“How was your meeting?”
“It was pretty good. Cool guys, from Pittsburgh originally, and they have a pretty intense pipeline of up-and-coming artists. I liked what I heard, and I’m going to take it back to the producers.”
I followed his hand, watching it lift his lowball glass to his lips, fascinated that he didn’t have fat-person hands. I didn’t even mentally chide myself for thinking that; I just watched in wonder as his strong hand, so large and well groomed, wrapped around the glass.
Layton’s voice drew me out of my crazy hand fascination. “If you want, I’ll send you a sample later. They’re good tunes.”
Snapping my gaze back to his face, I smiled. “I’d like that. So, is this movie romantic?”
“Nah, it’s an action flick. I can’t spend my whole life on romance.”
“Why? You don’t believe in true love and love at first sight?” I tried to sound as if I were joking, but I was intrigued. Intrigued enough to delve back into his personal life.
He almost choked on his drink as a small cough barreled up his windpipe. “Um, I don’t know. That’s not what I meant. I just meant I don’t want to specialize in one kind of flick. You know, keep my options open and all that.”
“Oh.” I swallowed the lump that had taken up residence in my throat, clearing out more guilt. Why would he be thinking about love with me? “In this action movie, it’s all hard rock or rap? No soft tunes?”
“Mostly, which is why I don’t do all action either. My tastes are eclectic when it comes to music. I like it all, and when I do all types of movies, I get to use it all.”
I took a sip of my wine, allowing the small burn to move down to my lungs, hoping to breathe free again. After all, I didn’t like being stuck in fitness that much, but I wasn’t bold enough to branch out.
“I get it.”
I turned my head to the side, pretending to take in the DJ, and the shorter layers of my hair fell over my cheek.
“You do?” Layton reached out to brush my hair back behind my ear, searching for my gaze as if he wanted to see into my soul, to capture what I wasreallysaying.
“Well, yeah. You don’t want to pigeonhole yourself, to borrow a trite expression. I get it, you know? I used to be a full-fledged writer but now I’m stuck in this editing rut. So I get it.”
“But do you want to write more than edit?”
Warmth crept up my cheeks. How was this man pulling everything honest and real from me?Maybe because he’s so real ...
I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I guess I do, but it’s not that easy. I landed this job fresh out of school and here I am moving up the company ladder, and it’sBubblePOP, which is the big leagues when it comes to online content. What would it look like to go backward, to set up shop in my apartment? I’m not Carrie Bradshaw looking for my Mr. Big.”
Wait, that didn’t sound right. I stopped my rambling and gathered my thoughts, hoping he didn’t take that the wrong way.
Layton waited patiently for me to continue, his focus never deviating as his hand rested lightly on my knee.
“What I mean to say is yes, I’d love to write all the time, but I have to make a living.” Frowning, I added,“But I’m not so happy making a living at what I’m doing now, and I sort of feel like I sold out.”
I said the last part in a low voice, praying it was drowned out by the heavy music vibrating the room. For some reason, I didn’t want to admit defeat or shortcomings to this guy. He was so confident, successful, had his shit together. Maybe that was part of the attraction?
“What do you write? Like to write?” Layton asked. Apparently he wasn’t going to let this go.
I finished off my cabernet and closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the way my belly burned, trying to channel some of his confidence.
“Mostly short stories, emotional ones all woven together in a common theme.”
It was the first time I’d shared this with another person other than Janie. She’d nearly fallen off the futon cackling when I admitted to my “hobby” years ago.
“Wow, sounds like you’ve done a lot more than just thought about this. I bet you have a whole book written on ...” He snapped his fingers. “Lucy! That’s it, Lucy.”
He didn’t return his hand to my knee, and its absence felt like a gaping hole in my gut. I needed another drink. If I hadn’t started with wine, I would have ordered a Scotch, but mixing never worked for me.
“Sort of,” I lied. I had the whole book written. On Lucy. Line edited and ready to go.
“Want to get a table and finish this conversation?”
