I write until I fall asleep.
Chapter Eight
I’ve been writing since the moment I woke up.
Saint is very good for my productivity. That is a proven fact.
My phone vibrates on the table beside me. I’m so deep into my story, I’m afraid to pause and look at it. Sometimes when I’m in this kind of writing frenzy, the world outside my writing fades into the background, and it’s too risky to jump back into it. I ignore the text for half an hour, until I finish the chapter.
When I finally glance at my screen, I see it’s from Saint.
What are you doing tonight?
I blink at the words, my pulse skipping. The casualness of the text doesn’t match the density of the thrill it sends through me. Is he offering to come over again? To go out? Even a simple phone call from him would make this bored heart of mine flutter in a way it shouldn’t.
There’s an alarming allure to his attention.
I stare at the screen, hesitating for a moment. My fingers hover over it before I finally type back a response.
Writing. Unless you have an idea for research.
It’s a playful reply, one that keeps things ambiguous enough, but the tension beneath it is unmistakable. I press send and wait, chewing my bottom lip. The silence feels long even though it only lasts seconds. His response buzzes through my phone almost immediately.
Do your characters ever make risky moves and go out in public?
The words seem innocent enough, but I know better. Is this a dare? An invitation? The thought sends a rush of adrenaline through me, mingling with the slow, creeping guilt that always accompanies thoughts of him. If Saint is planning on following through with whatever I say next, I’ll make it work to my advantage. I use an actual scene I’ve written in the book.
I respond with a text that readsCam works up the courage to take Reya out on a date, but he’s nervous someone may recognize him. So they end up eating in his car.
The thrill of the idea pulses through me. I know this is a step into something potentially more lethal than what we’ve done before. We’ve flirted and crossed lines, but adate? It feels different—bolder. We’re treading into territory neither of us should be exploring.
But that’s also the pull, isn’t it?
My pulse is pounding as I consider the implications. Before I can overthink it, another text from Saint lights up my screen.
There’s a restaurant I’d like you to try,he texts.It’s in the next town over. You in the mood?
The thought of going out in public with him, even in another town, feels like too much of a risk. But his words prove he’s playing this game with me, and the logic of us going to the next town over makes sense forboth Cam in the book and Saint, who has a wife and probably friends and coworkers who would recognize him here.
He’s taking a risk for me. I like it, so I text him back.
When and where?
As soon as I send the message, the nerves kick in. My stomach flips in that heady mix of excitement and guilt. I’m not just thinking about crossing a line—I’m planning it. And I want to. More than anything, I want to.
The reply is quick and decisive.
Meet me at the Blue Lantern. 7 pm. I’ll be at the bar.
I know the place; I’ve passed it many times on my way to and from this lake. It’s perfect for keeping a low profile, for blending in.
See you then.
I try throwing myself back into my story after the text exchange, but my thoughts keep drifting to what this evening will hold. This isn’t just a random encounter. This is planned. It’s a decision.
By the time six o’clock rolls around, I’m dressed, my heartbeat pounding in my chest like a drum. I’ve opted for something simple—a blouse and jeans—but I’ve never felt so self-conscious. It’s as though every piece of fabric clinging to my skin is a reminder of what I’m doing. Of the secrets I’m keeping.
Once I’m in my car and backing out of the driveway, an unsettling fear slips over me. There isn’t a single person in the world who knows where I’m heading right now.
