My editor doesn’t have any other open spots until the new year. I was ten years older than Kim, and some days it felt like dog years.
The DJ plays a lot of throwbacks, and the crowd is mellow.
There’s a new club downtown, but it doesn’t get super crowded. Which was Kim code for get yourself together. But now that I was single, I couldn’t bear to come clean with them about why there would be such a gap between books, or why I’d been so quiet lately. I’d always been open with my readers when I was living the lie. The consequences might not be so dire for myself-although I was staring down the barrel of thirty-six with a newly bare ring finger-but it had put my career on life support. I realized I had no idea how to get myself, much less my characters, into a forever relationship. But once my fiancé decided he was actually still in love with his high school sweetheart and he needed to scratch that itch, everything in my life felt like a lie. The words came pretty easily while I was in my last relationship. I wrote steamy romance novels full of alpha males with washboard abs, hot sex, and happy endings. I have plenty of dating disaster stories but nothing with a happily ever after. She picked up her packages and closed the front door. Maybe she can add lettuce and tomato? Kim chuckled but the disappointment came back when I didn’t laugh with her. I’ve got to get this book to my editor next week and so far, I’ve got a big nothing burger to send her. One of those really disappointed looks that bordered on embarrassment. Kim’s bright pink lips wobbled into a frown.
I’d been in the same pajamas for two-maybe three? -days and was in no shape to be entertaining any sort of company, even if they came armed with a stretcher. Only if they send hot, single paramedics. She stopped short over my body sprawled out in the middle of the living room floor. Molly, are you okay? My roommate Kim dropped her shopping bags in the still-open doorway, her heels clicking as she ran over to me.
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