Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
And even though I’m not a book snob—like at all. I mean, my major talent in life is writing sex scenes—I do love a good sentence and this woman right here knows how to write one. I point at her. “You’re Cynthia Lear, aka Cordelia Serendipitous.”
“Um.” She looks uncomfortable for a moment. “You got the first part right, but it’s Sarantopoulos, actually.”
“Right. Right. I knew that.” I even point to my brain to prove it. “I just never knew how to pronounce Sarantopoulos, so I made up a new word. Am I the only one who does that?”
“Yes.”
“No. I’m not. Everyone does that, right? Especially readers. Right? I mean, if you had to stop reading every time you got to a word you couldn’t pronounce, you’d never get through the damn book. I’m right, right? Seriously, who the hell stops mid-sentence to figure out how to pronounce Hercule Poirot? Just call him Hercules Parrot in your head and keep going.”
She blinks at me. Twice. Then bows her head and resumes searching for whatever it is she didn’t lose.
“Sorry.” I take a deep breath and dial down my enthusiasm. “I didn’t mean anything by that. And by that I mean I hope I didn’t insult you. I’m a lazy reader, I guess.”
She looks up at me again. “Hercules Parrot is kind of genius.”
“Thanks.”
“Um… what are you doing back here?” She looks around, like maybe I was meeting up with someone else and she’s just the one I ran into first.
Which isn’t the case. I mean, it could’ve been the case. I didn’t know she’d be back here. But now that she is, and so am I, she’s exactly the woman I was looking for.
“I’m Steve. SS’s sister. Brother, I mean.”
She laughs. And damn, she’s pretty when she’s wearing her trademark scowl, but that smile is a whole other level of beautiful. Her whole face changes. “Yeah. I know who you are. I’m a bona fide SS disciple. I’m even in her reader fan group. Everyone knows who you are.”
Hmm. I frown a little. Because… do they? Do they really? “You know me because I’m everywhere Essie is? Her unassuming doppelganger? Hovering like an asshole fishing for compliments to boost his ego so he doesn’t dwell on what a mess he’s made of his life?”
“Umm… OK. But you narrate her books, right? Under the name Tank Watson?”
“What? How do you know that? I mean, it’s not public.”
“I’m not a stalker or anything, I’m just saying… it’s just… your voice.” She sighs a little. “I’ve heard you behind the scenes at Essie’s writing webinars. And… well, it’s really not a secret. We’ve all listened to the audiobooks. Jesus. That scene you narrate with Choke and Sugar?”
“Which one? There are hundreds of them at this point.”
She blushes. Bright pink.
“Ohhhhhhhhhh. That one.”
“That one.” She looks down, a little bit embarrassed. “I could never write stuff that dirty. I’m mostly a fade-to-black kinda girl. I like classic romance the best. Not that I don’t love your sister’s stuff. I do. I absolutely do. It’s just…” She lets out a long breath. “Pride and Prejudice is my all-time favorite. So. Yeah. I still find the sex scenes to be difficult. But I’m learning.”
“Well, it’s not as hard as you think because—” For fuck’s sake, Steve. Shut. Up. You were about to give yourself away.
“Because what?” Cordelia is squinting her eyes at me. “What were you gonna say?”
“Well, Essie and Mike are…” Oh, my God, what am I doing?
“They’re…?”
“Experimental. In private.”
“Oh.” She squints again. Probably because as her brother, should I know this about them?
No. No, I shouldn’t. It’s weird. And she’s just about to say this, I’m sure of it, so I quickly change the subject. “By the way, I read that first book of yours—The Clock Chimes for Love—and it was… pret-teee amazing.”
Her eyes go wide with shock. Then they narrow down. “You’re making fun of me.”
“What? No! I loved it. Oh, my God. When you made Marcus sell his soul to that corporate asshole to save the corporate asshole’s daughter from a life of implied financial slavery—”
“Oh, my God! You got that?”
“Got it? Woman, it inspired me to—”
But I stop. Abruptly. So abruptly she rolls her hand in a keep-going gesture. “To what? Inspired you to what?”
I am so off my game today. I feel like I’m bursting with secrets, so full of secrets that I might explode and spill them everywhere.
Alternatively, perhaps it’s just lovely Cordelia casting a spell on me, making me feel like we’ve known each other forever. Because, for the second time in thirty seconds, I was about to admit that I am the one who writes the books and tell her all about how that final scene made me change my whole ending in Slay Me Wild. Her ending was so courageous, and wordy, and perfect, I stalked her relentlessly online for like four days solid, looking for all her other books.