“You told George Knight he could come live in my place?”
“Yes, and that you’d stay in his. Water the plants. Bring in the newspaper. Dust his Goodreads Choice Award.”
“Is that an actual thing that he would wan”—not the point. Christ knows what I would possibly do in that guy’s apartment. For, what, over a week no less? “Unpromise him. Please.”
There is a pause. When she speaks again, she’s quieter, more sincere. “O, please come. You know, George’s ex is getting married on New Year’s Eve. I think he really needs to get out of town. This was the best I could do to convince him.”
Hmm. Well, it really isn’t my problem. But when she puts it that way, it is hard not to feel for the guy. Especially given that he had to live out both his relationship and his breakup in the public eye. So public even I read about it, and I really don’t follow these things. The split seemed amicable enough, but Iknow better than anyone that even a nothing breakup can mess with your head.
Still, that doesn’t mean I have to upend my life for the poor guy. “Zoe…”
“And I need you!” she jumps in. “At the wedding. George’ll be out of town, andeveryoneknows George and I are close. They’re all going to ask me how he is. It’s too much. I need a buffer!”
“You could bring a date?” I try. But I can already feel her reeling me in.
“Please. I think we both know finding a good date isn’t my strong suit.”
“Yeah…” I crouch down, poking at the fire with the iron.
“I really don’t want to go to this thing alone.” She says it so plainly and so plaintively that I know she has me, even as I suspect I’m going to regret this. And maybe, just maybe, a change of scenery wouldn’t be theworstidea right now.
“Yeah, okay.”
She lets out a happy squeal on the other end of the line while in the background someone yells colorful things about someone else’s mother. “Yay!!! Okay, pack your bags. I’ll see you tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow?”
I hear someone with a thick accent ask her how to get to the Empire State Building.
“Pack nice clothes! I’ll text you the particulars.” Then Zoe starts giving the person directions, and the line disconnects.
Oh, yeah, I’m definitely going to regret this.
DECEMBER 19
CHAPTER 5
GEORGE
I’mstill notsure how I let Zoe talk me into this. I should have told her I was going home for the holidays. Except then I would have to go home for the holidays, and I wouldn’t get anything done. Anyway, it’s too late now. Her cousin is heading down to the city later today, and if I don’t vacate, we’ll be fighting over who gets the bed and who gets the sofa.
Of course, that would at least save me the train ride to Vermont. But Zoe would kill me. And I can’t imagine having a houseguest would do anything good for my writing woes.
Besides, I doubt this Owen would be excited about having me there on top of him either. Metaphorically, obviously. Although more than likely the other way, either. I am no kind of catch. Even in my best days, I still can’t fathom how I’d attracted a man like Luca. And I am far, far from my best days now.
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. Unruly dark curls way overdue for a trim. Dark circles under my dark eyes. Wire-frame glasses slightly bent and slightly askew. Bestselling author George Knight, ladies and gentlemen. TheSpy Spinner.Ugh. I am going to puke.
I open the medicine cabinet and pull out my razor, shaving cream, and other things I need, and place them into my carrying case.
Out of some combination of hospitality and the desire not to look like a complete mess, I continue around the apartment, setting things in order for Owen’s visit.
I empty the dishwasher, clear several weeks of theNew York Timesoff my dining table, hang clean towels in the bathrooms.
I strip the bed and put fresh sheets on it, the high-count Egyptian cotton ones, because he is a guest, after all. It’s strange to be making the bed for another man. It probably should be strange that this is the first time anyone other than me has slept in my bed since Luca left. It isn’t that I’ve been a total monk. I’ve had… a tryst or two.Hookups. Ugh.
It isn’t that I’m not trying, but… well, I’m not really trying. What is the point? If I could have the kind of long-term, high-profile,dreamrelationship I’d had with Luca and have it end with pity invites to the guy’s Happily Ever After, that is pretty strong evidence a grand romance with my own HEA just isn’t in the cards for me.
Anyway, I’ve had good things in my life. More than my share of good things. How many writers sell a hit novel right out of college? How many writers get to put a bisexual hero on the bestseller list? Multiple times. Me, that’s how many. And I am truly grateful. I refuse to be greedy.
