Sci-Fi,” she said shyly.
Gavin looked at me. I shook my head, but he already knew I didn’t write science fiction.
“What about you?” Gavin asked, nodding to another woman.
“Romance,” she told him.
Gavin cast a sideways glance at me, raising one eyebrow.
I mouthed, “Not cool.”
“Who’s your favorite author?” Gavin asked the woman as he rearranged the cans of paint and his cutouts.
“Jacob Wild,” she said excitedly.
I sighed.
Another sideways glance from Gavin—this one was accompanied by a shit-eating grin. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” she said eagerly. “I love him.”
“Because he’s a good writer? Or because he’s hot?” Gavin questioned.
What the fuck?
“Both.”
“So you think he’s hot?” Gavin asked, clearly fanning the flames.
“God, yes. Those eyes and those lips…”
Gavin chuckled as he set up for his next painting. “What does he write?”
“Love stories. Beautiful, sexy love stories,” the woman told him, her tone reverent, her hands clasped together in front of her.
“Sexy love stories?” Gavin looked up at the woman. “Does that include sex?”
The woman giggled. “Definitely.”
“Hot sex?” Gavin glanced over at me again. He mouthed, “Like orgies and shit?”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head at the same time the woman said, “Panty-melting hot.”
Gavin laughed. “What would you do if you came face-to-face with Jacob Wild right now?”
“Oh, gosh,” the woman said with a sigh, her eyes locked on Gavin. “I’d hug him.”
Gavin turned back to me and I knew what was coming. And I knew there was no way to stop it, either.