Page 28 of The Love Interest

Which is exactly what my dick feels like right now.

A magical four-foot metal cock brought back to life by a quirky enchantress with bangs and nipples that won’t quit.

But I’m getting out of bed.

While I wait for the coffee to brew, I fire off an email to my agent, telling him to let my editor know that I’ll have pages for him in a week. I tell him that this book is a bit of a departure for me tonally but that it’s a Jack Irons book and that’s all the publisher needs to know. I might not be a badass former military man who kills people, but I know how to tell people to fuck off without actually telling them to fuck off.

And since I will require coffee before calling my dad back, I will text Fiona to let her know I’m thinking about her. I don’t have to act cool and wait three days to text her. I’m Emmett fucking Ford. The New York Times best-selling author who wants to get into her pants but alsodoesn’tbecause he wants to stay inspired.

ME: Hi. It’s me. The guy you straddled on a park bench this morning.

Five minutes later, I get a reply.

FIONA: Which park bench? It was a long morning.

ME: The one who whispered sweet nothings to you and your cock at Grand Central.

FIONA: Ahh. Milkshake Guy. Yes, I seem to recall that I enjoyed kissing you.

ME: I recall taking great pleasure in kissing you as well. You get some sleep?

FIONA: Some. You?

ME: Some. Can I see you again tonight?

FIONA: Maybe.

ME: Good.

FIONA: I’m working a double shift until nine.

ME: I’ll come get you and take you out for a late dinner.

FIONA: I think I’d enjoy that.

ME: Yeah, I don’t care if you enjoy it or not. I just want to see you.

FIONA: Fair enough. I shall allow you to meet me at 9:05.

ME: Fuck that. I’ll be there at 8:55. Get excited.

FIONA: I’ll work on it.

ME: Do that. Text me the deets.

ME: Or whatever the kids call it nowadays.

FIONA:

ME: Kindly inform me of the particulars via text messaging system.

FIONA: Stop sexting me! Break’s over. I have to go push the special on table 10.

ME: Stop trying to make me jealous. The only person you’re going to push the special on is me.

FIONA: We’ll see, Gramps. We’ll see.

Saucy. I like it. I’ll let her have the last word. My phone vibrates again, but it’s a text from my sister, asking if I’m up and if I’ve called Dad back yet. I tell her I’m calling him right now.