Chapter One
Luna
“Luna Darling, your latest book is at the top of the charts. Readers are dying to know what makes the perfect book boyfriend?”
I was being interviewed forGood Morning World, a show that aired at 6 a.m., and was trying to look and sound more awake than I felt.
“Romance novels have moved beyond the perfect man stereotype. Perfect is boring. Real people are more complex. Give me a man who can chop firewood and remember my coffee order,” I said with a laugh. I felt stiff perched on the edge of the overstuffed chair. I gripped the coffee cup they had given me to keep my hands from fidgeting.
“So strong but sensitive?”
“And with great forearms.” I gave the audience an exaggerated wink.
A laugh went through the crowd, and I relaxed a fraction.
“I thought it was all about the abs?” the interviewer asked with a smile.
“Abs are great to look at, but forearms tell a story about the person and what they’re capable of. Abs can come from low body fat. Strong forearms come from fixing a sink or, I don’t know, stacking lumber.”
The host laughed. “So rugged too.”
I shrugged, feeling the silk of the unfamiliar blouse they’d put me in slip over my skin. “I mean, if I’m ordering a man from a catalog, sure. Rugged and, hell, give him a bit of a beard too. But it goes beyond the physical.” I let myself get a little lost in the fantasy, like I did when I was writing. “He needs to show up. Know when to just listen, when to problem solve, and when to pin you against the wall and make you forget your own name.”
The audience erupted in hoots.
The host fanned herself dramatically. “I think half the viewers just fainted.”
Since the audience was eating it up, I kept going like my agent had taught me. “Good, let’s raise the bar for real men by making fictional men as an example. The bare minimum isn’t good enough. Just because he texts back and wears deodorant doesn’t make him a ten out of ten. Get yourself a book boyfriend until a real man shows up who can tick all the same boxes.”
Another enthusiastic response from the crowd, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The host thanked me, but I blanked it out, staring into the camera until they cut to a commercial.
I shook the host’s hand and walked quickly backstage to collect my things. I was used to being an author. I wasn’t used to being an in-demand author. The tours, talk shows, and book signings were becoming more frequent, and it was taking me a while to get comfortable being the center of attention.
My cell was ringing even before I left the building. It was my agent, Anastasia. I didn’t have to look at the screen to know that.
“That is what I am talking about! Killed it.”
I beamed under her praise as I walked back to my apartment. I liked living in whatever city my current work in progress was set, so for the past few months, I’d been living in an apartment just off the Vegas Strip.
It was fun, but I was ready to move on. “I was nervous. Could you tell?”
“Pfft, no way. We’ll make an extrovert out of you yet.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, checking for traffic and jogging across the street. “I need to get some editing done.”
I heard her shuffling papers in the background. “Don’t forget the book tour in Texas. You fly out tomorrow.” She knew when I got focused on a project, I tended to lose track of time, space, personal hygiene, food intake… the list goes on.
We said our goodbyes as I walked into the elevator of my building. I moved often, so the place never really felt like mine, but I was happy to collapse on my couch with my laptop anyway.
******
“You are going to make me so much money!” Anastasia screamed.
I blinked at my phone and pushed myself up to sitting. “Glad I could be of service. Wait, what happened?”
“Were you still sleeping? Luna, you broke the fucking internet. Throw on some pants and grab a latte, we have work to do.”
I wiped the sleep from my eyes and padded to the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine. I’d been editing until after two thatmorning, and it was only eight now. “Reel it in, Ana. What’s going on?”
