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I am a romance writer. That's not easy to say. Most people have preconceived notions about romances, and the people who write them. Let me tell you! Writing isn't for sissies. I got my first rejection in April 2004. That makes me a professional. In what other field are you considered a "professional" when you don't get called back for a second interview?
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Free Read--Kissing Hugh Jackman
Part One
“This won’t hurt a bit.” Wolverine took a step closer.
I took a step back. “Logan.” Looking pointedly at his extended metal claws, I said, “I’m not into that kind of pain.”
“Right.” His claws retracted. “Kill bad guys. Put blades away.”
“Where were we?” I edged closer to Logan, sliding my hands up his leather-covered chest.
“Right about—”
I jerked awake, breathing hard and fumbling for my alarm clock. But it wasn’t where it belonged. The nightstand was missing too.
A warm body snuggled into my waist, and awareness began to penetrate by degrees. New apartment. Sofa bed. Six-year-old son. Surrounded by unpacked boxes.
Hugh Jackman was conspicuously absent from my living room. But he was on the television, fighting Magneto’s mutants.
Likely the TV had woken me up. I slid away from Joshua and swung my legs over the side of the bed/sofa, intending to switch Wolverine off for the night.
A soft rap at the door stopped me mid-stride. I had no concept of what time it was, but it was nighttime, and nobody knew us in our new complex. Maybe it was my parents coming to check on us. Wouldn’t they have just called, rather than cross town in the dark?
The short, nubby carpet scuffed against my bare feet as I crossed to the front door. I sure hoped it was my parents. I wore a shabby gray T-shirt and matching cutoff sweats. I didn’t look forward to meeting new neighbors in my moving attire.
After peeking through the spyhole, adrenaline rushed through me. I cracked the door open to whisper, “You’re not Hugh Jackman.”
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