The Fix (The Carolina Connections, #1)(65)
“Sure thing,” Mark replied, ruffling the kid’s dark hair. Then to me, “I gotta get back to Fiona.”
“Is she feeling any better?” I asked, leaning against Rocco’s dresser.
“Eh, hard to say.”
Mark looked slightly distressed at the thought, and I marveled for the umpteenth time at the transformation my once-slutty friend had undergone since meeting his girlfriend, Fiona. Gone was the arrogant manwhore and in his place was an arrogant, pussy-whipped little douchebag. Ah, it warms the heart.
“I picked up an antibiotic for her, so hopefully that will start working soon,” he said as he gathered his things.
I felt a sympathy pain in my throat just thinking about Fiona and her bout of strep throat. I cursed the damn virus for forcing me to step in and babysit Rocco while my brother, Nate, and his new wife, Laney, were off on their honeymoon. The same virus that, today, revealed just how ill-equipped I was to care for a child without becoming the biggest sucker known to man. “Well, tell her I hope she feels better and not to worry about Rocco—I got this.”
Mark stopped in his tracks on his way to the door. He cocked his head, his eyebrows arching and his mouth sporting that damn smirk I wanted to knock off his stupid face. “Oh, I can see that.”
I flipped him off, confident that Rocco’s attention was elsewhere.
Mark’s smug cackle echoed in the hallway outside Rocco’s bedroom. “I’ll let myself out!”
“You do that, Buffy!” Asshole.
Damn. It was just me and the kid again.
It’s not that I don’t like kids—I love my new nephew. I’m just not all that comfortable around tiny humans. I think I’m always waiting for them to judge me and find me inadequate somehow.
I’m the youngest of two kids, and I was never the babysitting type. My teen years had been spent sketching, reading, and plotting to get Nate in trouble whenever possible. And I’m a total daddy’s girl, so I never pursued anything Riordan Murphy would consider “girly,” much to my mom’s disappointment. Babysitting, makeup lessons, and trips to the mall were eschewed in favor of hanging out at building sites with my dad and rocking out to heavy metal while painting and drawing. And, although my taste in music evolved as I reached adulthood, the rest pretty much stayed the same.
Everything I knew about taking care of a child consisted of lessons learned through trial and error over the last twenty-four hours.
I had been minding my own damn business last night, scarfing down cold pizza and channel surfing, when my phone had rung. I’d been ready to let it go to voicemail when I saw it was my brother. I hit the accept button; I should have let it go to voicemail.
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Sylvie Says
Let’s Get Real about The Fix
Hello, my lovely reader! Here’s the part where I get to babble on with no editing and no filter, so beware …
Still here? Great!
I think I wrote The Fix in about a month, which is faster than anything else I’ve ever written. My kids had started a full day of school that year and I was in a new city and state. In other words, I was flipping the frack out. I’d been in one of those reading modes where you read a book or two a day and kind of block out the world—I know you’ve been there so don’t try to deny it, you big faker! Anyway, I read five or six books in a row that were complete duds and I was getting kind of pissed that I’d wasted my time. I mean, I could have been watching Project Runway or The Mindy Project or some other kind of Project (remember, this was 2016). At least I still had my wine.
I’d always been a writer, but the notion to publish had never even entered my mind. Until then. I got on the computer and wrote a book I would want to read - voila! The Fix was born. I had no clue how to market it or get it in the hands of readers so I totally winged it at first (#newbiefail). Now, after two years, I finally have my feet under me and have wonderful READERS - like you! And it’s AWESOME! So, thanks!
Now, on to questions you’ve been asking me over email and social media. I’ll do my best …
Yes, Laney and I share many traits, but she’s way hotter than me (she’s more of an hourglass where I’m kind of an egg timer?). I have stacks of junk everywhere, I let dishes and laundry pile up, and I don’t drink coffee (gasp!).
About the part where Laney is afraid Nate will throw out his back carrying her? Yeah. Well, my now-husband told me that when we first started dating and he picked me up (the one and only time), he hurt his back. Of course, he didn’t tell me until years later because he’s not a stupid man. And I didn’t tell him he was a wimp because I’m not a stupid woman.
Rocco. Ah, Rocco. I love that kid to bits. Probably because he is a combination of both my boys. Most of Rocco’s dialog and antics come directly from my own children. Including “The Penis Song.” For realz, people—my life is one giant fart joke.
Why no billionaires or guys named Colt? Because I don’t know any billionaires or guys named Colt! Don’t get me wrong; I enjoy a good fantasy with a rich guy or some dude named after a horse (I mean, come on, you know how the saying goes), but that’s not what this series is about. It’s about people you could see yourself being friends with in real life. And I love that!