Glancing down at myself, then at the clock to see how long it would take for me to shower and become a pretty person, I grab my phone and send back, “Tonight isn’t good for me.”
“It’s Friday night,” he states. “That’s date night. We’re going on a date.”
“If you saw me right now, trust me, all your interest would dissolve.”
“Are you balls deep in edits?”
I crack a smile, my gaze flickering to the screen. I haven’t told Henry I started writing another book yet. I’ve been working on it every chance I can, but it still makes me feel self-conscious to think of him declaring me a writer again. Not to mention, this book probably won’t even sell well, so after telling him about my prior success with the trilogy, he would expect more from this book, and then it would seem like a failure. Henry is a driven individual, it’s one of the things I love about him, but if I publish this book and it flops, it doesn’t really matter to me. I’m writing it because I can’t get it out of my head, not because I want to launch a career as an author. Plus, I have had readers of my trilogy ask if I planned to write more books. Maybe some of them will still be around and interested in this one. Even though this one isn’t about me and Derek, not any version of us, I can’t help giving my hero some of his traits. He began as Alex—who is also an asshole, so it wasn’t a far leap—but I definitely couldn’t write sex scenes with Alex in mind. Yuck. By the time I got to those, the characters weren’t Alex and Bethany anymore, but I still thought of Derek while writing him. The readers loved Janie’s asshole hero, so they’ll probably like the hero in Dreamcatcher, too.
Asshole heroes still sell, so even though standalones don’t do as well, I’m sure this one will still find an audience, just maybe not the same size audience. I don’t want to tell Henry and have him expecting me to move into a larger house in a few months because I have truckloads of money pouring in; that is not likely to happen. I might be able to reroof my house, though. I really need to do that before winter.
Reroofing my house makes me think of Derek. He told me he worked construction, so he probably does things like that.
Ugh. I bet he looks so sexy doing it.
“Hello?” Henry texts.
I got sidetracked and forgot to text him back. “Yes, I am balls deep in edits and I’m not about to pull out now.”
“Anticipation makes it better. Go shower and put on clothes you can wear outside. I’m picking you up in an hour.”
“I think you might be getting a little presumptuous here, counselor,” I inform him.
“Nope, you like bossy. You think I can’t be bossy? Watch me dominate the court room and then tell me that.”
“Ugh, so hot. Fine, I’ll shower.”
“See, romance isn’t dead,” he sends back.
Sighing heavily, I save my progress, close my windows, and shut down my computer so I can prepare myself to rejoin the land of the living.
---
“You sure you don’t want popcorn or something?”
I shake my head, glancing at the absurdly overpriced items listed on the board at the concession stand. I don’t make it out to the movie theater very often, so I tend to forget between trips that you should sell an organ in preparation if you plan to get snacks. “I’m okay.”
“This theater sells alcohol,” Henry tells me lightly. “Should I get you a drink?”
“Never drinking again,” I mutter. “Once every six or seven years I forget, and you’ve seen what happens. Every damn time.”
“I guess we’re having a dry wedding,” he jokes. “My co-workers are going to hate you.”
“Just don’t invite Derek and we’ll be fine.”
“Trust me, if he shows up at our wedding, he’s leaving in heavy-duty garbage bags.”
“Aww,” I say, rubbing his arm. “It’s sexy when you get murdery.”
Shaking his head with a mild smile on his face, Henry says, “You have a peculiar type, don’t you?”
I nod my head, glancing at the huge glass case of popcorn again. I wish I would’ve known we were going out tonight; I would have remembered to have dinner. “I know this movie isn’t a romance, but I’m probably going to fall for the serial killer. He seems broody and wounded.”
“From the scene in the trailer where he cut the hooker’s chest open?” Henry asks, cocking an eyebrow.
“Yeah, but his monologue though,” I say, shaking my head. “Such a tortured soul.”
“Oh boy. Maybe I shouldn’t let you sit in on one of my trials. You know I put away the bad guys, right?”