“You might be more comfortable at the table. Plus it’s warmer out here.”
“No, thank you,” I say stiffly, walking straight to my room and closing the door, even if that means being cold. The further I am away from him, the better.
I sink down onto the bed and flip my laptop open, desperate to dive into my romance novel. I should be working on another article for Justin, but I’ll be honest—I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel for upbeat angles on being single. What Agnes said at Christmas keeps coming back to me:being a single lady is only fun when there isn’t anyone special.And Michael—the guy who wouldn’t have sex with me when I was drunk, who went out of his way to bring me up here even though he was mad—he’s pretty fucking special, I think.
But it’s not just that. I’ve sent through three, feature-length articles now, and while Justin has been encouraging, they haven’t even been published yet. It’s already the second of January, and he said the column would be launched in the new year. After everything, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m even in the running for it after all.
I push the thought from my head as my laptop powers on. Because right now, there’s only one thing I want to write about, and that’snotbeing single.
It’s an hour later when I look up from my laptop and my neck is stiff. Michael was right, I should work at the table. I crack open the door to the living room and I’m relieved to see he’s not there. He must have lit the fire in his room, after all.
I wander out and set my laptop down on the dining table, then pop into the bathroom. The wooden floor is cool under my feet and I shiver, gazing at the bathtub longingly. I could have a quick bath to warm up before getting back into my writing. That would be nice.
Michael has left some fluffy towels out for me, so I run the bath and slip my clothes off, sliding into the deliciously warm water. I sit in the tub, watching the steam swirl up into the air. It’s amazing that I’m here in this warmth while the world outside is freezing. The weather here is crazy. In a way, I’m relieved Michael is here with me, because if I were snowed in by myself I’m sure I’d panic, or freeze to death. At least with him here I know I’ll be okay. Of course, the idea of him helping to keep me safe only makes me want him more.
With a sigh, I drain the tub and dry off, slipping my clothes back on. The last thing I’m going to do is walk across the living room in nothing but a towel in case Michael is out there.
But the bath did the trick, I think. With a serene smile, I head back out into the living room, feeling warm and snuggly, ready to dive back into my writing.
I find Michael sitting at the table with my laptop open in front of him. He stands slowly and turns to me, his eyes wide.
I tilt my head. “What?”
His cheeks are flushed and he looks a little shaken. No, actually, he looks—well, almost turned on. What was he reading on there? Oh…
No.
He huffs out a breath. “I, uh, read some of your romance writing.”
Fuck.
31
“What?”
A smile nudges his lips. “It’sreallygood.”
Heat rises up my neck and colors my cheeks. If he read it, surely he’s figured out that I’m writing about us. And if that is the case, then… I’m going to die.
“Uh, well,” I begin, groping for some kind of reasonable explanation and grasping nothing. I reach over and slam my laptop shut.
“You left it open. I just caught some of it, then I couldn’t stop reading.” He shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry.”
I glance at the front door. I don’t care if the snow is up to my neck—I’d rather be out there right now.
“Alex.” His voice is a low, husky rumble as he says my name. “Wow.”
My gaze flits back to him and I realize I’ve lost the ability to speak. Why on earth didn’t I close my laptop? How could I have been sostupid?
“You know,” he murmurs, taking a step closer, “I couldn’t help but notice the names you’ve chosen for your characters.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I stare down at the carpet, my face glowing. This can’t be happening.Please, God, I’ll do anything to make this stop.
“Matthew and Annie. They’reverysimilar to Michael and Alex.” He steps closer still. “And some of the scenes you’ve chosen seem familiar. There was this one scene in a bookstore, one in a hallway on Halloween, and another in a cabin…”
Fuck. He’s figured it out.
