The Guy Next Door - By Lori Foster, S Donovan, V Dahl Page 0,84

wasn’t Curtis. And Chago had been right—he was a decent guy who deserved another shot.

Besides, there was no point in denying the most important reality of all. Gail had broken the number one rule for any spring breaker. She’d gone and fallen in love.

She was totally sprung.

A LOUD BANGING JARRED Jesse out of his writing stupor. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if the sound was real or if it had happened in his head, where an entire city block had just gone up in a cloud of black smoke as part of the climactic action sequence.

No. The sound was real, he decided. Someone was banging on his front door loud enough to wake the dead. “Shit, shit, shit,” he said to no one. He glanced at his computer to check the time. He was almost going to make it. He’d designated eight hours of his day to rush through one last edit, then he would be emailing the manuscript to New York. He didn’t give a damn how much work it still needed, which was unlike him. Jesse had always prided himself on the fact that he turned in near-perfect manuscripts that hardly ever needed revisions. It was his trademark.

But not this time. If they wanted his manuscript, they could have it. He’d do revisions later. It didn’t matter. He had a life to live.

The woman he loved was getting on a plane in the morning, and there was still a lot to be settled between them. He had a whole lot of apologizing to do. They had plans to make for their future.

The banging continued. “What the fuck do you want from me?” he asked the gods, raising his arms over his head. He couldn’t break now! He’d built in just enough time for a quick shower before he went over there and professed his love to Gail. If he stopped now, there would be no shower, and therefore a much-reduced chance at winning her back.

The truth was, she hadn’t returned his calls or acknowledged the flowers or candy. She might have decided to go out for dinner, ruining his plans for the night, or she might have even taken an earlier flight, ruining his future. But the last time he looked, she was still over there at poolside, her back to him, reading or sleeping, he couldn’t tell which, but obviously not too distraught over their argument. So he simply couldn’t stop now, no matter who was at the door. He was minutes away from finishing. He was minutes away from emailing this sucker to New York and getting his ass back to Gail.

The banging continued.

“What is wrong with people?” he muttered, getting up from his chair for the first time in at least three hours, shaking his legs to get the blood back in his limbs. “Have you never heard of the sanctity of a man’s home? Do you not realize that some people have fucking contractual obligations? What the fuck is wrong with the world?”

Jesse grabbed the door handle and was about to fling it open and continue his diatribe when he was shocked to his senses. It was Gail. She had a thoughtful smile on her face. She stood on his porch in that same conservative cotton sundress she’d worn the day he met her. But she’d accessorized differently today. His first “Dark Blue” novel was clutched to her chest.

“You’re a very good writer,” she said.

Jesse couldn’t breathe.

“You’re still a dipshit, but I’m going to give you another chance, because I know you had your reasons.”

Jesse’s eyes widened. He must look like hell.

“In fact, you’re quite talented.”

She opened the book and began to read a paragraph from the second chapter, using her now-familiar English professor voice. When she was done with her recitation, she closed the book and looked him square in the eye.

“This is beautifully economic use of the language,” she said. “You don’t resort to flowery descriptions or melodramatic dialogue. It’s real. It’s raw, and your sentences have a driving power to them.”

For an instant, Jesse worried he might be hallucinating. Maybe he’d gotten himself dehydrated again. It happened sometimes when he was on deadline.

“It almost reminds me of Hemingway.”

Jesse laughed.

“And I apologize for calling your books trash when I hadn’t even bothered to read them. My thesis committee board would cringe if they knew I’d committed such a sin.”

Jesse smiled. “Apology accepted.”

“Are you okay?” Gail asked. “You look pretty awful.”

Talk about economic use of the language.

“Yeah,” Jesse said, rubbing a hand