I wonder if Natalie would feel more secure with a system like this—
Stop, I order myself.
This is not me. I don’t obsess over women. What I need to do is sit down, evaluate what I know, suggest a security system, and start viewing her as a client, not a potential bedmate.
In the kitchen, I find that Sabrina hasn’t totally written me off. There’s a plate of pasta covered in plastic wrap with a note that says “reheat, two minutes.”
“Bless you, my child,” I murmur as I stick the plate into the microwave. I can boil water, operate a microwave, and cook a steak. That’s about the extent of my cooking skills.
“You’re welcome.”
I hide my surprise and turn nonchalantly to lean against the counter. Sabrina stands at the entry of the kitchen, her arms crossed and her mouth pressed into a hard line. Despite her angry stance, I see confusion in her eyes. She loves and hates me at this moment.
“Mom called to make sure you were eating.”
“I ate earlier. Tiny came up an hour ago and said you were out on a call.”
“New client,” I answer. Tiny’s an investigator for Tanner Security, but she’s also married to Ian, whose best friend is Kaga, so I know where this is headed—nowhere good. The only mystery is how long it will take for us to get to the subject of him.
“Is it Kaga? Is he in trouble in any way?” she blurts out.
Not long, apparently. I pinch my nose because just the thought of her wanting to know about him gives me a headache. “Bri, honey,” I begin, but before I can finish my thought, she interrupts me.
“What? I can’t even ask about him?”
“What purpose does it serve for you even to imagine yourself in a relationship with him?”
“We’re friends.” She’s stubborn.
“If you were friends, then you wouldn’t need to ask how he’s doing.” Immediately I regret my words as she turns ashen and the skin around her lips whitens as her lips thin. “Aw, fuck me, honey. I’m sorry. I love you and I just want to make sure that you’re happy in life.” Pushing away from the counter, I move toward her, but she backs away.
“Really? You could have fooled me. Every action you take is designed to keep me away from people I love!”
She loves Kaga? She doesn’t even know him. I reach a hand toward her. “Sorry you feel that way.”
“If you were truly sorry, you wouldn’t do this. You’re only sorry that I’m mad at you.” She whirls on one foot and runs out of the kitchen and up the stairs. My leg aches too much to run after her and frankly, she’s right.
I’m sorry she’s mad, but I’m not wrong about her and Kaga. Their differences are too vast.
The microwave dings and my stomach growls in response.
For a moment, I let my forehead rest on the heel of my hand. Maybe I’m thinking about Natalie because she’s the one woman in my life that I haven’t disappointed . . . yet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NATALIE
“In my next book, I’m killing off the protagonist on the first page.”
“Because you’re tired of success and you want to shit all over your readers?” Daphne doesn’t even look up from the magazine she’s paging through as she predicts the demise of my career.
“How can I write about anything even remotely brave and heroic when I can’t even put my hand on the doorknob without puking and fainting?”
“It’s fiction. You can’t do martial arts either, but your famous protagonist, Soren Blake, is a master at it. You haven’t flown in outer space and fucked three alien dudes, or if you have, you are completely holding out on me.”
“Why are we friends again?” I stare out onto Howard Street, wanting the six-feet-three, 260-pound Jake Tanner to reappear. I hadn’t gotten a good look at him the other day and my image of him is fuzzy. I’ve crafted him with a Seth Rogen physique, which is comforting for me. The guys with the real hard bodies are usually the biggest jerks. In my fantasy, Jake Tanner is a sweetheart who helps old ladies across the street and talks to virtual strangers on the phone for thirty minutes or so. The fact that it isn’t entirely a fantasy makes it all the more amazing. This guy texted me, talked to me, and flirted with me, all without meeting in person. He knows I’m fucked up in the head, but still made time to chat.
How could I not tumble head over heels in lust with him? I don’t even want to stop the fall. It’s harmless to have a crush—harmless and a little exciting. The rush of blood to my fingertips, the tingle up my spine? That’s not due to fear, but excitement. I welcome those feelings. I want them.
“We aren’t merely friends. I’m your editor, and a kick-ass one at that.”
“I wish you could edit my life.” Put me in a story with a hot security guy. He falls madly in love with me despite the fact that I don’t like leaving my apartment and that the prospect of meeting new people sends me to my bed for several days.
Daphne sighs and throws the magazine aside. “Isn’t that what Terrance is for? What does your therapist have to say about all of this?”
Dr. Joshua Terrance is probably the only one who knows the full extent of my crazy. “Too much. I preferred it when I had minimal contact with him.” Minimal for me was once a month. Since I got the note, I’ve been talking to him nearly every day . . . except for yesterday, when I spent thirty minutes on the phone with Jake.
“Good thing you earn so much money selling books, or you wouldn’t be able to afford him.”
“I know.” Daphne’s sympathetic look borders on pity, so I gaze outside again, away from it and toward the direction of uptown where Tanner Security is. In different circumstances, I could leave my apartment and take the subway uptown. From there I could walk a few blocks and end up outside Tanner Securities. I’d march in wearing some saucy dress and high heels and tell the receptionist to hold all of Tanner’s calls because he was going to be too busy servicing me to help anyone else.
A tingle of excitement causes me to clench my legs tightly together. I had a few naughty dreams about Jake last night. Ones that I shove into my mental closet so I don’t get flushed and aroused while I’m sitting with Daphne.
“It’s been so long. I think I’ve forgotten what sex is like.”
“It’s good, just FYI.”
“I keep thinking about him.” I run the back of my fingers along my collarbone wondering what it would be like if they were Jake’s and not mine.
“The asshole who sent you the note?”
“No, Jake. The security guy.”
“I have no idea who he is.”
“He’s tall and has a potbelly.”
“You let him in?” She sounds shocked, and that annoys me even if it would be a giant surprise that I let someone other than Oliver and Daphne inside.
“No. He told me.”
“He told you he was tall and had a potbelly? How did you have this conversation?”
“I asked him what he looked like.”
“And did you ask him what he was wearing at the time? Are you sure this is an actual security person and not some rent-a-cop?” She looks at me as if my conversation is entirely fiction, like my books.
“Oliver hired him. And I looked him up on the Internet. He’s got a real website, but no pictures. Isn’t that weird? Like, does a person exist if there isn’t a picture of him on the Internet? It’s like the Internet version of ‘if a tree falls in the forest.’”