Page 24 of Catching Kyle

“And your writing,” she counters. “Has also been so much stronger. More compelling. You do realize that, right?”

The waiter comes to take our order, but I can’t help but think that Amani is right. Writing has become easier. Skye and I have been meeting after book club every week to do our writing together, so it’s nice to have an accountability buddy.

And then there’s Kyle Weaver. When he took off his shirt during our first discussion, I thought I was going to pass out. And the look he gave in return somehow told me that he knew he had that effect on me. And he just swaggered on as if nothing happened, but I could see the lingering smirk there every time he looked at me. Like he was playing with me.

And I fucking loved it.

No wonder my romance seems to be improving. I have a real-time crush.

“Fine,” I say. “You got me. There is a boy.”

She pulls herself in and squeals. “I knew it! I can always tell!”

But as she congratulates herself, bitter dread pools in my chest. I can’t be developing feelings for Kyle Weaver. I just can’t. When I went through the twelve steps with my sponsor, I had to make amends in Step Nine, which included myself. I promised myself that I would never let myself fall for someone emotionally unavailable. Especially if I want my romance writing to keepimproving. And a straight guy—a smoking hot football player of all people—is the most unavailable person on the planet. Even if he was the most mature person in the world, he could never like me back. So Kyle is not an option for me. I will nip this affection for him in the bud. My writing will thus improve because I’m not chasing an unhealthy affection. And then I’ll get published and have my writing community back.

“But it’s nothing, really. We’re just friends. And it has to stay this way.”

She pouts and sticks out her bottom lips. “Really?”

“Really,” I say with a sigh.

In the nick of time, our food arrives, and both of us eat in silence. Amani and I came up with an agreement years ago. When one of us says something crazy or out of left field, and the other asks ‘Really?’, a response of the same word means it’s really true. It has saved both of us plenty of breath.

“Well, I brought all this up to mention,” Amani says, blotting her lips with a napkin. “That I contacted my agent again.”

I set down my chopsticks. “Really?”

She nods. “Really.”

“So you’re writing again?”

She takes a deep, almost cleansing breath. “It’s time. Seeing you blossom in your work has inspired me. I threw out an idea to her this morning. I hope to hear from her soon.”

“That is so awesome, Ams,” I say, my chest warming. “I’m so happy for you. What’s this idea?”

“I can’t jinx it!” she says. “Once I’ve fleshed out the idea more, I’ll tell. I’d also like to join your little group with Skye.”

“We’d love to have you,” I say.

“Thank you,” she says. “And thank you for the inspiration.”

I feel heat behind my eyes. “I never thought I was inspiring, so that’s nice to hear.”

“Oh, hush,” she says. “You are plenty inspiring.”

As we finish up our food, I think back to my argument with Kyle several weeks ago, how he said that fantasy was the only inspiring genre. He and Ichallenged each other to read more of the other’s genre, and I have to say that maybe that’s also partly explains the improvement in my writing. He challenged me to read Brandon Sanderson’sStormlight Archive, which, in the main books alone, is over six thousand pages. Not wanting to seem like a coward, I took on the challenge. I was daunted at first, but I soon fell in love with each of the characters, so much so that hundreds of pages have flown by, and I haven’t even noticed. I’m almost finished with the fourth book. But as payback for giving me so much to read, I’ve tasked him with reading the entire backlists of Emily Henry and Abby Jimenez, which, by the way, arestillless than what he’s making me read.

As long as I keep my emotions in check, I can make a good friend in Kyle. Maybe after this whole book club agreement is over, we can keep reading together. I just need to remember to not catch feelings.

“Besides coming out to this lavish establishment,” Amani says, gesturing to the whole restaurant. “I did want to celebrate.”

I raise a brow. “Celebrate?”

“Yeah, you know. Go to a bar. Take a shot or two.”

I sigh but can’t help but smile. She’s convincing.

“You know I don’t love to drink.”