12. A Perfect Date
A PERFECT DATE
“ I ’m sorry,” she said. “I’m getting ahead of myself. I know I’m kind of all over the place in my life or my thoughts, but I tend to plan things out in my way.”
“You look for how something could go or end?” he asked.
Warren didn’t think it was a bad trait since he did the same thing.
“It’s hard not to in my career,” she said. “I have a loose storyline in my head, but my characters drive the story.”
“How is that?”
“Do you want to be bored with this?”
“It’s not boring to me,” he said. “I told you I love to read. Maybe I always secretly thought it’d be neat to create my own story.”
“I’m always one to encourage someone,” she said. “If we are going to sit here and talk, do you want a drink or something to eat? I’m not used to entertaining, and my manners tend to be lacking.”
“If you’ve got water, that’s good. I always stay hydrated.”
She popped up quickly, his eyes landing on her tan shorts that stopped at mid-thigh. It was barely seventy out, but her sunroom was nice and warm and he was glad he’d put shorts on too.
Her mint green shirt was a little on the baggy side and didn’t quite reach the top of her shorts, leaving about half an inch of bare skin that she was teasing him with.
He’d been the one who threw down the challenge of teasing her so it was only fair that she might be doing it to him.
She came back with two bottles of water and handed one off to him.
“I drink when I remember to,” she said. “It’s bad, I know.”
“Do you get any exercise at all?” he asked. “I’m just curious.”
“I do stretches and stuff when I’m done writing. My body is pretty sore after. I should learn to do yoga, but I’m lazy. I walk in nice weather. It helps me think. I just go out and walk around the area. There isn’t a lot of traffic.”
“Let’s do it now,” he said. His head turned quickly when there was a blur of gray out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve got a cat?”
“I do,” she said. “His name is Lucky because he’s damn lucky I found him outside and he didn’t freeze to death. Someone abandoned him. I think he’s about six months old. He doesn’t like people either. He might warm up to you at some point.”
“He’s going to go hide now?” he asked.
“Yeppers. He’ll be fine. You want to walk around my neighborhood?” she asked.
“I don’t like to sit still and you could use getting out and moving. If you don’t have any plans today, we can talk because I know you like to do that. You can tell me all about your process in writing, and then I’m going to show you simple exercises you can do each day.”
She smiled. “Sharing a little of ourselves with the other?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Unless you wanted to do something else?”
“No,” she said. “That is a perfect date. Let me go find a pair of sneakers.”
She jumped up and ran out of the room and up the stairs. He picked up her water and his and moved back into the kitchen to wait for her.
The noise she made barreling down the stairs a minute later made him laugh.
She had some antics to her movement, and he was pretty sure it was second nature to her.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yep. What is it you want to know?”
“How do you come up with your ideas for a story?”
“I have no idea,” she said, laughing. “Let’s go out through the garage and I can set the code to lock the house that way without having to carry a key with me.”
Once they were in her driveway, he asked, “How can you not know where your ideas come from?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “They just do. I can’t force it.
I’ll be out in public and see someone do something really stupid and my mind will be like, what would happen if someone decked them for that move?
Then the next thing I know, I’ve got this story building in my mind. I either run with it or ditch it.”
“You could build a story off of that?” he asked.
“Not a full one. Just a scene. But once I’ve got a scene, then I’ll try to figure out where the next one goes or how that started.
Like maybe that jerk said what they did because their cousin is missing and they don’t know how to find them.
I don’t know. I’m throwing darts as I talk now, but that is how my mind works. ”
“I kind of follow. Do you know who your killer is going to be before you start?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “That’s the funny part. Or not always.”
“That’s crazy,” he said.
They were walking down the street now. They’d passed someone out mowing their lawn, but no one waved or looked at them.
He’d grabbed a baseball hat out of his SUV and put it on with his sunglasses.
Emma hadn’t said one word about it. She had sunglasses on her face too. He was pretty sure hers had more to do with keeping the sun out of her eyes rather than hiding who she was.
“I normally know a loose plot of my books. I know the main characters. The hero and heroine and what their personalities should be like. It doesn’t mean they don’t come off another way, and that is what I meant about them guiding the story.
If they go too far off course, I have to backtrack and change things or let them flow. Depends on how good they are.”
She was laughing when she said that. “I’ll take your word for it. I bought one of your books when you left on Thursday night. I couldn’t put it down and finished it last night before bed.”
“You didn’t say anything last night,” she said. “Which book?”
“This is horrible, but I don’t remember the name. The first murder was in the kitchen. The hero was Detective Sloan. He saved Molly, the sous chef.”
Emma smiled. “Ahhhh,” she said. “ Appetite For Murder . Grace helped me with that one over a year ago.”
“It’s only been out for about six months,” he said. “How long does it take for you to write a book?”
“I can write a novel in a month start to finish with edits and tweaks before it goes to my editor. I can draft a book in about two weeks, depending on how fast I get lost in it. But then I spend another two weeks going back through and tightening it up. That book went through my publisher, so they take longer. Their editor goes through it, they send it back for anything I’ve got to fix, then it could be a few more rounds before it’s ready.
When I self-publish a book, it doesn’t take as long for me to get it out there. ”
“What’s the difference?” he asked.
“About fifty-five percent in royalties,” she said, laughing.
“What?” he asked.
She turned her head and smirked at him. “Traditionally published books only pay the author about fifteen percent of the net on average of their sales. After their upfront contract amount. The publishers have overhead and take on the bulk of the advertising costs. When I publish a book myself, I get seventy percent of those sales. But I also have to pay for my advertising myself.”
“Got it,” he said. “Just like my agent gets a percentage of everything I do.”
“Yes, it makes them work harder if they want to get paid more, but they rely on us. My agent doesn’t get any part of my self-published books. I put out about six of them a year, give or take. That’s the bulk of my income, but it piggybacks on the success of my other three books.”
“Like me being a great quarterback gets me those sponsorships,” he said.
“Exactly,” she said, bumping her hip into his.
It wasn’t his long-game plan to make money that way, but once he realized he was marketable for it, he kept his nose clean to bring in even more.
Except for his house and his mother’s, he lived off his sponsorship money and invested his contract money.
“Did you think you’d be this successful?” he asked.
“I did,” she said. “Not because of my family name. I just knew I had what it took. I was lucky enough to get some short stories published in college. I had an agent fairly early. Some authors never get agents or publishing contracts and go on to have extremely successful wealthy self-published careers. It’s all about marketing. ”
“I know that,” he said.
“You’ve got to be every sponsor’s wet dream,” she said.
She shouldn’t have said that as he was taking a drink, causing him to cough and spit out some of his water.
Emma burst out laughing.
“I didn’t think you’d say that.”
“I say a lot of things people don’t think that I will,” she said. “Get used to that. I might not be good for your image.”
“I don’t care about those things,” he said.
Which was a lie.
He did care.
But he didn’t think Emma would do anything to tarnish her family name either.
If she was a little silly or funny, that wasn’t a big deal.
Normally, the media ate that shit up. Especially if it appeared human and not calculated.
“I think you do,” she said. “But you don’t need me for your career, and I don’t need you for mine. We should get that clear.”
“Crystal,” he said.
“I want you to know that news of us being seen together would probably make my readers or fans start watching football if they don’t already. That won’t impact your income though. I’m not so sure if your fans will check out my books.”
“They would,” he said. “You know that.”
And he hoped to hell that wasn’t part of a publicity stunt for her.
He hadn’t thought about it until now.
“Yeah,” she said, grinning. “They would. And it’d benefit me, but I don’t get to know people to benefit me for money. I don’t need to remind you what I stand to inherit, right?”
He snorted. “No. Which stands to reason what your family might think of me if they thought we might be dating.”
He’d rather know that now than worry he’d never be good enough.
Emma burst out laughing so hard that she stopped and was doubled over with it.
She went to start speaking and then laughed even harder.
She finally sucked in some air. “I’m sorry. I think I’m good. Nope, I’m not. Give me a second.”
Tears were running down her face, she was laughing so hard.
“What is so funny?”
“Oh, Warren. You have no clue. Hunter’s wife was a foster child who he met when she worked at the front desk.
She got pregnant when they were dating. My family didn’t care one bit.
They love her for who she is. My brother’s wife was in the service as military police and when she got out had to raise her half-sister because her mother decided she didn’t want to do it anymore.
Chelsea is a badass . She’s the best. I love my sister-in-law and never gave one shit where she came from.
Do you think my family is going to judge you?
America’s good old boy quarterback rising from your past and supporting your single mother and two sisters while donating to good causes?
There isn’t one bad article I can find about you.
You’re almost too perfect if you want to be honest. So yeah, no one is judging you. ”
“When you put it that way,” he said, “I sound kind of boring.”