Chapter Twenty-Five
Marisa
“Great Escape”- Moby
Icouldn’t be happier rightnow. Toes in the sand. The rush of the tide in front of me. The rising sun reflecting off the water’s surface. And Justin—yes, Justin sitting right next to me. Last night proved to be quiet the game changer. I guess he didn’t like seeing someone else playing with one of his toys. Hisfavoritetoy. Oh,#HavingAGreatTimeWithAmy, you had your fun, but you are done, my sweets. Done. The warm water laps at my toes and I pull my feet back, dragging sand with me as I scoot closer to Justin and lean against his chest. “So, how do you like Florida?” he asks.
“Love it. The heat. The ocean.” I sigh. “I could live here.”
“Ah, now, you just got to New York. You can’t be ready to leave yet.” He kisses my neck. “Don’t leave me.”
“What,” I giggle, “you wouldn’t follow me?”
“Don’t ask me shit like that.”
“Tell me you wouldn’t.”
“I might would.” He inhales along my neck, tightening his hold. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you drive me fucking crazy.”
And you drive me crazy, Justin. You have no idea...It pays off to be a hard-up bitch sometimes. Stand your ground. Let a guy see he can’t run all over you. And I know he’s serious because he’s changing my flight. He sent the blonde whore packing. You don’t do that for a fuckbuddy. Not even the best of players would pull a stunt like that. A $500 stunt.
His phone beeps in his pocket and he pulls it out. The little blue screen lights up his face, and I want to swoon. His face, the waves roaring in front of us. The pure romance crackling right here. Right now. Between the two of us hopeless romantics. Hopeless romance authors at that. “Shit... ” he takes a breath before dropping his phone to the sand.
“What’s wrong, babe?”
“My publisher terminated my contract?” He exhales and sweeps his fingers through his thick hair. “Fuck!”
“What? They did what?”
He drags a hand down his face and shakes his head. “Demolishedgot leaked somehow. It’s on a shit-ton of pirating sites and the reviews—” he laughs a laugh filled with anger and self-doubt and hurt. And I feel guilty because he forced my hand to do that. He was too proud and full of himself. “The reviews are so awful the publisher said my first series must have been a fluke.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, I’m fucked.” He folds his arms underneath his head and lies down on the sand, staring up at the sky. “I guess I’ll just have to hope this indie shit keeps trucking. Do more signings and all that crap.”
More signings? More signings. More travel. More girls...“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Yeah.” He drags his hand through his hair. “Yeah, I hope so. I don’t know what else I would do.”
“When’s your next signing?”
“Next weekend. I’m flying straight from here to Cali. It made more sense to fly there from here, then back home, you know?”
“Yeah . .” I think about him leaving, about him being at another signing on the other side of the country. A signing where no one knows who the hell Marisa Dawson is, and as I go over all the horrible scenarios in my head, I draw a circle in the sand and exhale. “Do you have an assistant?”
“Yeah,” he says, “One of my readers, Terri Wethers, you know her, she’s the one that’s always sharing my releases and posts and stuff. I promised her she could help out a few months ago, she’s pretty excited. He laughs and I think I’ll have to be sure to check out Terri Wethers profile later.
“That’s good.” I feign a smile even though my veins are pumping with resentment and hate. I know what he’ll do. These signings are like a den of heroin and he’s the drug addict.
