Page 31 of Booked on You
“Ezra pulled away first, like he could read my thoughts, or maybe that intense feeling scared the shit out of him, too. Experiencing deep emotions with someone I barely know is new for me.”
I sigh.
“I don’t know what I’m afraid of.”
I set the recorder down on the bed and stare at it as it continues to capture my thoughts. “That’s not entirely true. I’m afraid of falling in love again, giving my heart to someone, and having it broken,” I whisper.
“I can’t keep making the same mistakes and choosing men who never intend to choose me. My entire life is in New York.”
My hand tightens around the recorder. “I’m so scared everyone will read this and figure out that every thought I’ve penned is about him.”
The words hang in the air, and I don’t know what else to say after sharing my truths.
I turn the recorder off and lie there, staring at the ceiling, heart still racing.
After another moment, I sit up, reach for my panties, and slide them on. I grab my robe that’s hanging on the back of the bathroom door. The fabric clings to my skin as I cross the room toward the large windows and notice the glow of the main house spilling faintly across the grass. I look up at the moon, then my eyes move toward the third-story room.
I see Ezra’s silhouette pacing.
Even from down here, he’s unmistakable—tall, bare-chested, half-shadowed. There’s a restless energy in his movement, like he’s trying to outrun something. His hand drags through his messy hair before he stops at the window, looking out.
I stay completely still, watching him like he’s part of a silent film. I feel strangely tethered to him and this place, like there’s an invisible rope between us and it’s pulled tight. After another minute, he turns and walks away, disappearing from view. I’ve not actually had an official tour of the house and have only noticed its large size from the outside.
There’s no logic to what he’s doing to me.
I move away from the window and turn off the overhead lights, then flip on the lamp.
My heart is still trying to remember how to beat at a regular rhythm as I walk to the desk.
I pull the chair forward so I’m in a more comfortable seated position. The soft robe slides against my bare legs as I shift to open my laptop. The screen lights up, and my document is at the end of a scene that’s unfinished and aching for something more.
The cursor blinks at the end of a sentence I wasn’t in love with earlier.
Now, as I reread it, I don’t hate it. I exhale, plant my hands firmly on the keys, and start to type.
Helena’s breath catches as Jordan moves toward her like he knows she’s everything he wants and needs. He stops just short of touching her, his eyes searching hers for permission. When she doesn’t look away, he reaches for her face, tilts her chin up, and kisses her like it’s a confession he’s been waiting to make since the moment their eyes met on the porch.
My fingers move fasterthan I expect them to.
The lines come in full beats, followed by smooth dialogue and action. The story practically writes itself as I share how kissing Ezra made me feel.
His lips kiss her neck, causing her to shudder. He rubs his thumb over the edge of her jaw, and this time, their tongues twist together. Helena moans against him, feeling him growing hard against her. Jordan is turned on, but so is she.
My heroine doesn’t second-guess the moment the hero makes his move. She lets herself have what she desperately craves, something I haven’t figured out how to do yet.
As the emotions pour out of me, I realize how much I’ve missed creating. This time, I don’t stop to overthink or dissect the construction of each sentence or my vocabulary choice. I don’t revise or trim it into something neater. I let the tension build between my characters in a way neither one of them can escape. The pacing finds itself. The emotional rhythm that had been missing for so long clicks into place without me forcing it.
When I finally pause for a break, my wrists ache. My leg is tucked under my body, and I pull it out and stand, needing to stretch. The sky outside is much darker. Night has fallen.
I scroll to the beginning of the chapter and recognize pieces of myself that I had thought I’d lost.
I immediately save it, not wanting to lose my work.
There is no time for that.
As I stretch, my neck cracks, and the robe slips slightly off one of my shoulders. The only thing that pulls me away is my phone vibrating on the nightstand.
I pick it up and smile when I see it’s my bestie.
