Page 14 of Love Out Loud

This is starting to get weird. “You’re making me sound like Shirley Temple,” I grouse.

“That’s because I thought commenting on your bombshell curves and long legs would make it awkward. But that’s true, too. You could have any guy you wanted, including Hot Lennon.”

“Can you stop calling him that?”

“Why? Jealous?”

I blink at her. “No.”

“Okay.” She says it like she doesn’t believe me, then she laughs.

“I’m so glad my distress is a source of amusement for you,” I intone.

Her expression falls to one of sincerity. “It’s not. I swear.” She takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “Listen, I have so much respect for you. Raising an amazing kid, getting your master’s, landing a full professorship here, not to mention all the shit you had to deal with while you were doing it. But I’ve never seen you date. Or, for that matter, perform. I kind of thought you’d get back into at least one of those things when Devin got older, but you didn’t. And it’s none of my business why,” she clarifies quickly, “but this is a chance for you to do both. Maybe you won’t hook up with Hot Lennon. But you can do something I know you love doing, and maybe bang a Los Angeles himbo in the process. And then come back and tell me all about it.” Her words are crass, but her smile is genuine. I return it, even as my stomach flops with new fears I didn’t know I had until just now.

“You’re right,” I admit. “I think half the reason he suggested this in the first place is because he caught me in a midlife-crisis moment and felt bad. He’s trying to shake me out of it.” I shrug. “And I probably agreed because I do need this. Not to ‘bang a hot himbo,’ necessarily, but to do something…else. Just for a little while.”

Hannah nods sagely as if she came to that conclusion a while ago. Who knows. Maybe she did. Maybe everyone knows more about what I need than I do. I just wish they’d loop me in on it every once in a while.

“Okay, so what’s first? Getting you a bathing suit that’ll turn heads?” she asks.

I laugh, and some of the butterflies in my stomach calm slightly. “I suppose the first thing I need to do is record my audition. He didn’t tell me what to record, so I guess I’ll send the first chapter?” I honestly have no idea what the right way to go about this is.

Hannah’s expression goes blank again, then she suddenly starts to cackle.

I lay my palms on my desktop, trying not to clench my fists in irritation. “What?”

She dabs fake tears away from her eyes. Over-acter, I think.

“You haven’t read the book yet, have you?” she asks through her residual laughter.

“No,” I admit. “I bought it when it came out, but I haven’t had a chance to read it. I was going to thumb through it today to make some character notes, but then I got roped into this conversation.” I raise an eyebrow at her.

She hasn’t stopped laughing, though it seems like she’s trying to hold back. “The book opens with the couple hooking up in a storage room closet.”

“It does not.” Maybe if I say it, I can will it to be true.

Hannah snorts, then covers her mouth again. “It does.”

I drop my forehead to the desk in front of me, then bang it a few times for good measure. “I can’t do this.”

“It’s a brilliant example of starting a story in medias res, actually,” Hannah says in her best professor voice.

“I seriously can’t do this,” I say louder, though it’s still directed at the floor.

“You can, and you will.” She’s all business now, and I’m wondering where that was a moment ago. It would have been more helpful than her hysteria. “Come on, slugger. I’ll help you find a good passage to send in, and you can get it recorded here before you head home for the night.”

***

After a lot of back-and-forth and some procrastination with a discussion about who is going to watch my townhouse while I’m gone, Hannah ultimately ends up offering to house-sit and then persuading—ahem, bullying—me to go ahead and record the first chapter. I do it right in the office because I don’t have access to a recording booth, and Lennon had said it didn’t matter. They just need to hear my voice.

Hannah wasn’t lying about it starting right in the middle of the action, so to speak, and even though she wisely excuses herself while I record it, I don’t know if my face has ever felt so hot for so long in my life. I blush through the entire thing like some kind of prude.

I send the unedited take to Lennon before I can overthink it. It’d be his job to edit it anyway, so as soon as I get a take that’s as clean as possible, I let him have it. I shut down my computer and put my phone on silent before heading home. If Lennon listens to this and calls me, I don’t want to know about it. I need some time for the flames licking my cheeks to calm down before I talk to him.

By the time I pull into our garage, Devin is already home. When I open the front door, I’m greeted by the scent of garlic, onions, and tomatoes. I toe off my shoes and drop by bag near the door before making my way to the kitchen. Devin is at the stove, her dark ponytail bouncing as she dances back and forth in front of the stove. She’s stirring what looks like marinara sauce, and there’s another, larger pot of boiling water next to it.

“You cooked dinner?” I try not to sound incredulous, but this almost never happens. “What’s the occasion?”