The Girl Who Wrote Erotica, Book One: The Method (Contemporary Romance) (6 page)

Jamie may have come dangerously close to tearing open some old wounds, but at least he’d removed my writer’s block…

Chapter Five: The
Encounter

Sam showed up at the coffee shop with a big smile, about twenty minutes behind me. I’d just set up my laptop and was finishing off the first of what would likely prove to be several black coffees today, considering I’d slept restlessly and was feeling drained.

I smiled as she slid into the seat across from me. “Good morning,” I greeted her, with a bit of a yawn.

She laughed. “I thought I might surprise you by dropping in and ask how your night went. Judging by the look of you and those droopy eyes, it was a long night.”

I scoffed. “Actually, he was gone before midnight. We had a good time and all, don’t get me wrong. It just wasn’t an all-nighter. I just need to get something to help me sleep better.” I looked down at the screen of my laptop. I’d been putting off the start of my new project by telling myself I needed the perfect name for my newest character and that, if I started out with the wrong name and changed it later, I’d write the guy with the completely wrong personality based on the temporary name.

It was a B.S. excuse, and I knew it. But I just didn’t feel like writing today.

I turned my attention back to my distraction. “So, what happened with your boy last night? Anything sordid and raunchy?”

Sam shook her head and blushed. “We talked a lot, shared a few kisses. Which were amazing, to tell the truth. But no, nothing hot enough for your storyline. We do have a date tomorrow night, though.”

“Nice work.” I was happy for her, even though her night sounded a bit too ‘normal’ for my tastes.

She motioned to my laptop. “Got a start on your latest yet?”

I shook my head, sighing. “No, but I’ve only been here a few minutes. It should go pretty fast, once I get started. My editor will love me for getting it in so quickly. I figure it’ll take about a week to get all the rough spots smoothed out so I’m ready to send it over.” Now, I was just rambling, my focus nowhere near what it usually was, and my interest lacking severely.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked, concerned. “I mean, I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

I was tor
n. I knew I had to get started on this project, but at the same time, I had a sense of loneliness I couldn’t quite shake, and her presence was helping. Besides, I really wasn’t ready to start writing. “No, it’s okay. Like I said, this one won’t take long…”

We chatted for a little while, and I refilled my coffee. She was excited about a new part it looked like she’d landed, and while I said the proper congratulations and smiled and nodded at the right times, I wasn’t paying enough attention to the details to know what part it was. I was too distracted, my mind a desultory mess of jumbled thoughts and feelings. I found myself people-watching again: feeling sorry for the stressed-out mother with the crying infant; smiling at the older couple walking in the door together; watching the young corporate guy in a suit trying to carry a dozen drinks back to the office. All around me, life was happening – a million people, a million stories.

And then I froze. There he was again.

I instantly turned to Sam, trying with all my might to give her a hundred percent of my attention. I wanted to ignore him, wanted it to be okay that we were in the same location at the same time. But something about his presence made me so jumpy and uneasy that I kept scanning the room to keep track of him, kept casting furtive glances in his direction.

“Tasha, are you okay?” Sam finally asked. “You seem a little edgy all of a sudden.”

I shook my head and pasted on a false smile. “I’m alright.” I picked up my empty coffee mug, trying to shake off the moment. “I’ll be right back, I need a refill.”

I stood up abruptly and rushed to the counter before Sam could say anything more. I tried not to look around the room for him, but my curiosity was just too much – I scanned the room, but I didn’t see him anywhere. Coffee in hand, I hurried back over to the table to find Sam packing up her purse and readying to go.

“Leaving already?” I asked, a little disappointed.

She shrugged. “I’ve distracted you long enough, considering I know that for some reason, you’ve been putting off your work for one reason or another. You’ll feel better and healthier once you get this writing done and off your chest.”

She was right, but that didn’t mean I wanted to accept it. I nodded reluctantly. “I’ll see you later, Sam.” We said our goodbyes as she gathered her things and leaned down for a quick hug.

And then, once again, it was just me and the blank screen in front of me.

I had a fresh refill, and I wasn’t hungry, so I didn’t have any excuse not to get started writing. I did my best to try make my surroundings disappear, to focus on nothing but the story. “Just write one paragraph,” I told myself. “That’s all you need to worry about right now.”

I took a deep breath and began typing. My little mental trick had worked: as soon as the first sentence was down on the page, I got totally into the zone. By the time I took a deep breath and leaned back to stretch, two hours had passed, and I had several pages of excellent work down. I hit the save button and packed up my things. I was ready to be home sweet home, away from the public, curled up in front of my television with a blanket, some snacks, and a drink to sip. It sounded heavenly, and after the work I’d done, I felt I deserved it.

Except that
, upon arriving home, I felt a sense of emptiness, something I’d never felt in my own home. There was nothing in my house that should have made me feel this way. I’d lived here for over four years, slowly creating my own space, turning the house into a home. I’d been content here, and felt more out of place with guests than alone. Now, however, it seemed as though some sort of life force the house had previously possessed was now missing.

But why?

Whatever the reason, I knew I had to try and shake it off. Instead of holing up in the living room instantly, or allowing myself to wallow in my bed, I decided to run a bath, a full tub of hot water, complete with bubbles and aromatherapy candles. I turned on some soft, relaxing music and laid back, clearing my mind and just…
existing
.

Unfortunately, my thoughts quickly turned to Jamie. The look on his face as he left… The hollow feeling inside when I was alone again, as I’d requested. The way I’d been satisfied sexually, and yet still felt like something was missing. The way I’d questioned that feeling, for the first time in my life.

I sat up in the tub, frustrated and scowling. What the hell was wrong with me? I wasn’t the type of person to want what everyone else had. I didn’t covet my neighbor, I wasn’t looking for happily ever after, and I
certainly
didn’t want to share my life and my space with someone – even temporarily.

And of all people to make me consider this stuff, why Jamie? Why on Earth would I be thinking of someone I barely knew – and was fairly certain I wouldn’t even get along with?

Come on, Natasha,
I tried to reassure myself.
It’s just that he’s fresh in your mind. There’s nothing special about Jamie… nothing at all.
It made sense if you thought about it – I’d simply given Jamie a place in my mind because he was the only face I could picture.

It angered me, though. After all, I really felt my life was perfect – in a way – and I really didn’t need any men in my life, complicating things. I had everything I wanted, everything I could ask for. I had an excellent career and made great money at it, had a name that people recognized. This home was beautiful and all mine. My car was nice, something I’d chosen, and I had good friends, good acquaintances. I could get almost any guy I wanted, have him in my bed for a night, and say goodbye without guilt or emotional attachment. I had what all men craved and many women envied.

I was happy.

…Wasn’t I?

With a violent shove, I pushed myself up out of the tub, wrapping myself in a towel and stomping to the kitchen. I reached into the drawer where I stuffed all the miscellaneous items that would eventually be deemed trash, the things I held onto as though they might have value until I was completely sure I had no use for them. After a moment, I found what I was looking for.

Sitting down on the barstool, I studied the business card in my hand and tried to convince myself that this was a terrible idea.

But I had a plan. My stories happened in one of two configurations: either it was a short story with a single erotic scene, or a longer work where the heroine carried on a sordid affair with the hero for a brief period before they parted ways, with multiple sex scenes. But even those longer works were usually based on a single encounter I’d had, simply embellished to create more of a storyline.

If my heroines could carry on a sexual relationship with someone for a week, two weeks – even longer why couldn’t I? What was I so scared of, anyway? If I tried hard to keep my head above water, there was no way I’d grow more attached than I wanted to. It would just be sex, and at the end of it – when
I
wanted it to end – I’d have gained a new perspective, a new experience to fuel my writing. What could be better?

I gritted my teeth and bucked against the idea, rubbing the business card between my thumb and forefinger. If I was going to do this and make it work without going against every fiber of my being, I had to set boundaries for myself. I had to set some ground rules, some limits to live by.

I gave myself two weeks. I would call Jamie, invite him over and take him to bed, and I could carry on in that fashion for the extent of two weeks. At the end of the two weeks, I would say goodbye. I would be finished with my current story by then, and I’d have nothing left to gain by being with him.

And in order to assure I didn’t go back on my decision, I would plan a vacation: a trip that would take me out of the country and away from everyone and everything, including writing, for at least another two weeks. The hard-stop, I called it. It was brilliant.

I let out a long sigh. This was a decent enough plan to settle my nerves, and I had no more excuses. So before I could second-guess myself any further, I reached for my cell phone, dialed the number, and hit the send button. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, forcing myself to remain calm.
You’re doing a good thing,
I told myself. And it’s true: this
was
a good thing, something that would fuel my creativity and make me stop feeling so damned sorry for myself for no good reason. Plus, it would take away any doubts I had that I was better off alone. After all, by the end of the two weeks, I’d be sick of Jamie and ready to move on – I was sure of it.

He answered on the third ring, and I cleared my throat.

“Jamie, it’s Natasha. …From last night.”

There was a long silence, and I wondered if he hung up on me. I wouldn’t blame him, and I was just about to press the end button when he spoke.

“Well, I didn’t
expect to hear from you tonight,” he answered. He didn’t add the “…or ever again,” but we both knew it was implied. I winced.

“Look, I’m sorry about how I acted,” I said. “It was rude and obnoxious. The truth is, I don’t like to spend a lot of time around other people, and to be honest…” I took a deep breath, not used to this level of candor. “…It kind of bugged me that I enjoyed your company so much.”

“Is that so?” I could hear his smile piercing all the way through the phone line.  He sounded so damned cocky that I wanted to take back what I’d said, but I was over the cliff now, and I wasn’t going to back down.

“Okay, so let’s move on,” I continued in a rush, before he could say anything more. “I thought it would be nice to have you over tonight. Maybe around seven? I could whip up some dinner, and we could watch a movie, have a drink…” I trailed off, insinuating the rest with my silence.

He paused a long beat before speaking. “I see. Do I get to stay for the whole movie, or only part of it?”

I smiled. “I guess I deserve that. So is that a yes?”