Page 91 of One Night with Number Nineteen

My mouth drops open and for a second, I just stare at him.

Then I fully process the worry on his face and snap out of my shock.

“I’m okay,” I say, interrupting his next question—this one about whether he needs to call Faye. “I promise,” I add when he opens his mouth again. “I was writing The Book That Shall Not Be Written and it was a sad chapter.”

His teeth snap together.

“It was a really good chapter,” I say. “One that’s going to tear hearts to shreds.” I smile. “All so I can put them back together in the last act of the book. Don’t worry,” I add. “You’ll see when you read it.”

“You’re going to let me read it?”

I hadn’t realized what I said, not until he semi-repeated it back.

But then I know—know—the truth of it.

Know that some part of this book is his. That it’s been from the first sentence.

“Of course,” I say. “If you want.”

The way his face changes—hesitant to excited to so fucking proud of me—makes my heart hurt.

Just…in the best possible way.

Right.

I need to change the subject.

“How are you doing?” I ask.

He stares at me for a moment, as though weighing what he wants to say next, whether to keep us in the soft, almost fragile—and far too emotional for the middle of the night—moment, or whether to allow the change in subject, the shift to lighter, easier things.

And I know he deliberately goes for light when he grins and says, “Well, I’m a little worried about what I’m going to owe you, Pages.”

I grin back. “You don’t have to worry.”

“I don’t?”

“Nope.” A beat. “It’s simple, really.”

“Oh yeah?”

I nod and hit save on my manuscript then close my laptop and lean back in my chair, smirking at him through the screen.

“It’s time to get naked, Cupcake.”

Twenty-Seven

Sawyer

Her eyes dance, and that smile of hers is sinful.

And hell if it doesn’t call to the devil inside me.

I prop my phone on the nightstand and whip off my shirt.

She chokes. “Sawyer!”

“What?” I ask innocently, sitting up and reaching for the waistband of my sweats.