Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
PENELOPE
Though morning light streamed in through my curtains, the apartment was quiet. The kind of quiet that meant Declan wasn’t awake yet. Which was a good thing, considering I’d barely slept last night and was currently functioning solely on my last thread of dignity.
After rolling out of bed, I tugged on a thick cardigan and a pair of fuzzy socks and shuffled my way toward the kitchen. I rounded the corner, eyes only half open, already fantasizing about a warm cup of Earl Grey and the dozen different ways I could avoid Declan for the rest of the week.
“Morning, rebel.” His low, husky voice stopped me dead in my tracks, and I jerked my head up to meet his gaze.
Goddammit. So much for avoiding him.
He stood in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, chest bare and arms crossed as he cradled a mug in one big hand. His hair was damp from a shower, those gray sweatpants I hated to love riding low on his hips and effortlessly showcasing all his assets below the belt.
And my god, that was a sizable asset.
I froze like a criminal caught mid-heist. “Um. Yeah. Morning.”
Why was he already awake? He didn’t usually go into the shop until eleven most mornings. But also, why was he looking at me like that?
And why was I remembering the look in his eyes last night—all heat and interest and hunger—right before I’d slammed my laptop shut?
He didn’t move as I slipped past him toward my tea station, but he also didn’t say anything. That was promising. Maybe last night hadn’t been as big a deal as I’d thought. Maybe he actually hadn’t seen that much of what I’d been typing. Maybe he’d dismissed it as something completely irrelevant.
I didn’t know why that last one made my heart ache, but I shook those feelings off. It was better if he thought exactly that.
Declan sipped his coffee, his gaze locked on me over the rim of the mug. And then, as casual as you please, he said, “I know what you’re hiding.”
I caught my toe on the edge of the rug and stumbled into the fridge. My heart stutter-stopped. I forgot how to breathe. How to blink. How to even exist in this moment as an actual human being and not the blue screen of death I currently felt like.
He knew. Oh god, he knew.
The secret pen name I’d kept hidden for two years. The extracurricular activity I hadn’t told a soul about—this newest iteration anyway. Because I knew what could happen to my heart when someone I thought cared about me found out what I was writing.
But if the people of Starlight Cove found out their prim little librarian was publishing erotic romance? The fallout would be even more devastating.
I’d lose more than I had last time, because this wouldn’t be just a single person who hadn’t mattered in the end. It would be friends and colleagues…possibly even my job.
What parents would be okay with Eden Foxbury, author of emotionally driven, toe-curling, kink-forward smut, leading story time with their preschoolers?
Oh god.
Oh god.
My internal freak-out had taken all of three seconds, so Declan was still staring at me expectantly. All I could manage was a weak, “W-what?”
He lifted a brow, his expression smug as sin. “You’re writing fanfic, aren’t you?”
I blinked. Blinked again. Barely stopped my mouth from dropping open.
Fanfic? He thought I was writing fanfic?
My entire soul exhaled, my knees nearly giving out from pure relief. He didn’t know.
Not about Eden, not about the fact that her third book had taken off, not about the readers clamoring for more.
And definitely not about the first erotic scene I’d written in months that had been inspired by his stupid towel and his stupid abs and his stupid nipple piercing and the stupid need he’d stoked low in my belly.
“Fanfic?” I asked, grabbing my mug and preparing my tea with forced, robotic motions. “What…makes you—what?”
He took another sip of his coffee, his entire vibe maddeningly casual.
“You run that weekly club at the library, so it makes sense. And it sure as fuck wasn’t a professional email.
You wouldn’t sext someone in a Word doc.
And you were cagey as hell. Plus…” He swept his gaze over me and licked a slow, maddening path along his lower lip.
“It read like someone was about to get very, very lucky.”
My entire body burst into flames. Or that was what it felt like anyway. I was pretty sure I could fry an egg on my face. But I was definitely going to take this out he’d given me and hold on for dear life.
“Uh, yes. Fanfic.” I nodded a bit too vigorously. “It’s definitely fanfic.”
Declan raised a brow. “Gotta say, I’m a little shocked. I thought fanfic was relegated to teenagers without any experience.”
My mouth opened on a shocked breath. I snapped it shut and clenched my jaw, trying very hard to bite my tongue and just drop it. It didn’t matter what his outdated, ignorant, and completely false notions were. If he wanted to think that way, who was I to—
“Actually,” I said, unable to keep quiet. “Fanfiction is a legitimate stepping-stone to publishing. Hundreds of successful authors got their start writing in fandoms.”
With every word that left my mouth, my volume increased, which only seemed to ratchet Declan’s brows higher. He clearly found my rant deeply amusing.
Well, good. Maybe he’d learn some things. I was so tired of people putting down this hobby—tired of hearing dismissive stories from the teens who frequented the fanfic club. Tired of all the shame and judgment heaped on anyone who chose this path.
“Just so you know, writing fanfic allows authors to explore on a playground they’re familiar with. It teaches pacing, dialogue, and character consistency. And community feedback improves craft. It’s real writing, whether your tiny brain wants to accept that or not.”
By the time I was done, I was out of breath and even more red-faced than when I’d started. To give myself something to do that wasn’t trying to disintegrate Declan Steele into ash with my eyes, I spun around and prepared my cup of tea.
“The last time I heard you this passionate, you were yelling at me about the bike,” Declan said.
I shot him a scowl over my shoulder. “Your bike doesn’t belong on the sidewalk outside the—”
“How about a bet?”
“What?”
He stepped closer, just enough to invade my personal space without actually touching me. Didn’t matter, though, because every nerve ending in my body seemed attuned to him whether I wanted them to be or not. And right now, they were positively singing at his nearness.
“Write me something that changes my mind about fanfic,” he said. “If it does, I’ll wash my dishes.”
“You should be doing that anyway! It’s in the Roommate—”
“Rules,” he finished, waving a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. How about I’ll also stop parking my bike where it annoys you most.”
I paused, giving this some serious consideration. My brain spun through a hundred scenarios of how this could play out. I just had one question…
“How would it even work? You could just lie and tell me it didn’t change your mind. There’s no quantitative proof that I actually did, which means you’d get off on a technicality.”
He smirked—that slow, wicked one that made my stomach flip without my consent. “How about I just get off?”
I choked on air. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged like he hadn’t just casually suggested having an orgasm in mixed company. “Write one of your sexy scenes. If your words get me hard, you win. And believe me, rebel, you’ll be able to tell.”
Without meaning to, I dropped my gaze to the front of his sweatpants. And sweet merciful god. Declan was already…substantial. In a mind-blowing kind of way. What would it look like if he were hard? Would I even survive the visual?
The number of aroused dicks I’d seen in real life could be counted on one hand, and I’d still have three fingers and a thumb left over. Jumping from my pitiful experience straight to Declan Steele was like learning to swim in a kiddie pool and then being tossed into the Atlantic during a hurricane.
But…
Besides getting him to do his damn dishes and stop parking in front of the library, it might also allow me some…close-up research.
Not everything I needed for my writing could be gleaned from the internet. As proven by how whatever Declan was packing seemed to swell right now as I stared.
My god, he was—
“Eyes up here, rebel,” Declan said, his voice rough.
I snapped my head up so fast, I nearly gave myself whiplash. When I met his gaze, his eyes were dark and filled with something I wasn’t sure I had the guts to name.
I should’ve said no. Should’ve poured my cup of tea on his head and locked myself in my room forever. At the very least, I should’ve walked away.
But the chance to change his mind through my writing was basically an author’s Olympics. And my sudden burst of inspiration courtesy of Declan’s low-slung towel proved just how much a little research could do for me.
“Fine,” I said, sealing my fate.
A grin spread across his mouth, slow and lethal and sexy enough to make my knees weak. “Can’t wait.”
Oh god. What had I gotten myself into?