Night Owl(7)

"Is blue your favorite color?"

"What?" I smiled lazily. "I mean, yeah. How did you know?"

"Good guess," he murmured.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Don't have one."

"Oh, that's a little sad somehow."

"Nah." He chuckled. "I actually have one. You'll laugh, though. I'm not telling."

"What? No way, I won't laugh." Except I did laugh, and I heard my satisfaction and happiness in the sound. This felt like pillow talk. This felt like the kind of thing Mick and I used to enjoy when we first hooked up. Too bad nothing lasts. "It's probably something ridiculous, like... hot pink. Am I right?"

"Not telling. Hey, it's late."

"Pretty sure this classifies as early, Matt."

He laughed.

"Touché little bird. You looking forward to being home?"

"Yes and no. I miss my family. I miss Colorado; it's where I grew up. I'm pretty sure I'll be lonely, though."

"Lonely? You'll have your family."

"Not that kind of lonely."

"Ah." I could hear the smile in Matt's voice. "But there's no such thing as loneliness. There is only the idea of loneliness."

I blinked and sat up.

There is no such thing as loneliness. There is only the idea of loneliness.

"Matt, did you seriously just quote from Ten Thousand Nights?" I laughed. "Are you a Pierce fan?"

I heard a click, then silence.

"Matt?"

I frowned at my phone. He was gone. And it was close to 4:00 a.m. for me, 5:00 a.m. for him. I sent him a text.

Think our call got dropped. Or you awkwarded out and hung up. It's late anyway. I mean early. ;) Goodnight. Good morning. And thanks.

The motel mattress was like a slab of concrete, but I dropped into sleep within seconds. My sleep was full of dreams. My dreams were full of laughing green eyes, whispered demands, and hushed moans.

CHAPTER 3

Matt

HANNAH SAID MY name for the first time in a motel bathroom somewhere between Washington and Colorado.

God, Matt... I can feel it, how wet I am.

It did something to me. It turned a feeling like a key inside me.

Then she asked if I was a fan of my own books.

That did something to me, too. It made me hang up.

I stalked through the apartment at 5:00 a.m., considering my rash of stupid decisions.


Stupid decision number one: giving Hannah my phone number.

Stupid decision number two: quoting from my own book. What are the odds Hannah would have read my books? I groaned and buried my face in my hands. Pretty f*cking high, considering I'm a national bestseller four times over.

Stupid decision number three: phone sex with Hannah. I didn't even know the girl. I had a picture (one that was rapidly fading from my memory), a name and age, a few other minor details, and a growing fixation. And a girlfriend.

What kind of girl was Hannah, anyway? What kind of girl has phone sex with a stranger she met on the internet?

I had no room to judge. After all, what kind of guy has phone sex with a stranger he met on the internet? At least Hannah was single. Maybe I could consider the bathrobe incident an accident, but the phone sex was clear-cut cheating.

I was heading into scumbag territory, fast.

I grabbed my emergency Dunhills and lit one on the balcony.

I "quit" smoking five years ago, along with drinking and drugs, but I always kept a pack of smokes handy for situations like this.

At 7:00 a.m. I was still smoking and staring into the city. The morning was cool and clear; I could tell the day would be a scorcher. Denver came alive around me. Joggers crisscrossed the street, dogs barked, and car horns sounded.

I had calmed considerably by then, and I had pretty much reasoned away my stupidity.

Quoting from my own book: so what? No way would Hannah make the logical leap to me being M. Pierce. In the light of day, my minor freak out seemed ridiculous.

Giving Hannah my phone number (plus phone sex): I was taking my psychiatrist's professional medical advice, "opening myself to new experiences," "letting myself need people," and "eschewing the confines of social norms." Good enough.

My phone chimed. There was a short message from Bethany. She was in Gramado.

Don't forget to water the lemon tree. Are you eating? I won't bother describing this place since you've been. Still wish you'd come. You better not be a skeleton when I get back. Remember, the stuff in the freezer is dated. Kisses, Bethany.

That was my girlfriend, excessive maternal instincts and all.

I'd reply later.

For now, I wanted to stay right where I was, lost in thoughts of Hannah.

I stripped off my t-shirt and flopped onto the living room couch with a sketchbook and a pencil. Laurence was up, rustling in his hutch. His long ears swiveled toward me. He stretched and hopped over to his litter pan.

"Hey buddy," I said to the rabbit, tapping my pencil on a blank page.

I began to sketch what I remembered of Hannah's picture. I started with her eyes, which were large and dark, then her slender nose, moving down to her expressive, full lips. I tried to capture the sweetness in her face, the oval shape of it framed by heavy brunette coils. I shaded in her glasses. Lightly, I drew the neckline of her top and hinted at her cleavage with a smudge.