21. Blake

CHAPTER 21

Blake

T he cab to the vineyard seems to take forever, traffic clogging up the highway, and once I get to the winery it's busy with people.

It's a gorgeous day though and I've got a gorgeous girl waiting back at my apartment.

My girl.

I start humming that tune as I stroll through the tasting room and end up buying a bottle of pinot gris and a bouquet of yellow flowers. She probably won't want to drink the wine for a few days, but the flowers should at least cheer her up.

As I head back to the car I look around, remembering how completely weird last night got. Amanda was absolutely bombed, and while I was drunk too, I had to keep it together for her sake. She was open and vulnerable, surrounded by all the sharks of her past, and I wasn't about to let anyone take advantage of her. She may act like she's got a coating of armor around her, but I know how deeply she feels things sometimes.

That's why when I ran into her prat of an ex and his legs-for-days girlfriend, I couldn't help but defend her. She may have not needed me to be her knight in shining armor and I hope to god it never gets back to her because I'm pretty sure that would be the end of us, but I couldn't let them make fun of her and her ambitions. I had to let them know just how successful and talented and smart Amanda truly is.

So I fought her battle for her because I know she would do the exact same thing for me. I have her back. She has mine.

Another reason why I love her.

Bloody hell. My own thoughts make me pause, a kick in the chest.

Love.

I didn't even think it was fucking possible after Rachel. I swore I would never give myself to another girl, that I would keep everything in my heart cold and wrapped up, with not a thread loose.

It had worked so well.

Until she walked into my life and pulled on a string I had never noticed.

And I unraveled.

Slowly.

But surely.

Fucking pansy , I tell myself, starting the car.

But even if I am, it's all still true.

I am a pansy.

And I'm madly in love with her.

I sigh heavily and drive off down the highway. Because the world works in strange ways, "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" comes on the radio. I turn it up, roll down the windows, and start belting it out with a huge shit-eating grin on my face. It's just like that scene in Jerry Maguire where Tom Cruise is singing "Free Falling," except much, much lamer.

When I get to the apartment, the bottle of wine in one hand, the bouquet of flowers in the other, I still have that Tom Cruise grin on my face. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to stop smiling.

Until I open the door.

And see Amanda standing in the middle of the living room, her hands curled into fists, her eyes blazing into me with fire and brimstone.

"What's wrong?" I ask her. She looks like she's near tears, but the fury in her expression has me staying back and close to the door in case I need to run for my life.

"You told," she seethes.

Bollocks.

"Told what?" I ask cautiously, stepping over to the kitchen to put the wine and flowers on the counter. I feel like I'm a bomb diffuser and it's about to go off at any second.

She shakes her head slowly, her fists opening and closing. "You told everyone at the party that we write erotica together. You told them our pen name. You told them about everything ."

Her voice is thin and reedy and stretched by the anger I know she's barely holding back.

I raise my hands and inch backward. "I can explain."

"You asshole!" she yells, running at me, pounding her fists on my shoulders, arms, chest. Damn she has hands like rocks.

"Ow, ow, ow," I say, trying to shield myself, holding up my knee to keep her back. "Please just listen."

"You told them our secret!" she yells, her face as crimson as her hair, a vein ticking in her forehead. "Do you know what you've done?"

She breaks away and walks back into the living room, her hands grasping her head. "How could you do this?" she whispers.

"Hey, I did it for you," I call after her, keeping the kitchen island between us just in case.

"What?" she snaps, slowly turning around and coming back to me. "You did what for me?" she asks, leaning against the counter, eyes flashing.

"Look, that tosser of yours and his girlfriend were saying mean things, okay? You know, those underhanded comments about how weird you are and how you're a dreamer and the usual, good luck with being a writer, you'll never make it, so what was I supposed to do?"

"They said that?" she asks, horrified.

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter."

"It does matter! Now they know I'm an erotica author! Do you think that made them respect me? You should have just punched him in the face."

"I wanted to!" I yell at her. "And it did make them respect you, as they should! You should have seen their faces when I told them. I may have dropped how much money we make too, and believe me, in the long term, it's more than they'll ever know. They were impressed, Amanda. I shut them right up in their tracks. Words work better than fists."

Her face softens with worry, and for a moment I think the anger is fading but then some kind of wall goes back up again and her eyes turn hard and mean. "That wasn't your secret to tell. Now everyone knows. My parents." She shakes her head, looking away. "You have no idea what it's like to be a constant disappointment in your parents' life. Now I'm practically disowned because of you."

"Amanda, it doesn't matter."

"Oh, fuck you!" she yells, spinning around and jabbing her finger in the air. "Fuck you, Blake. You keep telling me what matters and what doesn't, and guess what? Some things do! Some things do and you don't get the right to comment on what things matter to me because it's personal and you should know that. You should know that about me. How do you think your father will feel when he finds out?"

I still and swallow hard. "He doesn't have to find out."

"Oh really? Because I've already gotten an email from someone at the Victoria Times Colonist wanting to interview us both for being secret successes."

Fuck. "You didn't say yes…"

"Of course I didn't! I wouldn't betray our trust like that. I'm not like you ."

Now I'm angry. "Hey, I was defending you!"

"And I didn't need you to defend me. I just needed you to keep your stupid mouth shut for once!"

"You could be a bit more grateful, you know," I tell her, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "It wouldn't kill you."

"Grateful? You ruined everything for the sake of your ego."

" My ego?" I practically roar. "What the fuck? You're fucking daft, you know that!"

"We had an understanding. We were in this together. And to think I trusted you. I trusted you with my heart!" she sobs.

I stare at her, gobsmacked, as the rage boils within me. "Your heart?" I repeat incredulously. "You've never given me your heart!"

She swallows hard, her chin wavering. She quickly rubs the makeup out from under her eyes and part of me wants to rush over to her, to hold her and tell her I'm sorry and that everything will be all right.

And the other part of me is breaking apart and coming back together, hardened. Not understanding how easily she can flip like this, how she can just say these things like I haven't meant anything to her, like she's never trusted me at all.

I had to have meant something to her. It couldn't have just been in my head.

"You're right," she says with a sniff, looking away. "I never gave you my heart." She shrugs and gives me a sad smile. "It was probably for the best."

She grabs her purse and starts to head out the door .

I should stop her.

I shouldn't let her go.

I should make her stay.

There are a lot of things I should do. But all I can feel is my heart dissolving in my chest like someone's poured a vat of acid over it.

So I watch her go.

"By the way," she says, pausing before she closes the door. "I may have fed Fluffy and forgot to put the lid back on. Have fun."

"Argh!" I cry out, immediately feeling like he's on me already.

The door slams shut behind her.

I can't believe what just happened.

I've lost Amanda.

And Fluffy is somewhere loose in this apartment.

Look at you, you sad arse , I tell myself, trying to steady my nerves and repair my heart all at the same time. I make my way out onto the balcony, the only place in the apartment I figure is safe from the monster, so I can think.

Fuck.

I am an idiot.

And not just for telling her ex about our secret. I seriously regret that now and I was sober enough to know what I was doing. I just got so caught up in the moment, I needed to say something. And she was right. I didn't need to defend her.

But god it felt good.

Maybe it was my ego talking after all.

I lean back in the chair and look across the harbor. It's far too beautiful of a day to break up. The clouds need to come in, the rain needs to come down, a cold bitter wind needs to carve right through me, matching how empty I feel inside. Instead, there are birds chirping from the trees and children playing happily on the grass below by the seawall .

I get out my phone and call her.

It goes straight to her voicemail:

"Hi, this is Amanda Newland. I don't check my voicemails ever, so please hang up and text or email me. If this is a telemarketer or my parents or someone born before 1961, better luck next time."

I know she doesn't check these, but I leave a long babbling message, apologizing, and ask her to call me back. Then I call her once more.

Again.

And again.

Text.

Email.

Wait.

Nothing.

I decide to head to the store and see if Kevin is there. If he is, I'm totally borrowing him and bringing him back here for a Fluffy hunt. At least that's one problem I'll be able to solve.

Meanwhile, I wonder if I can talk to my father and break the news to him before the word gets out. Amanda's old friends and my friends don't run in the same circles, but it's a small world and obviously if a journalist has already caught wind of this supposed story, there's a chance that word could travel down the grapevine to the bookstore. I mean, it is pretty ironic. Son of the city's most elite bookstore is a randy smut peddler.

Except I really don't want to do it. I'm dragging my feet to the store, opting to walk because it will take more time. But it's time to be a man and own up to it. If I was prepared to throw Amanda under a bus, I can throw myself under a bus too.

"Dad," I say as I enter the store.

He looks up from the register in surprise. I wasn't supposed to come in today. Luckily it's quiet in here .

"What is it?" he asks, frowning at my grave tone.

I guess that's a good sign. I don't see any signs of torches and pitchforks. He obviously doesn't know yet.

"I have something to tell you," I say to him.

"Can it wait?" he asks, gesturing to a few people lingering in the store. They aren't paying us any attention. The usual casual browsers, not sure what they're looking for.

"It can't." I stand on the other side of the counter. I learned something from Amanda this morning. Always keep your distance between yourself and potential injury.

The line between his brows deepens. "Okay…did you get someone pregnant?"

"No," I tell him. "But I'm not sure if this will be worse to you or better."

"Great," he says dryly. "Okay. What is it?"

"Dad, it turns out that I don't really want running this bookstore to be my full-time job."

He stares at me blankly. I'm not sure if he's heard me or not.

I go on. "The thing is, I do have a full-time job, and it's one that's making me a lot of money. More than I could have ever dreamed of at this age."

"Are you running a prostitution ring?"

"No," I say warily, trying to read his face. "But sex does sell."

"Blake…"

"Okay, well I love this store and I love you and I want to help, I really do, but the only way I can help either of us is if we hire a full-time manager for the store. A financial whiz. Someone who knows what they're doing."

"But you have a business degree," he says gruffly. "You're supposed to use it."

I scoff. "No one uses their degrees anymore. Welcome to the new generation, Dad."

"And how do you propose we pay for the manager? With what income?"

He's taking this surprisingly well so far. Maybe he's thought of hiring someone too.

But the other shoe is about to drop.

"I told you," I remind him. "I have money. The money will go toward that, and I promise the business will go back into the black."

"Son, if you don't start explaining where the hell this money is coming from…"

"Dad." Here goes nothing and everything. "I've secretly been writing books on the side and self-publishing them. Under a pen name."

"What?"

"They do really well. Really, really well. Amanda is my writing partner and we write them together."

"I don't…" He blinks dumbly.

"Our pen name is Blake Lovecox."

His head jerks back. "That's a terrible name."

"And we write smut."

Now he's speechless. "What?" he growls.

"We write smut," I say with a helpless shrug. "Erotica. We've released two books already and we're working on our third. The reviews are great. The money is better."

He's slowly shaking his head and I can practically see the steam escaping from his ears. "This better be a joke." His voice is practically choking with anger.

"No joke," I tell him, pulling out my phone and showing him. "These are our books."

He takes a quick glance. "That's disgusting," he seethes.

"Yeah, sometimes it is. But I didn't want it to be a secret anymore. I'm not ashamed."

"Well you damn well should be!"

"Why? "

"Because it's not real writing. It's not literature. It's garbage."

"That's what people said about Shakespeare back in the day. His plays were just entertainment. But what's wrong with that?"

"That's what movies are for."

"That's what all art is for. Your creations can become anything to anyone. I've realized there's nothing wrong with letting people escape for a few hours. Plus, you should hear about all the sex lives I'm saving."

"Other than your own?"

"Dad, I know how you feel about the genre and that's fine. But really, if you want to save the store, the first thing you need to do is start carrying smut. Or at least romance."

"I would never," he grumbles, his face growing red. "And I would never carry that junk of yours ."

I knew he would be like this. I don't even bother taking it personally.

"Dad," I tell him, pulling up the calculator and entering a few numbers. "I get my first check from Amazon very soon." I place the numbers in front of his face. "This is how much I'm giving to the store. The rest is going into savings."

He stands there, stunned.

"And that's from one month of sales from one book." I enter more numbers.

He's speechless. He licks his lips, eyes darting to me.

"Are you serious?'

I nod.

He clears his throat. "Well then. Congratulations on your new career."

He pats me on the back, and I watch nearly all his worries lift away.

I wish I could say the same about mine.