Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
" H ey, girls!" I exclaim as soon as my face pops onto the screen, among the grid of my fellow Naughty Girls Book Club members lighting up my laptop. A flurry of greetings bounces around me, each one laced with the kind of warmth that only comes from knowing you're among your people. I feel safe being myself with these women and I hope they know how much it means to me to have them in my life.
"RJ! Your hair is giving me life right now," Christine calls out, her laughter smooth and rich through my tiny computer speakers. I can't help but grin, reaching up to pat the messy bun that's more accidental chic than deliberate fashion statement. It’s been my go-to hairstyle for the last month. Truth be told, I really need to get my ends cut and I’ve been postponing going to the salon. I’m under deadline after all. I laugh to myself. Under deadline is the exact time I’d normally schedule a hair appointment.
"Girl, this? This is pure deadline desperation," I quip back, and a chorus of knowing nods greets me. Each of them understands the beautiful chaos of creativity. They’ve been around my writing process for a minute and understand my ADHD self. I should be writing right now. I should be putting pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, but instead, I’m on Zoom with some of my favorite people in the world. Is it a scheduled call? Nope. Is it necessary? Also, nope. But I’m procrastinating. I’m the queen of putting things off until the last minute and I’m known for pulling all-nighters to get my books out in time. Hey, don’t judge. I work best under pressure.
“I am so glad you put together another call this month! I’m dying to talk about 'His Commanding Love'. I mean, that library scene? I'll never look at quiet reading the same way again. I’ll be wiping down all my library books from now on,” Gina says.
"Right?" Jess chimes in, her eyes alight with mischief. "I swear, if a man ever scolded me like that and put me over his knee the way Master James did…”
"Safe for work only, Jess," I remind her, wagging a finger even as we all giggle, well aware that our book selection is anything but. In fact, I often preface our conversation with the NSFW acronyms. It’s in the middle of the afternoon though, and I know some of my readers are joining in from their offices on lunch breaks or what not.
"Fine, fine. But seriously, how about the character development of Master James? I started all eye-rolly at all of the cliches, no offense RJ, not really sure I would like him, but by the end, I was swooning," Jess continues, leaning into the camera with enthusiasm.
"I loved his transformation too," Monica says, tapping the edge of her glasses thoughtfully. "But it's the depth you gave Eliza. Girl went from zero to fierce real quick."
"Agreed!" Karen interjects. "It's not just about a steamy love story, you know? It's that journey of self-discovery. The empowerment! I love how all your female characters have an edge to them. They aren’t just doormats. Not so stupid I just want them to die." Everyone laughs at her comment, but I know what she means. I work hard at trying to develop dimensional characters that don’t fall flat on the pages.
"Speaking of empowerment," Emily adds with a sly grin, "how empowered did you feel writing that last chapter of yours, RJ? Any...personal inspiration? From maybe the guy next door?"
"Ha! If only," I laugh, rolling my eyes for effect while secretly my heart does a little salsa dance. "Nope, no Daddy Doms lurking in my corners. Just me and my trusty laptop."
"Too bad," Jess teases, winking. "We could've had some firsthand research reports for the club! I mean, the way you’ve been talking about KC…"
"Trust me, my imagination is vivid enough, thank you very much," I retort, but I can't deny the flush that creeps up my cheeks or the smirk that threatens to break free. “Everything between us is pretend, remember? We’re fake dating. Emphasis on the fake.”
"Alright, aside from RJ's fictional escapades," Gina steers us back with a chuckle, "let's dive into the themes. What did everyone think about the power dynamics outside the bedroom scenes?"
"Ooh, good topic!" I lean forward, eager to dissect every nuance. This is where I thrive, among these passionate, brilliant women who devour words as hungrily as I do. They’ve become my advance reader team in a way I never knew I needed. Their valuable input has made me a much better author. For the next thirty minutes, we peel back the layers of my most recent story.
"Okay, but seriously, RJ," Lily chimes in after we finish discussing the last chapter, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "when are you going to spill the beans about meeting KC’s mom? And are you sure KC isn’t a Daddy Dom? I mean you said he guides you with a hand on the small of your back and didn’t you say he like lectured you over not wearing a coat?”
I can't suppress my smile as the screen fills with a chorus of laughter and good-natured ribbing. "Oh, come on, guys, KC is not some brooding alpha male straight out of my books. He's just...KC." I wave a nonchalant hand, even as my insides squirm with the knowledge of how close to home their teasing lands.
"Sure, sure," Jackie snickers, "and I'm just casually friends with Chris Hemsworth."
"Hey, if you're holding out on us with a Hemsworth connection, I will personally lead the intervention," I quip back, but my thoughts are already tumbling into a chaotic dance.
Internally, I'm grappling with the absurdity of the situation. Me, Rebekah Johnson, the writer of spicy contemporary romance novels, caught up in a fake relationship that could rival any steamy plot twist. It's laughable, really. My mind flits playfully over the idea of KC as a Daddy Dom, and I almost snort aloud at the ridiculousness of it. KC, with his military precision and demanding personality commanding me to lay across his lap and— oh God, I can't even finish that thought without my face heating up. I mean, there’s the undeniable zing of chemistry that sizzles between us, threatening to ignite something I'm not sure I'm ready to handle. I mean, the guy can make changing his oil look like an act of seduction. Not that I'm paying that much attention. Definitely not.
"RJ? Earth to RJ!" Jess calls out, snapping me back to the present. "You're zoning out. Is KC doing pull-ups shirtless again?" I might have mentioned the view I have from my kitchen window into his living room once before… maybe. Once or twice.
"Ha! In your dreams," I retort, feeling the flush now impossible to hide. "The only exercise KC has been doing around me lately is jumping to conclusions."
They all laugh, and I join in. "Anyway," I redirect before they can spot my blush, "how about that scene where?—"
"Save it, girl," Gina interrupts with a knowing smile. "We all know you're just stalling. You still haven’t told us about dinner with KC’s mom."
"I am not," I protest, but my voice lacks conviction. It's true; I am stalling. Stalling from facing the reality that KC might just be more than a convenient lie. That maybe, just maybe, he's starting to fit into the role of my hero a little too well. I realized when I woke up and immediately checked my phone to see if he’d messaged me, that I might be falling for him and not the fake kind, either.
"Let's get back to the book," I insist, steering the conversation away from dangerous waters. "There's plenty to unpack without diving into my nonexistent love life."
"Nonexistent, she says," Jess mutters with a smirk. "Keep telling yourself that, RJ."
“Yes, I think thou protests too much,” Karen says.
I roll my eyes again, but I can't shake the feeling that my friends might see through me better than I'd like to admit. I quickly catch them up on the news. I’ve committed to pretending to be KC’s girlfriend for two whole weeks. The women respond with cheers, which surprises me.
Then, like a scene change in one of my books, my attention flickers to the movement outside the window beside me. There's KC, standing on the porch. He's leaning against the railing, his arms crossed over his broad chest, exuding that easy confidence that only men who are comfortable in their own skin seem to possess. He squats down, giving me a delicious view of his shapely ass, as his gaze fixes on something out of sight. There's an alertness in his posture. I wonder what it is he’s looking at or for. Did he drop something under the porch?
As if he can feel me staring, KC turns his head and his eyes meet mine through the glass, and nods hello. I nod back and he gives me a small wink, as if he’s telling me he knows I’m watching him. A heat unfurls low in my belly, a warm, tingling sensation that whispers of forbidden thoughts and late-night fantasies. It's ridiculous, this reaction I have to him and how often I have to remind myself that anything between us is made up. Fake. Absolutley, not real.
"RJ, earth to RJ!" The sound of Liz’s voice snaps me back to the grid of animated faces on my laptop screen.
"Sorry, got distracted.”
"Sure, distracted,'" winks Gina from her square, her eyebrow arching in a way that suggests she's reading between the lines of our current romance novel and my life. "Is your ‘distraction’ a tall, dark, Daddy Dom standing outside?"
The group erupts into laughter, and I roll my eyes, playing along with their teasing. "KC is not a Daddy Dom, guys. He doesn’t have any of the characteristics of one." I realize I’ve just lied to all of them.
"Except when he's telling you to lock your doors at night," adds Jess, her giggles infectious. "That's textbook protective behavior, RJ."
"Come on, RJ," Tasha says, pulling me back once more, "admit it. There's something about KC that gets under your skin—in a good way."
"Under my skin?" I scoff, feigning nonchalance. "He's just a neighbor I’m doing a favor for. And trust me, if he had any of those alpha tendencies, I'd be the first to run for the hills."
"Or into his arms," Liz teases, and the others chime in with playful oohs and aahs.
“I think you are overlooking his alpha tendencies. I mean, he told you to wear your coat, you said he put your seatbelt on, and—” Gina is interrupted by the knock on my door. I excuse myself from the call and go to answer the door.
As soon as I pull open the door, the crisp winter air sneaks in, biting at my skin. KC stands on my porch, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, looking like he just stepped out of a brooding, small-town romance novel. I step outside and smile at him.
“You’re not wearing enough clothes to be out here,” he states, voice low and disapproving.
I cross my arms. “Well, hello to you too.”
He exhales sharply, like I’m testing his patience. “Can I borrow a flashlight and apparently my batteries have gone dead on mine. I literally just leant my backup gear to a buddy with my spare. My phone light isn’t strong enough. There’s something under my porch. Think it’s a raccoon or something.”
My brow lifts. “Big, bad soldier scared of a little wildlife?”
He rolls his eyes. “RJ, flashlight. Please.”
I huff but go back inside and grab one from the drawer near the door and shove it into his waiting hand. “Lead the way, fearless warrior.”
KC mutters something under his breath as he turns, and despite the cold, I follow him outside. Snow crunches beneath the shoes I slipped on, and the distant glow of streetlights casts a soft light over the neighborhood. His porch is dusted with fresh snow, and something rustles near the steps.
KC clicks on the flashlight, and the beam lands on a pile of what looks like takeout bags, slightly torn open. He crouches, inspecting it, then sighs. “Well, something was eating this trash. Probably a raccoon or possum, whoever it was, isn’t here now.” He picks up the scattered trash, muttering about people who don’t secure their garbage.
I watch him work, shivering slightly but unwilling to admit it. We walk together to throw away the trash and head back to my porch. We get to the top of the steps, and I turn to face him. He hands me the flashlight back.
“Thanks,” he tells me.
“You’re welcome. Glad it wasn’t a bear.” Bears are a very real threat here. Not that they eat people, but they definitely eat trash.
“Me too. Not in the mood to stare down a black bear tonight.” A cold wind blows and I shiver violently. “You’re freezing.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
KC lets out a slow breath, his gaze locking onto mine. “If you really were my girlfriend…”
The words hang between us, the weight of them shifting something inside me. My stomach tightens. “You’d what?” I ask, my voice quieter than before.
His jaw tenses, and then he shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“No, I want to know. You’d what?”
“Let’s just say I’d break the habit you have of running around in the cold weather without proper gear. At least one part of you would be warm.”
I don’t know what to say. Did he just imply he’d spank me? I mean… This is definitely the stuff my dreams are made from.
“Do I want to know what part of me would be warm?” I finally ask.
“I know what you write, RJ.”
“Yes, romance.”
“No. I know what subgenre you write. Remember when they delivered the box to my house, and I accidentally opened it? It was full of your books. I saw your penname and looked it up.”
“You know what I…what I write?”
“I do.”
“And if I was your girlfriend, you’d make sure one part of me was warm?”
“Yes. That is what I said.”
“I—"
Before I can push, before I can make come up with some sarcastic remark or change the topic or run into my house and hide, he takes a step closer. And then he kisses me.
It’s brief, just the press of his lips against mine, but it knocks the air from my lungs. Warmth floods my chest, and my fingers twitch at my sides, fighting the urge to grab onto his jacket and pull him back in. But before I can even process what’s happening, he pulls away, his expression unreadable.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Sorry. That—shouldn’t have happened.”
I blink up at him, my heart racing. “Oh.”
KC clears his throat, thrusting the flashlight back into my hands like it personally offended him. “Go inside, RJ. It’s cold.”
Numbly, I nod and turn, walking back to my place in a daze. The second I shut my door, I press my fingers to my lips, my mind replaying that moment on repeat.
What the hell just happened?
And more importantly… Why do I want it to happen again?