Page 103 of Tempted Hearts
“I really like hearing about your research. History was my favorite subject, did you know that?”
As a matter of fact, I didn’t. “So why not do something in that discipline?”
She scratched her cute nose, her mouth up to one side, thinking.
“That’s a good question. I went into college undecided, took a few history classes and writing ones too, because that’s another thing I loved. And maybe it was the way they presented it… I’m not sure. I just ended up on the writing route instead. Traveling with my parents, I knew when I had the money I would like to do at least one trip per quarter for inspiration. Even if it’s a drivable long weekend. I couldn’t think of a profession that gave me that flexibility.”
“I think you picked a good one. I can’t wait to read the book.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. I was trying really hard not to be a complete asshole and promising things for the future that I couldn’t deliver.
“And I’d like to read your article.”
I looked at her with a fair amount of skepticism.
“I’m serious! I really would. All right, let’s do thirty minutes—no talking, just working.”
She called me old school? Jules pulled a set of headphones out of her bag that looked ten years old. She put them on; for some reason, it was strangely sexy.
She mentioned no talking, but that didn’t mean we ignored each other for a half hour. I looked up at times, and mostly she was tapping away on the keyboard. But a few times, I caught her looking at me. We would lock eyes, someone would smile, and then go back to work.
It wasn’t enough.
At one point I moved my foot closer to her and tapped her sneaker ever so gently. She did it back, giggling.
We never moved our feet apart again.
“Okay, time’s up,” she said. “That’s called a sprint. It’s a writer thing.”
I looked up, dubious. “I don’t get it. Don’t you just work and then stop when you’re done?”
She pushed away her finished coffee. Her fingers were soft, I knew, and I imagined them gripping my shoulders. Checking my head, I looked back up.
“Sprints are good when you’re writing because it’s hard sometimes to stay in the story, at least for me, for too long. So I know it’s a finite amount of time, and during that time I can’t look at social media or do anything other than write.”
I leaned back in my seat. “Interesting. I suppose this fits.”
“Fits with what?”
“Your sticky organizational system.”
Juliette laughed. “I still can’t believe you were in my bedroom.”
I reserved comment.
“How do the triceps feel?”
A good-looking guy had sidled up to our table. He was looking at Juliette with open admiration. Worse, she seemed to know him.
“Not sure yet, but I’m expecting they will be sore tomorrow.”
As I sat through their exchange, the very uneasy feeling of being jealous—an emotion I had little room for in my life, and one which typically didn’t affect me—threatened to have me saying something stupid.
“I would introduce you,” she said to me, “but I don’t even know his name.”
The two of them laughed as if in on some private joke.
“So this is the boyfriend you mentioned? Haven’t seen you. Do you usually work out?”
