Page 2 of Deception & Daylight (Oak Ridge #3)

Mags

? I Would, Would You - Kelsea Ballerini

I glance down at the blank page, my fingers resting on the keys of my favorite sage green typewriter, poised and waiting for inspiration to strike. But that hope is futile. I haven’t written a single word all day.

My phone vibrates on the dark wood coffee table — a welcome distraction.

I swipe to answer the call, and suddenly a chubby face that looks strikingly like a tiny version of my best friend is staring back at me.

With her dark eyes and curly brown hair, Sofia is the spitting image of her mom.

She smiles her dimpled smile as my face comes into view, and before I can even utter a word, she tries to pull the phone straight into her mouth with her tiny, ineffectual fists.

Paige snatches it back seconds before the sloppy, wet assault, but it’s unlikely to come away completely unscathed.

“Sorry, Sofia’s teething something fierce,” she says with an apologetic smile.

“Couldn’t be me,” I tease. “How’s the sleep regression?”

Her nose crinkles. “Ugh. Don’t get me started. Besides, if I wanted to ta lk about mom shit, I’d call Ivy. How’s the new roomie?”

“He’s no Paige, that’s for sure. Mostly keeps to himself, which I appreciate.” After Paige moved out, I put off finding a new roommate for as long as I could, but Dad insisted on the extra income, even though he has more money than he knows what to do with.

“And have you told your dad you’re not taking the job yet?

” I grumble a curse under my breath, not liking where the conversation is headed, tossing my head back against the sofa cushions.

“You’re gonna have to tell him sooner rather than later.

It’s not healthy for you to keep pushing it off.

You have your own dreams to chase, babe.

You shouldn’t let his archaic bullshit about legacies and living up to the Watson name keep you from chasing them.

” She pauses to throw up air quotes around “Watson name,” and I can’t help but laugh.

Through no fault of her own, Paige doesn’t know I’ve already achieved my biggest dream. It’s not that I don’t trust her, I just haven’t found the right time to bring it up.

I never intended to keep it a secret, but it’s been a year since my debut came out under a pen name and nobody outside of my immediate publishing team knows about it.

Everyone involved in my career has signed NDAs to protect my identity, including my editor and cover artist. If word gets back to my dad that I’m writing spicy romance novels, I’ll never hear the end of it.

The press alone would be a nightmare. I can already see the headlines: Heiress to the Watson Empire Writes Smut.

With a resigned sigh, I nod my agreement. “He’s flying in for a business meeting next month and I’ll tell him over dinner.”

“Good. I’m proud of you, babe. Whatever you decide to do next, I’ll be here.”

“I know you will. That’s why you’re my favorite. How’s Cowboy?” I ask, referring to her husband by the nickname she bestowed upon him the first time they met.

“The ‘man cold’ is very much a real thing, I can confirm. He gets the sniffles, and you’d think he was just diagnosed with some rare terminal illness.”

“Need me to fly down there and kick his ass for you?” I mime throwing a terrible punch that would very likely end in a broken bone, and Paige snorts in amusement.

“I think we’ll survive. But if he keeps getting on my damn nerves, he might not.”

“I’ve got duct tape and a tarp, and airline miles at my disposal. Just say the word.”

“I heard that.” Cade’s muffled voice comes across the line as I spot his messy brown hair ducking into frame behind Paige. She twists the phone so they’re both in view and Cade looks like he’s recently been run over by a truck.

“You look like shit, Cowboy. Are you sure you’re not going to expire on us?”

“Y’all are stuck with me for a while longer, I’m afraid.” Leaning over the back of the massive grey couch where Paige is seated, he kisses her cheek in that achingly familiar way that has her melting on the spot. “How’s the great white north, Margaret ?”

I huff out an indignant sound, narrowing my eyes to slits. “Did you really just use my government name?”

“Yep. Best friend’s husband privileges,” he deadpans.

“I don’t think that’s a thing. In any case, life is pretty tame up here. Free healthcare, poutine, fuckboys in hockey pants. The usual.”

Cade chuckles. “Same ol’ Mags. I’ll leave you ladies to it.” He murmurs something about Sofia’s shitty diaper before striding out of frame with his daughter held at arm’s length.

“Domestic life is so glamorous,” Paige says sardonically, wrinkling he r nose in disgust as a waft of whatever Sofia’s packing hits her nose.

“That’s exactly why I don’t want one of those. Well. That, and I don’t have a motherly bone in my body.”

“Not to mention the glaring daddy issues,” Paige adds with a teasing lilt that drags it out like a song.

I point a finger gun and make a clicking sound. “That too.”

“So when is Auntie Mags coming for a visit?” Before I can answer, Eric, my new roommate, walks past the living room heading towards the kitchen, and the sound of a cupboard slamming shut echoes through the open plan living space.

He’s in his usual uniform of athletic shorts and a worn t-shirt.

His wavy black hair is pulled back into a man bun, and his beard is slightly more grown out than I’m used to.

He’s objectively good-looking in a careless way that reflects his inherently casual demeanor.

“Wait. Is that the new roommate?” Paige whispers, undoubtedly mindful of the main floor’s close quarters. I nod in response. “Wow. He’s cute. You should definitely hit that.”

“Hell no. I don’t fuck around with my roommates.” My voice is a little too forceful and my eyes widen as I glance over my shoulder to ascertain whether Eric heard me. If he did, he doesn’t show it.

“Much to my eternal dismay,” Paige says with a dramatic pout.

Paige and I lived together for several years before she ditched me for Cade, leaving me pining for my bestie from afar. She’s my platonic soulmate in every way that counts — the sister I never had.

“You’re a menace,” I tease. “But I have to get going. I need to send out a few more resumes.” That’s a lie, but the pages for my next manuscript are due soon and I need to get to work. “Give Sof a k iss for me when she doesn’t smell like hot garbage.

“Will do. Love you, Mags.”

“Love you, too.”

The Books & Baddies group chat chimes with another notification. Right now, it’s just the three of us — Paige, Ivy, and me — and it’s been a nice reprieve from real life.

When Paige moved to Oak Ridge, she ran into Ivy at the local bookstore and they instantly hit it off, bonding over a shared love of romance books. Later, Ivy fell in love with Paige’s brother and the rest is history.

Books & Baddies Group Chat:

Ivy: What’s our next read?

Paige: I’ve heard amazing things about Love Between Loathing by M.W. Hartley. It’s enemies to lovers, but I’m not sure if it’s your shade of grey, Ivy.

The moment my pen name appears in the group chat, my entire body tenses. This is the first time they’ve shown any interest in my book, and if they decide to read it, they could easily recognize the inspiration for some of my characters. I have no choice but to deflect.

Mags: Maybe something with a bit more spice? I have a date with my rabbit since I’m not getting any otherwise.

Paige: Don’t forget to put it on the charger this time. There’s nothing worse than an accidental edging. We could start that one series with the giant blue aliens.

Ivy: I’ve been meaning to try it. I’m in.

Mags: My ?? thanks you for your generous contribution.

I groan in frustration as I chuck the lifeless toy across the room, narrowly missing my floor-length mirror. It lands with a thud, followed by a soft knock on my bedroom door. It’s like fate has it in for me. No orgasms for you, Maggie Watson.

“Um. Is everything okay in there?” My roommate’s voice carries through the closed door, and I momentarily panic, wondering if I locked it.

I didn’t even realize Eric was home. Could he hear the vibrations? Did I make other noises? Fuck my life.

I manage a weak response, letting him know everything is fine.

Resisting the urge to bury my face in my pillow and scream out my frustration, I tug the plush yellow comforter over my head and pull out my phone.

The dim light from the screen illuminates my cozy shame shelter as my cheeks heat with humiliation.

Books & Baddies Group Chat:

Mags: Does anybody actually use the extra settings on vibrators? Who wants a sporadic pulsing on their clit? Just give me some fucking consistency. If I wanted to be sexually frustrated, I’d find a man.

Paige: You okay, babe? That was a long ass rant about vibrators with no context.

Mags: Am I wrong though? Seriously. Who’s manufacturing these things?

Mags: Men. Obviously.

Paige: You’re talking to yourself again.

Ivy: You forgot to charge it again, didn’t you?

Mags: Yes.

When I head downstairs for breakfast a week later, there’s a package waiting for me on the kitchen island.

It’s a nondescript medium-sized box with a return address for Oak Ridge, Kentucky.

What could Paige possibly be sending me?

I tear into the box, finding a discreetly wrapped package with an envelope on top that says “For your clitarature.” To my surprise, it’s not from Paige at all, but Ivy.

Mags,

I did some research and found a female owned company that makes vibrators with long-lasting charges and simple low-high settings. Hope this makes the alien smut more enjoyable.

Love, Ivy

Inside is a rabbit vibrator with a g-spot stimulator in the same shade of blue as the aliens on the cover of our book of the month.

I pull out my phone to call Ivy, laughing my ass off as the line clicks ov er.

“You did not just send me a sex toy care package. Is it supposed to look like an alien dick?”

I hear a bark of laughter at the end of the line that no doubt belongs to Luca, letting me know I’m on speaker phone. “You’re welcome. And if you like that one, there’s a website on the card. Ten out of ten recommend their vibrating butt plug.”

“Ooook. I do not need to know what you and Luca do in the privacy of your own home.”

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

“Noted. Thanks for this. I needed a laugh. And the hypothetical orgasms. I’ll keep you updated.” With a mug of tea and my newly acquired self-care package in hand, I head up to my bedroom.

Books & Baddies Group Chat:

Mags: Ivy, will you marry me? I have never orgasmed so fucking hard in my life.

Paige: Damn, girl. That’s like your sixth proposal.

Ivy: Fifth. We don’t count the first husband.

Ivy: And you’re welcome, Mags.

Paige: Speaking of orgasms. Did I ever tell you about that one time in my library?

Mags: Only about 100 times.

My phone rings on the nightstand, rousing me from a delicious dream far too soon. I grumble out a protest as I check the clock an d realize it’s only eight o’clock. Everyone that matters knows I sleep until at least ten. Unfortunately for me, my editor is not one of those people.

I roll onto my side and swipe to accept the call, my voice still hoarse from sleep. “Hello?”

“Good morning!” Victoria is far too chipper for this damn early, and I have a lingering headache from one too many glasses of wine the night before.

“What do you want, Tori?”

“Damn, girl. You’re a bear in the morning.”

I throw back the covers and stalk to the bathroom, pinching the phone between my neck and shoulder as I pop two ibuprofens. “Bitch, you better have a good reason for waking me, or you're gonna become the villain in the next book.”

Her laughter booms through the speaker, and I wince at the twinge of pain that follows. Maybe that second glass of wine was a bad idea.

Much to my annoyance, Tori continues to speak far too loudly for my delicate state.

“I’d love that, actually. I just wanted to let you know about this book signing opportunity that just came up.

It’s in your neck of the woods at a little indie bookstore on Dundas.

” It should excite me, but I can’t show my face as M.W.

Hartley yet, so it’s irrelevant. I open my mouth to say just that when she cuts me off.

“I think it's time to come out of the shadows, Mags. Your book is doing incredibly well, and people are dying to know who’s behind it.”

My shoulders slump as I lean against the vanity. “I can’t, Tor. Not yet.”

She sighs, and I hear shuffling on the other end of the line. “Think about it, hun. There’s still six months until the signing. It could be good for you.”

I agree to think it over and say my goodbyes, before sinking back under the covers and pinching my eyes shut, hoping to continue my dream where I left off — with Miles Barlow on his knees at my feet.