Can I Come Over?(4)

Coming to my senses, I deleted my words and kept my response to the PS note simple.

PS—There is no problem. I’m just taking my time with this one, since it’s a bit longer. That’s all. It’ll be published by the end of the week. No worries!





TWO





Ryan/Dane





“The end of the week”





Letter Topic: Your Next Book.

Dear Bella,

My Hot Neighbor is still not published, and you’ve emailed me at least sixteen letters this week. I copied/pasted them onto one document to get a total word count, and it’s twenty thousand words, i.e., one hundred pages.

I highly doubt that the book you’re writing will be anywhere near that long, so I don’t understand what the hold-up is. (There’s only so much character development that can fit into a thirty-minute read about fucking.) Have you blown your deadline?

A concerned fan, Ryan



Letter Topic: Re: Your Next Book.

Dear Ryan,

Thank you for pointing out the obvious. I know that my book is not published, and that’s because it’s not finished. But since you care so much, and keep asking me about it, I received a three-day extension from my editor on submitting it, and a four-day extension from my agent for the Audible version.

This is my first attempt at a NOVEL, so it will be longer than usual. It’s about more than fucking. That’s why I’m taking my time.

Don’t you have a date tonight?!! How about you use your time and worry about THAT?

You’ve only read the table of contents in my books.

That hardly qualifies you as a “fan.”

Bella





THREE





Bella/Christina





Four days after my blown deadline

(And no, I didn’t really get an extension. I’m currently avoiding my editor…and my agent.

I’m also avoiding Ryan, until I get finished anyway.)

(Oh, and my book isn’t about “more than fucking.” It’s pure smut like all my others.)





Whenever I needed some much-needed inspiration or a break from my writing, I drove across town to the Art District and spent an entire day in my best friend Daniella’s private gallery.

As the self-proclaimed “Queen of Stone & Movie Sex,” she specialized in turning her favorite romance films into dedicated rooms where she displayed naked sculptures and blown glass. (Emphasis on the “blown” since she was known for crafting pricey pictures of what she thought fictional couples’ blow jobs looked like behind closed doors.)

She was also the first person I met when I moved to this city a few years ago, and we became instant besties after one glass of wine.

“Do you think I made Jack’s cock too big?” She stepped into the Titanic-themed room and crossed her arms. “I mean, it had to be huge if Rose was willing to give up a life of wealth to be with him, right?”

I looked over at the nine-inch cock that protruded from his personalized statue. “No, it’s not too big, but it may be too thin. It looks like a mascara wand.”

“Yeah, but I did that intentionally.” She shrugged. “He died in the end. He didn’t even try to save himself.”

I gave her a blank stare.

“What?” She laughed. “It’s been months since you’ve seen a cock in real life anyway. I shouldn’t even ask for your opinion. Anyway—” She clasped her hands together. “I’m still working on my room for The Notebook, but it should be done by tomorrow. Want me to open the balcony for you, so that you can write for a few hours?”

“Sure.” I picked up my folder from the floor and followed her down the winding hallway. I followed her through a set of double doors, and waited for her to unlock the gorgeous outdoor seating area that overlooked downtown.

“Here you are,” she said. “How long should I set the timer? I’ll have a team member bring you lunch when it’s time for your next break.”

“Two hours.”

“Will do!” She turned away.

“Wait,” I said. “Do I have any missed calls or texts? Any new notifications from Words & Letters?” I tried not to look too excited for a chance at a brief distraction.

“Um…” She pulled my phone out of her pocket and tapped the screen. “A few readers asked when your next book was coming. Your mother texted and asked why you haven’t called her back yet, and your dad sent you a picture text of him at the golf course with the caption, ‘I finally beat Dane at golf today! All these years later. Hope you’re well.” She tilted her head to the side. “In this picture, this Dane guy looks pretty sexy. I mean, I’m not one for older men, but damn…He’s more than worthy of an exception.”

“Any other texts?”

“No, really.” She was still staring at the screen, biting her bottom lip. “He’s hot as hell. You should give me his phone number.”

“What?” I refused to take her seriously. “Tell my dad that I said, Congrats, and then delete the picture since I’m running low on storage space.”

“You don’t want to see this guy at all?”