Crazy Girl(66)

Opportunity cost.

The loss of potential gain from other alternatives when one alternative is chosen.

I understood the concept as it applied to economics—I didn’t need to be a financial analyst to comprehend it. The term stuck with me, though, and I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t until I stripped it down to bare bones—to its most basic meaning—that I realized why. It wasn’t a term exclusive to the world of economics. At least not as far as I was concerned. Loosely, it could be applied anywhere.

In life, we are often presented with two choices. Sometimes more than two. How often have we, or someone we’ve known, been faced with a decision between two job opportunities? Or two lovers? Or two major life-altering events, like whether or not to get married, or have children? It goes without saying that life makes us choose—you can’t always have both. But when we choose, we’re sacrificing the gain from one choice for another. Opportunity cost was a term I broke down and overanalyzed and used in many facets of my life, none of which really applied to economics.

And now, I was applying it to the dynamic between me and Wren.

I was falling for him. It hadn’t mattered how hard I’d tried to fight it…it was happening. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to run; protect myself from the potential and likely heartbreak seeing this man would lead to. But I hadn’t felt so inspired in so long; he was different than anyone I’d ever known. It had been a long time since I’d admired a man outside of the ones that were either relatives or married to my friends.

And I was writing again.

Like, really writing.

Not just forcing myself to do it.

But there was a problem.

As much as I hated to admit it, Brigham’s words had gotten to me. He’d reiterated my worst fears, stroked my insecurities like they were a pet, scratching behind their ears, and he didn’t even know it. So I returned to old faithful. How did opportunity cost apply to this? Well, I was choosing to ignore what my instincts said and continued to see Wren because I needed him. I knew I wouldn’t be able to finish the book I’d started without him. My choices were either save my heart, or save my career.

I chose my career.





Salt and Vinegar





My morning had started off fantastic. There’s nothing like waking up next to a beautiful woman after an incredible night. When I cracked my eyes open, Hannah was awake and lying on her back, her head turned toward the balcony doors. She was watching the water. Always watching the water. I liked the peace it seemed to give her. I didn’t know all of the intricacies of Hannah just yet—Lord only knew it might take three lifetimes to learn them all—but I knew her mind seemed to never stop. With two exceptions. When she was staring at the river, and when she was making love. When I took her, I knew I had her…all of her. But the water…I wasn’t sure where she went then. All I knew was I could feel her calm, and that’s all that mattered.

“Morning,” I croaked as I moved my body closer to hers, finding her skin warm and soft. When she turned to me, she smiled, but there was something sad in it. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“A dangerous pastime,” I joked before kissing her shoulder.

Her eyes fixed on her finger as she traced it over the curve of my shoulder and down my arm. She blinked a few times as she smiled subtly. “He was a beautiful man, there was no denying it,” she said softly. “Her finger caressed his firm body, but what she wished for, more than anything, was to caress his thoughts—to know his mind as intimately as she knew his body.” Glancing up at me, she jerked her gaze away quickly, taking her hand with it.

I narrowed my eyes at her in humored confusion. “Were you writing your thoughts about me out loud?”

“Maybe.” Her tone held no apology. “Writing is kind of what I do.”

I nodded a few times, not sure what to say. Was she just thinking out loud, or had she meant she wished she could know me better? Her words had had…feelings. I wasn’t good with those. As I contemplated all this, I guess she took my lack of response as she’d made herself seem weird and she felt embarrassed. She attempted to roll away from me, but I pulled her back.

“Where are you going, crazy girl? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

She rolled her body to her side so she could face me. “My book. The characters.”

“Oh yeah? What’s this one going to be about?”

Casting her gaze down for a moment, she brought it back up and met my stare. “A writer. And…a sexy alpha man.”

Smirking, I asked, “Are these characters inspired by anyone you know?”

Her features slacked. “Would it make me insane, or freak you out, if I said I modeled them after us?”

Pushing some hair from her face and behind her ear, I said, “It’s not something you hear every day, that’s for sure.”

“They aren’t us…us. I mean…modeled after us. Like…inspired by us. My story would have far more drama and craziness.”

“More crazy than…” I cut her a look and she rolled her eyes.

“Yes…more,” she chuckled.

“So the guy that’s modeled after me…I’m guessing he’s just one hundred percent stud and completely freaking amazing in every way.”