Chapter 8 #2
His expression comes to life again, a boyish grin perking on his face. “Nah, just kidding. I love hockey.”
I look askance at him for a moment, before I’m caught off guard by laughter bubbling from my chest. My lips tilt upward in a way that makes my cheeks sore. I’m not used to it.
“Sometimes I don’t know what to think of you, Jamie.”
His grin notches higher. Joy shines in his eyes, like my laughter was a drug to him.
“So you’re saying you haven’t made up your mind to dislike me? I can live with that.”
I roll my eyes and sip my coffee.
A stretch of comfortable silence passes while we drink. Then Jamie turns his body toward me in an animated movement.
“Alright, I tried to resist asking, because I’m sure writers hate it when people do. But I have to know. What’s your book about?”
A hesitant hum rumbles in my throat. I haven’t told anyone, literally anyone, any details about my book yet.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” Jamie says, but then he smiles sheepishly, and his eyes glint with a sly urging. “Though I really want you to.”
For some reason that I shouldn’t analyze too much, the idea of Jamie being the one person I’ve shared my idea with appeals to me. It makes an unfamiliar warmth flicker somewhere in my chest. I could try to tell myself it’s the coffee, but that’s already starting to get lukewarm in my cup.
I push past the swirl of self-consciousness in my stomach to begin, “Well, it’s a mystery-thriller kind of book. I’m hoping it’ll turn into a series.”
Jamie’s eyes light up with interest, and he nods encouragingly.
“It’s basically a detective story. So, one of my main characters is a woman whose parents died unexpectedly.
They were morticians and owned a funeral business.
She has to come back home to take over the business, even though she doesn’t want to, because she has younger siblings to look after.
She gets a body one day, and she disagrees with the official cause of death.
She’s sure that the woman was murdered. So she launches her own investigation into it, which leads to her butting heads with one of the detectives on the police force, though he slowly comes around to seeing she’s right.
Then they solve it together. That’s pretty much how each book would go, and there’s a long-term will-they-won’t-they romantic plot between the woman and the detective.
There are a lot more details, of course, but that’s the basic idea. ”
Jamie’s expression is vivid. He’s blinking slowly. “Wow. That sounds freaking awesome. I want to read it right now.”
I blush. “Don’t expect it to be done too soon.” I sigh. “I’m having the worst writer’s block right now. I absolutely can’t get started on this one chapter.”
“Why not? What about it is giving you trouble?”
Heat prickles up my spine. That’s a question I don’t want to answer while sitting just inches away from Jamie. Not after I’ve contemplated using him to help dislodge the block that’s keeping me from writing the sexually charged scene.
My eyes tick to his hands. Big, powerful, veiny. The thought of him working one of those long, sturdy digits between my thighs bursts into my mind, and an ache pulses between my legs.
Even as I try to chase the thought away, electricity seeps into the air between us. With Jamie so close, and with his plush lips, broad shoulders, big hands, and masculine scent undeniably present, the idea seems more sensible than ever.
Jamie’s attentive. He likes to please. I don’t think that would change in the bedroom. I don’t think he’d become like all the other guys I’ve been with, only interested in getting himself off.
Something tells me he’s very open to putting in the effort to make his partner feel good. With him, I could work off the frustration that’s come with my long dry spell, and have an experience to fuel the descriptive prose I need to execute this chapter.
I pull myself away from an impending horniness spiral and answer with a deflection. “Some chapters are just harder than others,” I say with a shrug.
“Have any strategies for coping with writer’s block?” he asks.
I tilt my head. “Not really. I mean, I’ve struggled with certain chapters or scenes before, but nothing like this.
Maybe part of it is that I’m focusing on it too much.
It probably doesn’t help that literally all I’m doing with my time is either working at the café or working on the book. I need a hobby or something.”
“Yeah, to get you focused on something else for a little while. It’s like lifting weights. You need a recovery period.”
The analogy makes sense. “Right. I have been thinking of finding one, something to get me out of my apartment and give me a change of scenery. I’ve just been too preoccupied with my writing to think seriously about it.”
“Alright, we have an agenda, then. Finding you the right hobby.”
I lift an eyebrow at him. “We have an agenda?”
His smile is so boyishly innocent and enthusiastic that I can’t even make the skeptical and discouraging face that I intended to.
“That’s right,” he says. “We’re going to find you a hobby. This town might be small, but there’s actually tons of stuff to do. It’s just a matter of trying different things and seeing what clicks with you.”
“You think me finding a hobby is a two-person job?”
“Nah. I’m positive you can succeed in anything you put your mind to single-handedly. I’d just like to have a front-row seat to see it happen.”
A fuzzy sensation rolls through my chest. I’ve never been into sappiness. And that line was so sappy that it could outcompete Canada’s entire maple syrup industry. But I didn’t hate it. I should have, but I didn’t.
A healthy dose of my usual skepticism still peeks through. “Your faith in me might be misplaced.”
His smile is unflappable. “Nope.”
I roll my eyes. “You hardly know me, but you’re confident I can do anything.”
His smile doesn’t move an inch. “Yep.”
I can’t help but laugh. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Smile still on his face, Jamie shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a stupid guy.”
My eyes roll again, even though the blush I pushed away is fighting to come back. “Well, I wish one of us were smart enough to come up with viable hobby ideas.”
“What’s the last thing you can remember that really piqued your interest? Something you read, or watched, or thought about. Anything at all?" he asks.
“I did watch this art documentary the other day. About the beginning of the Impressionist movement. I found it really fascinating.”
Jamie’s eyes glimmer. “Alright, that’s our first try. Art.”
“Huh?”
“There’s an awesome free art class on campus. You don’t have to be a student or anything, you just show up and learn how to paint. Have you ever tried painting before?”
“No,” I answer, drawing out the vowel sound tentatively.
Jamie shrugs, still grinning. “Maybe you’re a natural. Let’s find out.”
This is a dumb idea. I’ve never even held a brush before. I’ve been trying to discourage Jamie’s interest in me, and now he wants to take me to an art class? I know the answer I should give him.
But I feel a different answer swelling from my throat, almost outside my control …
“You know what? What the hell. Sure.”
Jamie’s eyes glow like they’re headlights. His smile notches entirely too high. It makes me feel the need to set something straight.
“It’s not a date.”
My words don’t dull his expression. “Of course not.”
I lower my brow. “I mean it.”
He nods. “Loud and clear.”
I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve gotten myself into something that would’ve been better avoided.
What’s really concerning? I can’t shake my anticipation for it, either.