Chapter 4 Theo
Theo
The grocery store was freezing.
Theo nudged his cart forward, mentally calculating how long before the eggs started sweating. Two more aisles, tops. Maybe three if he quickly doubled back to produce for that guacamole he meant to grab.
But instead of focusing on his shopping list: almond milk, pasta, whatever cereal had more fiber, he kept replaying one very specific scene in his mind.
Chapter Seventeen. Paul.
He knew damn well he should’ve started with something tamer. The introduction to Paul, maybe. Something with banter. Something with clothes.
But no.
He’d scrolled past the prologue, past the playful first chapters, and landed on gym scene in the middle of a storm. One filthy, emotionally charged scene that showed him exactly what kind of writer Maya Brooks had become.
She was deliberate, shameless, and smart.
So was he.
He’d read it into the mic with more control than he felt.
Hell, the second he finished recording, he’d turned off the booth light and sat in the dark for a full minute, trying not to think about her voice accompanying his.
About her mouth. About the way she’d texted “a little high-heat” like it wasn’t a declaration of war. It had been hard to sleep last night.
She hadn’t messaged him since.
Which was fair.
She was probably still deciding whether to block him or hire him.
Theo grabbed a container of strawberries on instinct, forgetting to check for freshness. He wasn’t thinking about mold. He was reconciling with the fact that he’d spent the entire night reading through her manuscript like it was a love letter she hadn’t meant to send.
It wasn’t just hot.
It was so fucking good.
Sharp dialogue. Emotional pacing. Characters who were messy and guarded and layered. And then there was Paul, her angriest character, her most tortured, her filthiest fantasy. A man Theo had absolutely no business enjoying as much as he did.
He glanced at his phone. Still no text from Maya.
He told himself he wasn’t disappointed.
Theo lingered too long in the cereal aisle, reading labels without comprehension.
His earbuds were in, but he wasn’t listening to music.
Just replaying her audiobook sample in his head like some kind of freak.
Not even the sexiest lines, just her prose.
Her rhythm. The way she’d described Paul’s scarred knuckles resting on the back of a leather couch.
The quiet pain in her heroine’s voice when she admitted she didn’t want to be wanted unless it meant something.
It wasn’t just heat. Maya wrote like she knew people. Understood shame. Hunger. Control.
And yeah, maybe he turned the gain down on the mic and let his voice drop lower than usual. Maybe he dragged out a few lines too long, just to see how they’d taste… but that’s what her writing did to him.
He checked his phone again.
Still nothing.
He should leave it alone. Let her decide. Let her ghost him if she needed to.
Theo passed the floral section on his way out of produce, nodding absently to the teenage cashier arranging a bouquet of carnations.
His mom’s birthday was coming up soon. He should send her something while she’s visiting his Aunt Joan in San Diego.
He’d begged her to use her PTO, and she finally relented.
Lord knows she’d had enough days saved up.
After decades of night shifts, double shifts, holiday shifts, rest was a wish that he wanted to grant her.
Beth Ward loved him, no question about that; she just had a hard time taking care of him on top of being a nurse after the divorce.
That’s why he’d stayed in IT before taking a risk on the podcast. It was important for Theo to send her money when he had it.
Sure, she’d put up a fuss every time she found a new deposit in her checking account, but he knew it helped.
Theo pushed his cart into the snack aisle and reached for a box of brown sugar cinnamon Pop-Tarts when the memory hit.
The last time he’d eaten these, he hadn’t bought them. He’d stolen them.
Or borrowed, depending on how Maya told the story.
It was his junior year of high school. He and Nate had just finished a late-night gaming session, and Theo had wandered into the Brookses’ kitchen like he lived there.
Maya had been grading papers at the table, wearing a big “Northeastern” sweatshirt, sipping from a chipped mug that said World’s Okayest Grad Student.
She was a rare sight back then, only coming home to her parents’ house occasionally.
He thought she hadn’t noticed when he slipped the last pack of Pop-Tarts into his hoodie.
But she’d raised one eyebrow, scribbled something on a stack of essays, and said without looking up, “You better toast those. We don’t eat cold pastries in this house.”
He’d never felt so seen. Or so busted.
Later that week, she had bought a whole box just for him, writing TEDDY’S TARTS. DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, NATE in Sharpie on the side.
He stared at the box in his hand now, the memory so vivid it made his throat ache.
It wasn’t just the food. Though Maya probably had a feeling that his fridge wasn’t stocked well at home. Theo’s mom ordered out a lot more than she was able to cook.
To him, being noticed like that had felt like being known.
Maya had always had that ability, like she could read people in the dark.
She probably still did.
Which made the fact that she hadn’t texted back yet… a little terrifying.
He tossed the Pop-Tarts in his cart anyway. Paid. Bagged. Headed home with a week’s worth of groceries and the voice of Paul Henderson still echoing in his head.
Theo lived in a second-floor walk-up near the lake, just far enough from downtown to feel quiet. The place was minimalist by necessity: exposed brick walls, a decent couch, an old wooden coffee table he’d rescued from a curb. He’d been slow to unpack the smaller things since returning.
The only luxury was the sound setup in his recording nook: acoustic panels, high-end mics, and a custom sound booth built into what was supposed to be a walk-in closet.
He was supposed to be recording today. Something for the Patreon. A bonus horror drop. Instead, he was unpacking strawberries, staring at the unopened Pop-Tarts on the counter, and wondering why Maya hadn’t texted back yet.
He knew she’d gotten the file.
Hell, she’d probably listened to it. Maybe more than once?
Maybe she hated it.
Or maybe she heard exactly what he felt.
Theo opened his laptop. The manuscript file for Sweat was still open in a separate window. His eyes flicked to the header at the top of Chapter Seventeen, which he’d reread this morning over eggs and black coffee.
“‘I don’t want to be wanted unless it means something.’
I said nothing. Just ran a hand down her spine and held her there.”
He closed the laptop too fast, like the screen had burned him.
This wasn’t smart.
He was trying to build something here: his podcast, the media mentorship program with Nate, a new phase of life that didn’t revolve around the burnout of his old life out West.
Pining for Maya Brooks again and reading her romance was not part of that plan.
Especially not like this.
But when his phone buzzed, he lunged for it.
A delivery for microphone pop shields.
“Jesus,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “Get a grip.”
He was halfway through putting groceries away when his phone buzzed again.
He was slower this time, wiping his hands on a dish towel before he picked up the phone and saw her email.
Subject: Full MS for SWEAT
From: Maya Brooks
Hi Theo,
Thanks again for the quick turnaround. I listened to the sample a few times (sound quality’s excellent, by the way), and I’ve put together some preliminary notes:
- Your pacing is strong, especially in the dialogue, but feel free to slow down a bit more on emotional beats.
-Loved the texture in your voice when Paul’s more introspective. Keep leaning into that. I love whatever you’re doing when you read Yvette’s dialogue.
-There’s a breath right before “burn this whole damn shop down” that’s doing a lot of work. Not a critique. Just… an observation.
-Overall, you nailed the tone. Paul sounds gruff but restrained, which is exactly right for where he is in that scene. Great balance of tension and control.
I’d like to talk about rates and draw up a contract if that’s alright with you.
Maya
He read the email again and again until his vision blurred.
All the while, his heart thumped hard.
She’d heard everything. His pacing, the introspection, his goddamn breath.
Theo stared at the screen, grinning like a fool. He didn’t think, just tapped her contact, lifted the phone to his ear, and called her. Because, fuck it. If they were going to work together, they might as well have a mature conversation about rates and contracts and… oh, God, breaths.
It rang twice before she picked up, voice wary and low like she wasn’t sure how to proceed.
“Hey.”
“Maya.”
“…That was fast.”
“You sent an email,” he said. “But I figured you deserved a real thank-you.”
He could practically hear her blinking on the other end. “Oh. Uh. Sure.”
“I appreciated the notes,” he added, his voice dipping without meaning to. “Especially the part about the breath.”
Silence.
Then she said, sharper: “That wasn’t an invitation to breathe on my phone line.”
He laughed. “I’m just letting you know I read carefully.”
She sighed. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Little bit.” He leaned back against the counter, glancing at the box of Pop-Tarts like it stood in for her.
“Just so you know, my assistant sent that email before she knew who you were. Her employment now hinges on your performance.”
Theo heard an indignant squawk in the background before a woman called out, “You can’t fire me at this point!”
He chuckled. “The pressure is on then… By the way, you didn’t have to be that kind in the email. You could’ve just said I passed.”
“You didn’t just pass,” she said, tone flat. “You inhabited Paul Henderson like it was your full-time job, and I need a second cup of coffee just to pretend I didn’t hear it.”
Theo bit his lip. “Really?”
“I’m just saying, you’re hired. That’s all.”
He pumped his fist as he strolled into his living room. Sun poured into the tall windows like her voice commanded clouds to part.
“Well then. I guess we should talk about next steps?”
Maya cleared her throat. “Right. Let’s nail down those rates before anything’s official.”
Theo hesitated. “So… full disclosure? I haven’t done romance or a novel-sized project before. Mostly podcast work. Short story narration. A few audio ads.”
“Mmh.”
“I know that’s not ideal,” he added quickly. “But I’m fast, my setup’s solid, and you’ve heard how I sound.”
“Oh, I heard,” she muttered under her breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
He grinned into the phone as he twirled a curtain tassel around his fingers. “Anyway. For something this length, standard rates are around four grand. But if you’re willing to take a gamble on someone new to long-form, I’ll do it for two thousand.”
“That’s low.”
“I know.”
“You’re doing me a favor.” The suspicion in her voice was enough to make him tread lightly.
“I’m assuming I’m doing half the job, and you’re doing the other,” he asked. “You never said who’d be reading Yvette’s chapters.”
The question seemed to knock her off kilter. “Oh—yeah, I mean I will, I guess?” Maya let out a halted laugh. “I keep forgetting that I have to do this.”
Fuck me… They would be reading together. Possibly in the same booth. Theo glanced down the hallway leading to his studio, and his heart skipped a beat.
“That’s perfectly fine,” he breathed. “We’ll take it slow.”
“We don’t have time to go slow.”
Theo swallowed a response that didn’t belong on a business call. “Fair. But my rate still stands.”
Maya sighed. “You’re sure?”
“Completely.”
“Okay,” she said finally. “Two thousand. But I’m buying lunch.”
He laughed. “Deal.”
“And when I say lunch, I mean a sandwich and a bag of chips. Maybe coffee. Not some elaborate three-course meal where you get to feel good about doing me a favor in a hurry.”
“You know me too well.”
“I barely know you anymore,” she said. “Teddy.”
He wrapped the threaded rope around his fist. “You know me well enough to call me Teddy… no one calls me that anymore.”
“Scare Daddy, then?”
Her tone was teasing, but there was a dare in it, too. Like she wanted to see how far she could push.
He wasn’t a huge fan of the moniker, but hearing it come out of her mouth sent a shiver down his spine.
“You’re not obligated to address me as Scare Daddy,” he said, lowering his voice a touch. “Unless you want to.”
“Riiiiight…” she said in a dry voice. “How about we sort out titles over lunch tomorrow. I’ll send you a contract tonight.”
He grinned. “I’ll be waiting.”
She paused. “Thank you for doing this for me, Teddy.”
“You’re welcome, Maya.”