My Know-It-All Nemesis - Maggie Dallen Page 0,42

what sold. Kate and Miller had both. They’d started out as enemies and eventually came together, throwing the election. It was perfect. My pencil flew over the pages of my notebook, ideas flowing like water. Combined with the notes from my interview earlier with President-elect, Tim Pfieffer, I was set. Lindsey would have to publish my article. All I’d ever wanted was to be a real journalist. And this was the first step.

A loud noise sounded behind me. And then a shout. I ignored it, scribbling away, until the first droplet of water fell on my page. I made a move to shield it from any further spray, but it was too late. A tidal wave followed, drenching every inch of me in chlorinated water.

I sprang from my seat, droplets flying off of me like a dog shaking off after a bath. I didn’t care about any of that. My clothes would survive. My hair would probably frizz up. That, I could live with that. But my notebook couldn’t. As I desperately looked around for somewhere to dry it off, the writing on it began to blur. The eventual reality of the situation hit me as I tried to flip through the pages and they stuck together. My notebook was a goner.

And so was my story.

"Heads up," a voice called from the pool, followed by laughter.

I turned toward it, fury burning in my gut. Jimmy was wadding in the deep end of the pool, still wearing a black tee and shorts. By the evidence of the splatter around the pool, he’d obviously cannonballed right near where I’d been sitting. He swam over to the ladder, pulling himself out of the water with muscular arms that stretched the fabric of his wet t-shirt. It was kind of hard not to stare as he shook water out of his hair and ran a hand through it. It was almost like he was walking in slow motion. He laughed and high-fived his friends, which was when I finally found my voice again.

"You ruined my story," I said, holding out my drenched notebook as proof. "Look what you did."

I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to accomplish. It wasn’t like Jimmy could bring my notebook back from the dead. Maybe some sort of lame form of justice? I couldn’t be sure. But Jimmy surprised me when he paused just long enough to shoot me a sympathetic frown.

"Sorry. Didn’t see you there."

It figured. Jimmy Alston couldn’t see past his own perfectly sculpted nose to notice us ordinary people. This was his world, and we only lived in it.

"That’s great, just great," I mumbled to myself as I moved my soggy shoes back toward the house.

Kate and Miller had already slipped away during the commotion, no doubt to enjoy each other’s company without the distraction of hard-boiled journalists like me to poke at them. And from the looks of Tim Pfieffer winning an arm-wrestling contest on the living room coffee table, it seemed he would be out of commission for a while as well. My story was dead in the water—literally. It would be a while before I found the right one that would get me into the pages of The Prowler.

I was almost through the sliding glass door, on my way to nurse my wounds, when someone tapped on my shoulder. Turning around, I nearly dropped my soggy notebook. Jimmy Alston stood there—his green eyes slanted down in apology.

"Here." He held out my tiny golf pencil. "You must’ve dropped this."

Suspicion clouded my head. Still, I reached out and snatched it from his hand, avoiding as much contact as possible. "Thanks."

"Sorry about drenching you." The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. "I really didn’t mean to. The guys pushed me in."

I crossed my arms over my chest, unsure whether to believe him. But that smile was strangely disarming. It was no wonder he always managed to get his way out of trouble. He knew just how to act to smooth things over. "Right. Well, okay. Thanks for that, I guess."

"Sure." Someone called his name, and he made a step in their direction, his green eyes flashing at me one last time. "Sorry, again."

With that, he was off, no doubt to cause more trouble. I stood there watching him go, feeling utterly disappointed in myself. I could’ve chewed him out. Could’ve put him in his place. But I’d stood there all tongue-tied. It really didn’t get more pathetic than that.

The only thing I could do was have faith that someday, Jimmy Alston would get his payback. He couldn’t charm his way out of every situation. And I would be there to see it when it happened. Or better yet – to report on it.

Love and intrigue. That was what made a story. And I was going to find the best story of all.

It was only a matter of time.

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About the Author

Maggie Dallen is a big city girl living in Montana. She writes adult and young adult romantic comedies in a range of genres. An unapologetic addict of all things romance, she loves to connect with fellow avid readers on Facebook, Twitter or at www.maggiedallen.com.

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My Know-It-All Nemesis - Maggie Dallen Page 0,42

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