Page 50 of Catching Kyle

I love contemporary romance, or at least I always have. But I just don’t feel as excited about my original novel as I used to. I know I said that I would query this book, and that if it didn’t get any traction, I would give up.

But I don’t know if I feel that way anymore. At first, editing the novel was exciting, but now it just feels like monotonous drudgery. I know that editing ishard, but is it supposed to bethishard? Like ‘bang your head against the desk hard’? I don’t want to get ‘grass is greener on the other side’ syndrome, where the next project always looks better than my current one, but something feels off here.

“Whatcha got for us today?” Skye asks.

I sigh. “You know, I’ve been editing my novel, but I also had this really cool romantasy idea.”

“What is it?” Amani asks. “I didn’t know you were into writing fantasy.”

“I didn’t either,” I admit. “But I want to give it a try.”

“Well tell us,” Skye says. “You’ve heard enough from us already.”

I take a deep breath. “Alright,” I say. And then I lay it all out. I talk about the two knights, how the retinue they belong to uses a specific magic practice that has now been outlawed as a result of a revolution. “So now they’re all criminals,” I continue. “But what else are they supposed to do? Their options are to turn themselves in for execution or fight back and become the barbarians they are painted out to be.

“Uhh,” Josue says. “That’s fucking rad.”

I catch my breath. “You think so?”

Amani gives me that dead serious look she always does. “Really,” she says. “And listen to yourself. I’ve never seen you so animated about an idea.”

I look back, realizing how I was talking so excitedly that I wasn’t stopping to breathe.

“I think you should write it,” Skye says. “Give your current book a break. Start this one. If it’s right, you can go back to it.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and my stomach leaps, remembering the text I sent to Kyle. I wonder what he’ll think of this new idea. I can’t wait to tell him.

But then dread pools in my chest at the thought setting my contemporary romance down. “What if this is just a shiny object? What if I’m just not disciplined and this is a way to distract myself?”

Skye shrugs. “Then you can deal with that realization when it comes. But if you feel strongly about this, I don’t think you should hold yourself back.”

The dread in my chest turns to excitement. She’s right.

“Then next week, expect to see my new story.”

Amani smiles. “Can’t wait.”

As we wrap up, my feelings are all over the place. I’m most excited about embarking on this new romantasy journey. I can’t wait to see what it’s like to explore love in a fantasy world. But in a week, I won’t have a job. And in a month, I won’t have an income. If I want to resolve this, I have to start working as soon as possible. Which means no writing at all.

I pull my phone out, eager to see what Kyle said. Maybe he’ll have some advice. Hell, he might even have ideas about where I could work. He’s so confident, so talking to him always makes me feel a little more sure of myself.

When I check my messages, I expect to see his name. But instead, it’s just a random promotional from a bakery I became a member of a couple months back. There’s no response from Kyle. Nervous, I open up our messages and see that he still hasn’t read it.

“That’s okay,” I say quietly to myself. “He’s probably busy.”

But as I make my way home, my mind goes to the darkest places. What if he’s gonna ghost me? I can’t name how many times it was going well with a guy and then I never heard from him again. Or worse: what if he’s fucking someone else?

The image makes me queasy. I told myself I could never catch feelings for him because he is straight and therefore emotionally unavailable to be my partner. And this helped. It was like a wall between us. But now that he theoretically can be there for me—the facts that hejustcame out and is part of the NFO notwithstanding—the idea of him with somebody else ignites primal jealousy inside me. I can feel it stirring in my gut.

I check my phone one more time when I get home. Still nothing.

“Please,” I say to the screen. “Don’t be like all the others.”

But as I get ready for bed, I prepare myself for the worst.

Chapter 20

Michael Cunningham