the tears I’d shed, my body still absorbing the pain. But as always, Nate took his time.
“It’s like your first anything worthwhile—first kiss, first time drunk, first fuck. You’ve got to savor it. Celebrate it.”
We sat on his truck bed and stared at the city, sharing liquor from Nate’s flask and watching the twinkling lights in silence.
Chapter Fourteen:
The Arrangement
When I arrived back at the apartment the following evening, Nate was waiting for me once more. He looked serious, but somehow I could tell that he wasn’t taking me out tonight. He sat with his arms against the sunny yellow kitchen table, the folder holding my opening chapters directly in front of him. “So when do they want the book?”
I’d sent in the chapters believing it would be a good six months before I even heard back. It’s an understatement to say that I’d been shocked when an editor had responded with a contract after two weeks. I had gone in without an agent, over the transom, with no real credits. No sex credits. Now I had to come through.
“For the fall list,” I said, “which means I have about six weeks.”
He grinned. “You took a risk.”
I nodded.
“So you’re going to have to work your ass off.”
I nodded again. I was leaning against the counter watching him. I had a difficult time guessing where Nate was headed.
“And I’m going to give you incentive. You do your best work late at night, right? So every morning I want to see ten pages on my night table … and if I like what you’ve done, then when you get home from the salon, I’ll take care of you. You’ll have a few hours of play, then you can write for a few hours, get some sleep, and start again.”
“What about Garrett?” I asked. We’d never talked about the fact that we didn’t fuck together when our third roommate was around.
“Don’t worry about Garrett,” Nate said. “It’s understood.”
“What is?” I couldn’t help pushing.
“That the two of you were never going to be an item.” He stood and walked to my side. The power in his sleek body was palpable. As always, when he got so close to me, I felt my heart start to race. He gripped my chin in his hand and looked directly in my eyes. “I told you right from the start, Samantha. We’re alike. You understand that now, don’t you? Two halves of the same coin.”
“Yes, Nate,” I said, my voice soft as I sensed he was already working up to something.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir,” and there it was, the nervous jitters in the base of my stomach, the way my knees wanted to give out.
“You did well last night,” he said, “and I was going to take a break on you tonight. But I can’t.”
He was in motion as he spoke, leading me to his room, shutting the door tight behind us. “I can’t, Sam. You make me want to do things to you. There’s that look in your eyes. The need there.” He sounded half apologetic, halfhelpless. I watched him from against the door, watched as he started removing items from his closet. I wanted to run, as always, wanted to escape in those first few seconds. But I stayed where I was.
Back in high school, I’d had a crush on a guy my friends and I had nicknamed “Night.” He had dark hair and blue eyes, and he held the record for bench-pressing at our school, pushing 350 pounds, more than three of me. At a dance, he came up to me and said there was a look in my eyes that he couldn’t deny. Crazy. Every so often, I seem to become transparent, like glass, and someone can see inside of me. We went on a disturbing date together—driving around in his convertible while he told me that his mother thought he might be gay—but the way he had spoken to me at the dance was the way Nate spoke to me. “I saw something in your eyes and I was drawn to you.”
I watched Nate as he prepared, realizing that he wasn’t going out so often with other women now. Not devouring a soul a night. Had he chosen me? I didn’t dare ask. I simply took
“It’s like your first anything worthwhile—first kiss, first time drunk, first fuck. You’ve got to savor it. Celebrate it.”
We sat on his truck bed and stared at the city, sharing liquor from Nate’s flask and watching the twinkling lights in silence.
Chapter Fourteen:
The Arrangement
When I arrived back at the apartment the following evening, Nate was waiting for me once more. He looked serious, but somehow I could tell that he wasn’t taking me out tonight. He sat with his arms against the sunny yellow kitchen table, the folder holding my opening chapters directly in front of him. “So when do they want the book?”
I’d sent in the chapters believing it would be a good six months before I even heard back. It’s an understatement to say that I’d been shocked when an editor had responded with a contract after two weeks. I had gone in without an agent, over the transom, with no real credits. No sex credits. Now I had to come through.
“For the fall list,” I said, “which means I have about six weeks.”
He grinned. “You took a risk.”
I nodded.
“So you’re going to have to work your ass off.”
I nodded again. I was leaning against the counter watching him. I had a difficult time guessing where Nate was headed.
“And I’m going to give you incentive. You do your best work late at night, right? So every morning I want to see ten pages on my night table … and if I like what you’ve done, then when you get home from the salon, I’ll take care of you. You’ll have a few hours of play, then you can write for a few hours, get some sleep, and start again.”
“What about Garrett?” I asked. We’d never talked about the fact that we didn’t fuck together when our third roommate was around.
“Don’t worry about Garrett,” Nate said. “It’s understood.”
“What is?” I couldn’t help pushing.
“That the two of you were never going to be an item.” He stood and walked to my side. The power in his sleek body was palpable. As always, when he got so close to me, I felt my heart start to race. He gripped my chin in his hand and looked directly in my eyes. “I told you right from the start, Samantha. We’re alike. You understand that now, don’t you? Two halves of the same coin.”
“Yes, Nate,” I said, my voice soft as I sensed he was already working up to something.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir,” and there it was, the nervous jitters in the base of my stomach, the way my knees wanted to give out.
“You did well last night,” he said, “and I was going to take a break on you tonight. But I can’t.”
He was in motion as he spoke, leading me to his room, shutting the door tight behind us. “I can’t, Sam. You make me want to do things to you. There’s that look in your eyes. The need there.” He sounded half apologetic, halfhelpless. I watched him from against the door, watched as he started removing items from his closet. I wanted to run, as always, wanted to escape in those first few seconds. But I stayed where I was.
Back in high school, I’d had a crush on a guy my friends and I had nicknamed “Night.” He had dark hair and blue eyes, and he held the record for bench-pressing at our school, pushing 350 pounds, more than three of me. At a dance, he came up to me and said there was a look in my eyes that he couldn’t deny. Crazy. Every so often, I seem to become transparent, like glass, and someone can see inside of me. We went on a disturbing date together—driving around in his convertible while he told me that his mother thought he might be gay—but the way he had spoken to me at the dance was the way Nate spoke to me. “I saw something in your eyes and I was drawn to you.”
I watched Nate as he prepared, realizing that he wasn’t going out so often with other women now. Not devouring a soul a night. Had he chosen me? I didn’t dare ask. I simply took
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