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2. Chapter 2

As always, the coffee at French Roast is stupidly fantastic. It’s like it’s been infused with magic bean juice or something. It’s so good that I can even ignore the foreign music they play in the warm, cosy coffee shop.

I’m in the middle of savouring my second—don’t judge—cup when Jess, the cute, bouncy waitress on shift, plops her tush on the chair in front of me.

“You going to tell me what has your panties in a bunch, darling, or make me drag it out of you?” Her incredibly well-plucked eyebrow lifts as she stares at me.

For some reason, my scowl or general badassness has never bothered this perky brat. I love Jess for it.

“Ugh. It’s the stupid book.” I pull out the ever-sarcastic finger quotes when I say the title, “Their Rogue Pirate.”

“Oh shit. Yeah, you still have some due on that contract, right.” She leans forward, resting her arms on the table between us. “There is absolutely no way for you to get out of it?”

“Nope. I’m stuck. Either I write the books, or I give them my soul. They’ve been selling like hotcakes, and I don’t fucking know why!”

“Because you wrote them, of course.” She smirks at me and waggles her eyebrows like a lecherous old man.

“You’re a sweetheart, but these are the ones that they changed my pen name for. Well, I insisted they change it to Angelique because I didn’t want my readers associating me with the nonsense they’re making me write.” I throw myself back in the chair dramatically and hide my face behind my arm. Jess laughs softly before she taps the table, bringing my attention back to her.

“You know what you need to do?”

“Go buy a lotto ticket so I can win big and blow this joint?” I retort sarcastically.

“Huh, you’ve got jokes. No, you need to go on a date. Get laid. It will release some of this tension you’ve got building.” Her smile is enormous. Dangerously so.

“What have you got planned?” Hesitancy laces my voice. The last time Jess had an idea, we’d fallen out of a plane strapped to a couple of hunky skydiving instructors. Granted, we had fun, but her brand of fun is terrifying.

“Well… there’s this dating app.”

“Stop.” I interrupt her, holding up my hand and leaning forward to grab my coffee. “That’s why I’m here—no way I’m saying no to that promo you sent out. Give me my free coffee. I can fill in a dating profile and pretend to look for a date.”

“You don’t get it. I’ve heard some stuff about this app. It’s actually been quite successful,” Jess insists.

“You don’t get it, Jess. I’m not interested in my happily ever after, but java juice? Yes, please. So I’ll sign up and claim my prize. And if I get lucky and find a good shag, then yay.”

She rolls her eyes at me, but before she can say anything else, the manager on shift calls her over from the counter. With a huge sigh, she gets up and returns to the scowling grump who hands her a very jaunty beret. The very same beret she hates wearing because it ”gives her hat hair” and conveniently loses multiple times a shift.

Finishing my coffee, I head to the counter to pay my bill and grab the details for the dating app. As I walk out, I blow a kiss at Jess, who is still in the middle of arguing with her boss.

Maybe she needs to sign up for the app.

***

Jess is stupid.

French Roast is stupid.

This app is stupid.

What the fuck are these questions?

It”s littered with stupid innuendos and vague references to supernatural beings and fantasy creatures as if they”re trying to make me believe in the impossible.

But I’m motivated by the promotion and my addiction to coffee, so I finish the survey and send it off. Apparently, they will get back to me with my fated love. Or loves.

The only thing about that entire survey that makes my romance author’s heart happy is the option of poly love. It’s very nice to see them being so inclusive. If there is one thing I’ve always wished I had, it is a harem of my own to keep me happy.

With that particular task out of the way, I can focus back on the icky nasty book porn I have to write.

My brow draws into a fierce frown when I start up my PC and see where I’d left off.

Vixen was about to have her pleasure garden plundered by the pirate captain’s magic rod.

I sit staring at the screen. It’s too much, and I can’t force myself to do it.

The clock at the bottom of my screen ticks on, and I open up my Discord app, join a busy author-only server and decide to jump in on one of the sprints to force myself to get the words flowing.

Maybe a countdown clock will break the block.

Huh. I guess I’m leaning toward poetry today.

I give myself a mental shake, quickly greet some acquaintances, and join the sprint.

With the pressure of having fifteen minutes to do as many words as possible looming over my head, I start typing without thinking.

***

Vixen shook off the unwanted lust for the monster in front of her, but let her eyes look down demurely.

“Would you undo my shackles, please sir?” she whispered softly hoping that the waver in her voice came across as need and not the nerves assailing her system. The idiot growled in victory and quickly unlocked the restraints around her wrists.

Bringing his mouth down on hers again, he was distracted enough to not realize she had her eyes set on the sabre at his hip. When his tongue delved between her lips, she refused to acknowledge the simmering need he incited before pushing him back.

Murderous clouds of confusion fell over Killer’s face as Vixen brought the sabre up and pushed it against the pulse in his neck.

“Move back, asshole.”

***

My subconscious takes over, allowing me to write the story how I want. I know I’ll regret it later when I have to take the words back, but for now, I’m letting my inner muse free, and it feels glorious.

And who knows, I could use it in a future story for myself.

The sprint’s timer runs out, but I’m so lost in the story I barely pay it any attention. I see the notifications come in from the people I’m writing with, tagging me to get my attention and enter my word count, but I ignore them in favor of the story.

My fingers fly across the keyboard, words tumbling onto the screen at a rapid pace.

A female main character that not only stars in her story but takes the lead.

She fights the man trying to keep her under his thumb. And she beats him. With skills unknown to the pirates who kidnapped her, she brings them all to their knees and takes charge of their ship.

I glory in the victory of a woman. In how she not only beats them but enchants them. She becomes their siren. All the men fall to their knees, vow their loyalty to Vixen, and she ultimately becomes their captain. Throwing the dastardly Packard overboard when he refuses to fall in line.

I pause. Reread my last line. Sit a while.

Hmm. Maybe not quite throw him overboard. Deleting the section about how they force the asshole to walk the plank, I sit back and stare at the screen.

I’d much prefer she charms the grump, too. It would make more sense.

Before I can start the rewrite, my gaze lowers to the time at the bottom of my screen.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

It’s four in the morning.

A hysterical, somewhat wired giggle escapes me when I realize I’ve been sitting at my desk for six hours straight, hacking away at a story I cannot submit to the publisher.

I quickly back up my work, shut down the rig and drag my ass into a shower before falling face-first into bed.

I’ll fix it tomorrow. Well, today. But first, sleep.

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