Love at 11 - By Mari Mancusi Page 0,35
into his pocket and pulled out a napkin. He handed it to me and I blew my nose. “S-sorry.”
He sat down across from me in David’s chair. “What happened?” he asked in a voice that sounded like he really cared.
I related the Terrance story. “But it’s not only that. It’s everything. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, really. I’m so sick of everything in my life falling apart in one week.”
Jamie nodded. Then he smiled. “You know what cures life-falling-apart syndrome?”
“What?”
“Starbucks venti white chocolate frappuccinos with extra whipped cream.”
“They do?” I said, trying to smile through my tears. “My mom swears by them. Says they’re a magic cure for all of life’s ills,” Jamie assured me with a serious expression. He rose from his chair. “Though, personally, I like a more manly-man drink myself.” He beat on his chest for mock emphasis.
I laughed, despite myself. “Yeah, right. You’re totally a closet whipped-cream junkie, I know.”
“Hey! Quiet. You’ll ruin my rep.” He winked at me. “Come on, let’s go.”
Minutes later we sank into the plush purple velvet Starbucks chairs and sipped our decadent coffee beverages. Jamie with his triple Americano and me with my delicious girlie frappuccino.
“You’re going to get sick of being my knight in shining armor,” I said, feeling much better already.
“Never,” he declared. “We’re partners. That’s what partners do.”
“But it’s so one-sided. You’re always rescuing me and never needing your own rescuing.”
“Oh, please.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He set his beverage down and leaned forward in his chair. “You rescue me from boredom.”
I giggled. “Are you bored?”
“Of course. And I’m a bit embarrassed to admit it, but you’re my first—and at the moment—only San Diego friend.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He smiled. “We are friends, right?”
“Definitely.” I smiled back and lifted my almost empty drink. “To friendship.”
He picked up his cup and touched mine, then took a sip. I watched him, feeling a bit warm and fuzzy inside. It was odd. You’d think that because we’d slept together things would have been completely awkward. But they weren’t. And I did feel like I was his friend in a weird way.
Of course I also still wanted to jump his bones, but I wouldn’t act on it. After meeting Jennifer she had become a real person in my mind instead of a vague idea. And I realized that no matter how much I lusted after her fiancé I had to rein in my desire. It wouldn’t be right—and not because I was some saint, either. Rather, because I knew how these stories always ended: He and Jennifer would get married and live happily ever after and I would be the one left with a broken heart.
Much better to stay friends, keep the heart intact.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Setting down his cup, Jamie reached into his bag and pulled out a worn paperback. “That night at Moondoggies you said you wanted to read it.”
I took the book and turned it over so I could check out the cover. The artwork depicted a dashing man dressed in black leather, carrying a futuristic-looking gun. In the background hovered a spaceship and a scantily dressed woman with big breasts. The gold embossed title declared the man was Trapped on Mars. Underneath in smaller letters it said, “A Novel, by Jamie Hayes.”
“Your book!” I exclaimed, fascinated. I turned the novel over to read the back blurb.
AN INTERGALACTIC PRISONER WITHOUT A CAUSE
All Kayne wanted was a simple life. He and his wife lived comfortably in one of the few remaining Earth cities. But then he was accused of a crime he didn’t commit and forced to leave everything behind—to serve out a life sentence on the Royal Mars Penal Colony.
There he meets Marla—the brave, independent rebel who would change his life forever. But could the two lovers hatch a daring plan of escape? Or would they forever be: Trapped on Mars?
“I know it’s not Hemingway,” Jamie said, a bit sheepishly, as I looked up from my reading. “But it’s mine.”
“Are you kidding? This is better than Hemingway. He just wrote about old guys fishing. This sounds really exciting.” I looked down at the cover again. “When was this published?”
“Five years ago,” he said with a sigh. “And I haven’t been able to get anything published since.”
“Why? Didn’t it do well?”
“No. It did great, actually. I mean, not best-seller great or anything, but good for a sci-fi book.”
“So what happened?”
He shrugged. “I must be the literary equivalent of a one-hit-wonder. I’ve started several books since and haven’t been able