Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“I pad quietly to the door as a droplet of water slides from my hair down my shoulder. I peer in the peephole, and my breath catches. It’s Noah, and he’s dragging a hand through his thick, dark hair. He heaves a sigh, one of obvious frustration, perhaps from our fight outside the hospital last night. Admittedly, it had been a long night. But I said things, and he said things.
“I don’t move, still unsure if I’m going to answer it when he mutters something under his breath, and it sounds like my name. Like a c’mon Lacey. And it’s chased by a please. That last word undoes me, and I swing open the door, curious but still annoyed. Before I can even ask why he’s here, his eyes roam up and down my frame and he mutters, ‘Wow.’”
I look up, then blow out a long stream of air. “You made the heroine answer the door in only a towel?”
She shrugs a playful shoulder. “I’m an equal opportunity towel-after-the-shower-scene writer.”
I lean closer, park my chin in my hand. “Please tell me they’re going to have hot hate sex next.”
She leans across the table, her lush mouth inches from mine. “You tell me. You’re up, Huxley.”
I crack my knuckles and get to work.
It feels good to be back here with her.
It feels even better to leave with her.
And it feels great when she spends the night. Well, first we play a game. I fuck her in the stairwell.
Then call out ten points.
But she called out my name.
So we both won.
I can’t believe my brother roped me into this. “Of all the escape rooms in New York, why did he have to pick a museum-themed one?” I ask Hazel as we leave the Christopher Street station, the chilly air slapping my face.
It’s a few months later and we’re nearly done with our book. But right now, it’s time for friends and family.
“You’re going to do great,” she says, grabbing my hand with her mittened paw.
“This is like, half my books. This is what Brooks does every day. He’s an expert,” I say, dreading it a little more with every step.
“Then you’ll do great. Since you write these escapes all the time.”
I shoot her a withering look. “I’d do great if I had all day to plan and research it. Then to draft it, then beat myself up over how awful the first draft is, then throw the draft in the trash, drink ten coffees, chase them with whiskey, and finally find the answer in the shower the next morning,” I say as we turn onto the next block, heading toward Conundrum on Jane Street, home of the place where my brain is about to be put to a horribly public test.
“I solve plot problems in the shower too,” she says, all cheery and completely oblivious to my struggles. “Like this morning when the vineyard owner decided to buy a brand-new vineyard as a big gesture for his heroine. I came up with that under the hot water.”
“Show-off,” I mutter. “Also, is that your way of telling me to buy you a vineyard and name it Sweet Raccoon Vines? Because I do well, but I don’t do that well, sweetheart.”
She stops in front of a red-brick building, shaking her head, laughing. “No, and also, did you just see me not placating you about the escape room?”
“I saw it and felt it deep in my bones,” I say with a scowl.
“Remember what I told you in Barcelona? Just have fun,” she says, then presses a kiss to my lips. “And if you have fun, I’ll reward you.”
That lifts me from my escape room funk. “You mean if we’re the last to solve it, I can go down on you in the escape room? Twenty points. I’m so there,” I say, then I grab her hand and walk faster.
43
I’M IMAGINING
Hazel
He doesn’t do bad things to me in an escape room. Please. Cameras and all. But we do win. What can I say? I’m a competitive monster too. We located the stolen work of art before Carter and Rachel, my sister and her fiancé, and my friend Ellie and her guy Gabe did. They’re all in town for the holidays.
Now, with the escape room behind us, we’re all hanging out at Gin Joint, a speakeasy in Chelsea. The fireplace roars and torch songs play overhead.
“I demand a rematch,” Carter says, lounging on a blue velvet couch as he lifts his beer. “Who’s in? Tomorrow. We’ll find another one. And this time, Gabe and I will win.”
Ellie’s fiancé, Gabe, cracks up, then shakes his head. “Dude, do not volunteer me for another one of those. You’re lucky you got me to go to one at all,” says the football player. Carter and Gabe are both receivers—Carter plays for the San Francisco Renegades, and Gabe just retired from the Los Angeles Mercenaries. They’re good friends too.