What do you want?
What thoughts and desires keep you awake at night?
What are the images that race through your mind when you’re alone?
We all know secretly what gets us off. Think about your dirty dreams, and then put pen to paper, writing them down, knowing them, and in so doing, knowing yourself.
When the episode ended, I reached for one of my idea notebooks, with an illustrated owl on the cover. I kept one in each room, writing down my ideas for new poses, new shoots as they struck me.
This time, I wrote down something for me.
I began a list.
My filthy, wild list.
I started with one, then filled in a few more items until my phone pinged with a text from my friend and next-door neighbor.
Adam: Can I take you up on that offer for one more night? I’ll make a chicken stir-fry as thanks tonight, and it’ll be so delicious your taste buds will sing my praises for days.
Nina: Of course you can take me up on it. But seriously, my taste buds will only sing for days? You must be slacking. Last time you made me a pad thai so yummy my taste buds performed arias for weeks. Now I get mere days?
Adam: Do not doubt me, woman. I will ensure you’re more than satisfied. Don’t I always please you in the kitchen?
Nina: Hmm. Always? That’s a powerful word. I’d say most of the time, because let’s not ever forget the pumpkin chocolate chip cookie incident.
Adam: Oh, no, you don’t. Do not go there. We made a vow to never bring that up again.
Nina: Did we now?
Adam: Yes. We swore you’d never bring up the worse-than-cardboard batch of cookies I made, and I’d never bring up the time you insisted the Hundred Years’ War lasted one hundred years.
Nina: Everyone gets that wrong! It’s a trick question.
Adam: And I was tricked by pumpkin. Everyone gets tricked by pumpkin. It’s what happens every damn fall. So let’s agree to never mention the pumpkin chocolate chip cookies and I will keep that trivia faux pas under wraps.
Nina: *grumbles* Fine. I agree. Also, can’t wait for the stir-fry. You are a master in the kitchen.
Adam: Can’t wait to cook for you. Also, thanks, Nina. I appreciate it. I owe you big time.
Nina: You owe me nothing. Happy to help.
I set down the phone, a smile tugging on my lips. Adam had that effect on me, with his charming, laid-back ways, his easygoing personality.
I’d enjoyed having my friend spend the last few nights in my guest room. One more night of his cooking, his laughter, and our long chats into the night about how solar panel highways worked, or how long badly named wars lasted, or whether it was better to say “champing at the bit” or “chomping at the bit” would be fun.
He was always fun.
But I had other matters on my mind and steep hills to climb.
I returned to my list, doing as Aphrodite said.
By the time I was done, I had ten items, and the last one would be the hardest. Take the longest. Require the most work.
I didn’t know where to start with that one, so I doodled next to it, drawing the outline of a fox, until an idea for one more dirty wish landed in my head.
The start of an eleventh. I began to write it down, but there was a knock on my door. A series of knocks, rapid, urgent, incessant. It sounded like someone was having an emergency.
3
Adam
That was a prize-winning day.
Two deals done. Two clients made happy. And a new streaming show premiering next week.
Talk about a kick-ass ten hours at my production studio.
I left my office, lowered my shades to shield my eyes from the too-bright Vegas sun, and hit the key fob on my Tesla. As the door opened, I rated my day a B.
No, make that a B-plus.
It wasn’t an A yet, because days didn’t receive their final grades till night rolled around. Nighttime had a way of raising grades to A-pluses.
But when I checked my texts and found one from the painter, my shoulders sagged before I could even put the car in reverse.
David The Painter: Still not done with the painting, Mr. Larkin. We should finish in two more days.
And that made my day a C.
Fumes. Freaking paint fumes in my condo for another night.
I’d already overstayed my welcome at Nina’s place, since she’d let me spend the last few nights there.
I didn’t want to put her out again, even though it was no hardship staying with my witty, entertaining, sexy-as-hell neighbor. And I didn’t say that simply because her guest room was better than most Vegas hotel rooms—the woman had impeccable taste and an eye for what made beds feel absolutely spectacular. I had no idea I’d like that many pillows to rest my head on, or such a top-of-the-line downy comforter.
But damn, her guest bed rocked.
No surprise, since she rocked.
Staying with her was a helluva way to spend the evenings. We clicked so well, it was as if we’d known each other forever rather than simply the last few years.
The only challenge? Nina was as tempting as the most decadent dessert, the kind you wanted to sneak a bite of when no one was looking.
A dark-haired angel with red cat-eye glasses, glossy lips, and a tight body. With her deadpan wit, locomotive-fast brain, and toned body, my next-door neighbor was enticing every single second of the day and every damn nanosecond of the night.
But I had mastered the fine art of restraint over the last year I’d spent on hiatus from any and every form of romantic relationship. And Nina never gave any indication that she was game for more. Even if she’d been game, I wasn’t in the market for more than that, given the way my last relationship had imploded—with my ex behind bars.
With that kind of track record, I was taking a break from romance.
Friendship though? I knew what I was doing in that department, and I intended for Nina to stay there.
I banished the tempting thoughts of her once again.
I clicked open our text thread and asked her if I could extend my stay at Hotel Nina.
Her answer was swift, giving me the yes I’d been hoping for.
My day improved instantly. Definitely back to a B-plus. Setting the phone in its holder, I pulled out of the office lot and headed for my high-rise, calling Jake on the drive home. My attorney, who was also my good friend, answered on the first ring.
“If you keep calling me, I’m going to have to up my hourly. No more friendship discount for you,” he said wryly.
A laugh burst from my chest. “If the rate you charge me is your friends-and-family discount, then I don’t want to know what you charge your other clients,” I said.
“Oh, yes, you do. You might switch to law if you knew what I was pulling.”
“Doubtful. I like being the king of my domain too much,” I said, since owning my production studio and taking all the risks—which meant reaping all the rewards—was what I liked. What I loved.