There’s a fresh glass of water. I fall down into the chair and grab my phone before I set my purse in the empty seat beside me.
Jax. Jax and his dimples. He wants to see me. I want to see him. No, if I’m honest, I want to do more than see him, and for that, I am ashamed. I want him naked on top of me, his hands wrapped tightly around my throat as he fucks me. I feel a slight pressure build between my thighs at the thought of it, and almost as suddenly as that desire has begun to torch through me like a rogue fire amongst parched woods, guilt douses me. Something about him makes me feel slightly mad. Unhinged in the most delightful of ways. He makes me feel as if I could possibly be something I’m not. As if I could be that girl. That girl authors write about. That girl readers dream they were. That girl who ends up with that guy…
My leg is shaking, and I’ve nearly chewed through my bottom lip. I pull up his contact, staring at his name. His name: Jax Peralta. Something about that sounds so right. Miranda and Jax. I feel like a teenager again with a ridiculous crush. My finger hovers over the Call button. Anticipation builds. My heart pounds in my chest; my mouth feels dry.
“More wine?”
I barely hear the waiter I’m so focused on my phone, but I nod all the same, and he trots off.
No, texting is easier because then I don't have to talk to him and worry about what a bumbling idiot I sound like. I can just type out words, read them, realize how ridiculous they sound, and delete the entire message. Gone—like I never even thought those things.
I quickly type: Hey. Saw that you called. What's up?
Shaking my head, I bury my face in my palms, peeking through my fingers with one eye as I go to delete that stupid message, and somehow, my fumbling fingers hit the Call button.
I panic and grab the phone. Just as I go to hang up, I hear the muffled sound of his deep voice come over the line, and I cringe, biting my lip as I lift the phone to my ear.
"Well, how about that. A call back from Miranda. How you been?" Jax says.
My heart goes into an immediate sprint, heat creeping over every last inch of my skin. "Good," I blurt. I take a breath, praying for my voice not to shake. "Got your message, and uh, I was just, you know, calling you back."
The waiter places the glass of wine on the table. I grab it and take a large gulp just as an elderly couple shuffles past the table, the woman talking so loudly I can't help but be distracted from the call.
"Glad you did. It's good to hear from you." He hesitates. "Given any thought to dinner?"
"Well, actually. I'm at dinner…"
"Wait, wait, wait… tell me you called me while you're out to dinner with EA Mercer. Even if you gotta lie, give me that win."
A small smile tears at my lips. "Yeah, I'm with the raging dick."
He laughs, and it carries loudly over the line. "Raging dick or not, I love his words. Reading his latest right now actually and wondering when I'm going to be able to get his next one. I heard he got himself a killer co-author. Wink. Wink."
I feel my cheeks heat, and I'm giggling like a thirteen-year-old girl. "Well, I'll see what I can—" I catch Edwin in my peripheral just before he plops down in the booth across from me.
He flashes me a smile as he smooths out his shirt, then he eyes the phone in my hand.
"Oh, hey, you know what, let me call you later. Edwin just sat down."
A snicker comes across the line, and it's now Jax who sounds like the prepubescent teen. "Did you really just call him Edwin? Un-fucking-real." He laughs. "Okay, okay, call me later.”
I hang up and slide the phone back inside my purse, my face still on fire.
Edwin's cheeks are flushed, his skin damp. "Sorry for the delay, I couldn’t find parking to save my life."
"Yeah, it's crowded in here." I narrow my gaze on him as I pick up the menu. "You okay?"
Nodding, he lets out a heavy sigh. "You'd think the nicest restaurant in this city would have some fucking valet. And a better-looking hostess." He laughs and motions back toward the entrance. "You see that fucking bitch? Obnoxious little one, she is."
"Uh…" I grimace. He's such an asshole and so disgustingly inappropriate. It almost makes me wonder how in the hell he's become so successful. "So what's good anyway?"
"What's good?" He recoils, curling his lip in disgust. "What are you, fifteen? Come now." He shakes his head as his eyes drop to the menu. He abruptly lets the menu fall to the table and grabs the top of my hand, giving it a squeeze. He has a saccharine sweet smile. "What am I going to do with you?"
My jaw clenches, and I clear my throat as I pull my hand away from his grip. "I meant, what do you suggest, Edwin?"
He doesn’t respond right away. His eyes are locked on his hand, now alone on the white tablecloth. "What do you think of our book?" His eyes trail up my body until they meet mine. "I mean really."
"I think it's good."
"Good? Just good?" he asks, no emotion in his voice.