There was no doubt that having Amy Lynne in my life, and having spectacular sex with her, had somehow shaken off the shackles of my writer’s block and kicked my brain into high gear.
There was also no denying that since she walked out, I hadn’t written a single word. But that didn’t mean that I loved her, did it? Couldn’t she be my muse without me loving her? The bigger question was, could she be my muse without being my lover? Fuck. I wasn’t prepared to do this much thinking when I sat down with Gail for a fucking bowl of ice cream.
“Well?” she asked after waiting a minute for my answer. When an answer still didn’t come, she gave me a stern look and tapped her knuckles on the table. “Okay, you can’t tell me how you feel about her. So, let me ask you an easier question.”
“Please proceed,” I said with a sigh. “I’m doing such a great job as the witness for the prosecution.”
“You can’t tell me whether or not you have feelings for her,” Gail said, spreading her hands like a prosecutor laying out her case. “So the only question remaining is, do you want her to come back just so you can screw her again and pretend that she’s your muse?”
I frowned at her and didn’t hesitate to answer. “I wouldn’t do that to her.”
“Maybe not on purpose,” she said. “But Amy Lynne is a beautiful, impressionable, vulnerable young woman. She’s been used and abused by men her entire life. If you’re looking to be just another one of those guys who uses her until you don’t need her anymore, or until your next muse comes along, do us all a favor and leave her alone.”
I pondered the point for a moment. I had only known Amy Lynne for a short time, but I felt like I’d known her my entire life.
She lit a spark deep inside me that I couldn’t deny.
She made me feel alive.
She got my creative juices flowing.
She energized me with her smile.
She infected me with her laugh.
She made me… happy…
I tried to remember being happy before she showed up at my doorstep. I couldn’t do it.
Was it love?
Was it like?
Was it just sex?
Did I honestly think that I couldn’t write without her as my muse?
I honestly didn’t know the answer to any of those questions.
But I desperately wanted to find out.
I desperately need to; for everyone’s sake.
“And if I do have feelings for her?” I asked. “What then?”
Gail picked up a spoon and dug into the bowl of vanilla ice cream that had sat melting between us.
“Then leave Lizzie here with me and go convince Amy Lynne to come home with you. You don’t have to tell her how you feel because honestly, I don’t think either of you really know at this point. Just get back to the original plan. She is there for Lizzie, not you. She is Lizzie’s nanny, not your muse. If things blossom between the two of you down the road, great. If not, Lizzie has a wonderful nanny and you have time to write your next bestseller.”
I nodded, agreeing with every word. “Where will I find her?”
She smiled and glanced at her watch.
“She’s at work. Bud’s Convenience Store on 12th Street near the airport. Her shift ends at six. If you want to see her, go now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Amy Lynne
When I came to, I was sitting in the chair we kept behind the counter. I was covered in a cold sweat. My stomach was turning flips. I felt nauseated. Someone was fanning me with a magazine.
At first, I thought it had all been a dream.
Then I opened my eyes and looked around.
Randy was sitting on the floor holding a bloody towel over his nose. His wrists were cuffed together. A police officer was reading him his rights. Another police officer was taking Jackson’s statement. Jackson looked at me and smiled.
Brad was fanning me with a copy of People magazine.
“You okay?” Brad asked, a concerned look on his round face.
“Yes,” I said, wiping the sweat from my top lip. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m working the night shift this week,” he said. “It’s six o’clock. I guess all this happened a few minutes before I got here.” He glanced at Jackson, who was finishing up with the officer. “Good thing that guy came in when he did. Is he a friend of yours?”
“Yes,” I said with a sigh of relief. “A good friend.”
Jackson came over and knelt in front of me. He took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “You scared the hell out of me,” he said with a grin. He brushed the hair back from my forehead. “Are you okay? Do you need to go to the ER?”
“No. I always faint at the sight of blood,” I said, blushing. I let my eyes drift over his handsome face. “What are you doing here?”
“I just came by to check on you,” he said. He held out his hand and flexed his fingers. His knuckles were scraped from the impact with Randy’s face. “That’s your ex, I assume.”
“Yes,” I said. “Wait. How did you know where to find me?”