Since this was a series book, it was going to be a previous main character’s brother, and it was this guy’s turn for happiness. Now I just had to name his mate. I grabbed a hard cider and my smokes on the way out to the deck to figure out who I wanted to match up my new main character with, loving this part of my job probably best of all. The inception of a new book was what had me bounding out of bed. It was always the bright and shiny part, new and hopeful and something that could be so great.
Not only a story I knew I would love, put my full attention into, but a little piece of my soul into because I didn’t do anything halfway. It was just who I was. But tomorrow I would open a blank Word document that in a few months would end up on someone’s e-reader and just for a bit, maybe only a few hours, they wouldn’t have to worry about their bills, or their own toilet being broken, or family drama, or that their own dog had passed, or
whatever
in their lives that was the same shit we all dealt with.
I would give them a break. What I would start to create tomorrow would
be
their break
. I would tell them a story that
maybe
just for a little while made them forget about the harsh world around them we all lived in, and there, in that place I would create, the world would be better, fairer, more just, more forgiving, more
loving
of everyone, no matter who they were or what they were. A place where it didn’t matter where they came from or what connections they had, where right was right and good was rewarded and evil was punished.
A world I would want to live in and hoped our reality could be more like one day.
Yes, even with the paranormals, because I liked paranormals. And I was the author so I got to add them. But the principle was the same either way. That was why I loved starting a new book as much as I did. It was why I ignored the
junk
that bogged down most authors, and when things got tough, I went back to doing what I was supposed to be doing—telling stories. Because I needed them, and I hoped somewhere out there they did what they were meant to do… Give someone a break from real life.
And honestly, it was why I got out of bed in the morning. I was an artist and it might be on the computer but that was my canvas. There was
nothing
like the high of fitting the pieces together of a good story. It was like sex and driving too fast and the best ice cream wrapped all into one. I remembered someone asking me once if I did drugs when they heard I was an author, because they’d heard all artists or authors did or were drunks.
I just looked at them and blinked before asking, “Why? Writing
is
my drug.” I wasn’t a psychologist, and I damn well wasn’t good at talking about my feelings, but I did think that if a person needed to drink or do drugs to get through their job that maybe, just
maybe
, it wasn’t the right job for them.
But what did I know? There were probably people who thought the same thing about me since I was a smoker. Then again, I was a smoker first… Oh fuck it. Life was complicated.
I shook my head at my wandering thoughts as I opened my cider, wishing sometimes my brain had an
off
switch. Wouldn’t that be nice? Hey, time for bed. Wait, wait—just let me turn my brain off.
Setting my drink and folder on the little table by the one deck chair with the big cushions, I checked the gas on the grill again. I’d gotten into that habit after one idiotic slipup and wasting a whole propane tank. Yeah, that was a mistake I’d never make again. Especially now, considering I had to lug the damn tank
through
the house, which consisted of down half a flight of stairs, up another half flight, and through the kitchen.
Once I made sure the knob was off, I stood up and stretched, staring out into the woods and figuring I had about twenty minutes before full dark was on me and all the bugs in Nebraska came out to eat me. As I turned to sit down, I saw I wasn’t the only one outside in our little secluded slice of peaceful heaven.
But I was the only one fully
dressed
.
I met Cypress’s eyes as Teak moved up and down on his cock, his face buried in Cypress’s neck. I glanced at the door to my house before looking back at Cypress. He shook his head and gestured to my chair with the barest bend of his neck. That was when I noticed Aspen sitting a few feet away from them, stroking himself as he watched the show in front of him, completely unaware of my presence.
I watched Cypress’s hands move down Teak’s back and cup the man’s ass, moving him faster.
God,
I wanted to stay. Maybe it was crude of me. Maybe it was wrong, but
fuck
, they’d given me
every
permission, green light, and promise of no strings attached if I did.
Plus it was my backyard too!
So I did. I carefully turned my chair so I didn’t make a sound and disrupt them, lit a smoke, and watched like some perv in the dark. I watched Cypress take Teak from across our strip of joint yard.
I’d never been so turned on in my
life
. It was hot and beautiful watching them together, moving in rhythm like they were a perfect fit for each other. When they finished together, I snuck back in my house, closing up my porch for the night and leaning against the glass door, my chest heaving as if I’d actually just
done
something strenuous.
Mostly because by sitting there and watching, I understood I’d just changed the dynamics of my relationship with them… But to
what
I had no clue. They were obviously all gay and
together
.
What the fuck was going on here?
* * * *
I had the dream again as I had every night since they’d moved in, the only difference this time was Cypress spoke in it.
“I’m telling you, she watched us. She’s coming around. Don’t push her too fast, but she’s perfect for us.”
But that was it. They touched my legs and he said that. Yeah, maybe someone was slipping drugs into my water. When I got up, I went through my normal Monday routine, dreading the one thing that made it icky Monday for me—weighing myself. I wasn’t actively dieting more than finally going back to cutting my carbs and going to see a thyroid doctor, but he ended up being a tool of epic proportions.
No, seriously. They’d mixed up my test results and then when the nurse had called me with them
again
and I’d asked for her to clarify a few points she told me she didn’t
know
what certain things meant. When I said I wanted the doctor to call me then, she said he didn’t call about results unless a follow-up was required.
How the fuck could I determine if a follow-up was required if she couldn’t answer my questions?
Oh, according to her, it wasn’t necessary given my results. Assuming they were the right ones this time of course. Well if she couldn’t
explain
my results to me, about
my
health, abso-fucking-lutely I was going to take her at her word.
Idiots.
And telling me I had
several
non-surgical
required
nodules on my thyroid was about as comforting as… Oh wait, it wasn’t. Especially when I mentioned that when I had seen the ultrasound that one looked to be about the size of my carotid artery.
“You were lying down, ma’am. You couldn’t have seen that,” she drawled.
“I was
facing
it at the time,” I practically growled at her. “The technician confirmed it was the same size.”
“They shouldn’t have done that, and obviously the doctor doesn’t think that’s concerning.”
“Well it’s my damn nodule, and I find that
very
concerning,” I snapped. “Send me everything, including the ultrasound. I’m going to get a real specialist to look all the results over.”
“I assure you the doctor is a
real
one,” she defended, sounding
thoroughly
insulted on his behalf.
“Fine, a
competent
one then,” I snarled, even more pissed that she was being a bitch to me when I was in the right. “One that actually handles my test results correctly and discusses possible really big fucking red flags with me.” I had hung up and just stared at the phone. Yeah, I couldn’t imagine why people bitched all over the place about health care reform and doctors.
But yeah, let’s
absolutely
worry instead about more shit with another country in the Middle East or picking another fight with China or Russia or Korea or
all the other ones we’re picking fights with
.
What will it matter if we were all dead because our doctors just did the bare minimum health insurance paid them for and didn’t really care past that? Sure, let’s blame Obama for all of it when the system that had been in place before him was such shit that anything he tried to do to make it better would suck as a first step anyways. Then again if we’d stop being such a damn top heavy government and bickering like little kids, simply stopping to fix the damn problem who knew what all those minds could actually accomplish?
So when I walked into my closet after going to the bathroom, I hadn’t expected much of a change on the scale—really just praying it didn’t go up. That was why I stared down at it funny when I saw I’d lost nine pounds. I stepped back off, bent down to wipe off the dust, and checked that nothing was under it to maybe throw off the censors. Then I got back on and made sure I wasn’t catching my clothes on the shelves or something.
Yeah that helped. Now I was down twelve pounds. Huh. In one week. What had I really changed? I was moving around a bit more, getting up and going to the door more often considering I had visitors with the guys stopping—the guys. That was what had changed. They had moved in a week ago.
“Right, they made you lose twelve pounds. Neat trick,” I muttered as I stepped off the scale and pushed it under the shoe shelf. “They should take that act to Vegas. They’d be famous and rolling in money. It’s water weight change from the heat or my cycle or
something
. I did not lose twelve pounds because of them.”
What a
ridiculous
idea. But still all while I showered, brushed my teeth, took my vitamins, put my contacts in, and booted up my computer, I couldn’t help wondering. I did keep classifying the feeling of being
lighter
after I’d been around them. It seemed a really,
really
odd coincidence.
It was when I blended up my protein shake that I burst out laughing. Or the weight loss was that I’d started back on my protein shakes two weeks ago and the weight drop had just caught up to me. God, I so lived in my books that my made up worlds warped my mind sometimes into thinking things that could
not
be true had a chance in reality.
Well, whatever had happened, losing that weight had put me in an
extra
special good mood and I had already been in a fabulous one since I was starting a new book
and
there was a Costco field trip on the docket for that day. As much as I hated how far it was from my house, I did love that damn store.
I finished up my routine and was sitting at my computer raring to go before half past seven. Next thing I knew, the alarm I’d set on my phone was going off at nine twenty-five and I had just over three thousand words written in my new book. I typed in a few notes of where I wanted to go next before saving everything and logging my progress. Then I grabbed my purse, the list, everything else I needed, and was out the door.
“Hey!” I greeted when I saw the three of them walking out to Aspen’s truck… With shirts on for once. While it was a shame, they would be required in the store.
“Well someone’s in a good mood this morning,” Aspen chuckled, tossing me the keys. I caught them easily but glanced from them to him. He shrugged. “You know where we’re going and this is your show. You drive.”
“Aspen, I’m not driving your tricked out, really expensive truck,” I drawled.
“You can handle it. Besides, it’s easier to smoke and not ash all over the inside if you’re driving,” he answered as he opened the passenger door and got in.
“I’m
really
not smoking in your vehicle,” I balked.
“I don’t care. It’s just a truck, Cara.” I simply stood there, and he chuckled, waving me to get in. “Come on, let’s go. We’re dying to see what you’ve got planned, and now I want to know why you’re so happy.”
“Yeah, okay,” I muttered as I hurried around the front. I couldn’t believe he was trusting me with his baby, and while I did tend to chain-smoke whenever I was trapped in a car, I at least curbed it when others were with me and never in someone
else’s
vehicle.
I
had
thought of that after suggesting we take Aspen’s truck last night though. It just made sense. My tiny Pontiac G6 wouldn’t hold much with four adults in it, and I had a feeling after they saw where we were going, they might shop their hearts out especially since they had money.