Wildcat

“Molly, are you okay?” My roommate Kim dropped her shopping
bags in the still-open doorway, her heels clicking as she ran over to me. She
stopped short over my body sprawled out in the middle of the living room floor.
“Should I call 911?”

“Only if they send hot, single paramedics.” I’d been in the
same pajamas for two—maybe three? —days and was in no shape to be entertaining
any sort of company, even if they came armed with a stretcher. “Maybe they’ll
give me some inspiration.”

Kim’s bright pink lips wobbled into a frown. One of those
really disappointed looks that bordered on embarrassment. “Writer’s block
again?”

“Yup.” I sat up, smoothing out my hair. “I’ve got to get
this book to my editor next week and so far, I’ve got a big nothing burger to
send her.”

“Maybe she can add lettuce and tomato?” Kim chuckled but the
disappointment came back when I didn’t laugh with her. She picked up her
packages and closed the front door. “Sorry. I wish I knew how to help. I have
plenty of dating disaster stories but nothing with a happily ever after.”

“Same.” I wrote steamy romance novels full of alpha males
with washboard abs, hot sex, and happy endings. The words came pretty easily
while I was in my last relationship. But once my fiancé decided he was actually
still in love with his high school sweetheart and he needed to scratch that
itch, everything in my life felt like a lie. I realized I had no idea how to
get myself, much less my characters, into a forever relationship. The
consequences might not be so dire for myself—although I was staring down the
barrel of thirty-six with a newly bare ring finger—but it had put my career on
life support.

I’d always been open with my readers when I was living the
lie. But now that I was single, I couldn’t bear to come clean with them about
why there would be such a gap between books, or why I’d been so quiet lately. I
didn’t want them to lose faith in me.

“The girls will be here soon.” Which was Kim code for get yourself together. Her face
brightened. “Come out with us. Drinks and dancing. There’s a new club downtown,
but it doesn’t get super crowded. The DJ plays a lot of throwbacks, and the
crowd is mellow. I think you’d like it.”

“You mean old people will be there.” I was ten years older
than Kim, and some days it felt like dog years. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. This
deadline is no joke. My editor doesn’t have any other open spots until the new
year. I already asked. She probably only told me that to light a fire under my
butt, and you can see how well that worked.”

Not only did I not want to feel like the chaperone with Kim
and her friends—there was no better reminder I wasn’t in my twenties any more
than hanging out with people who were actually in their twenties—but all my
going-to-a-club-appropriate clothing was from when I was still with Michael.
Every dress, each pair of heels reminded me of a night out with him. I needed a
whole life makeover. And I’d do it.

Once I finished this book.

“There might be a few old people there. But that’s not why I
invited you. I thought maybe you’d get some inspiration—”

“I’m not picking up a drunk guy in a bar.” I still had scruples,
even if Kim had a point. The only guy who I ever invited to the apartment was
usually armed with a pizza and, depending on how badly the writing was going
that night, possibly an order of mozzarella sticks.

“No. But people-watching can’t hurt, right? Maybe talking to
a few people would give you some ideas for your story. That’s all you need.
You’ll figure out a way to make it work in the book.”

Like it was that easy. Problem was, I had plenty of ideas
that sounded great in my head and once I sat down to put them on the screen,
there was a logjam. Nothing would come out. And the few words I managed were
absolute garbage. I had to keep reminding myself that my editor wasn’t a mind
reader, but she could work a miracle or two with some word vomit.

“I promise I’ll come out with you after I finish the book.”
I didn’t even believe it, but it would be enough to end this conversation
gracefully.

“A change of scenery might do you some good.” Kim bit her
bright pink lip. I’d lived with her for nine months and I wasn’t sure if I’d
ever seen her without a full face of makeup. “Hear me out. I saw an ad online
for a new TV show. It’s called The Real
Werewives of Alaska. They’re looking for women to date the players from
that new football team, the Bloodhounds.”

“The shifter one?” I’d seen the ad too. I hated to admit I
was intrigued. I mean, the plot bunnies. How could I not be?

“Yes, that one. Stop curling your lip. Have you ever dated a
shapeshifter? I had a friends-with-benefits arrangement with one in college.
The sex was absolutely insane.” She fanned herself. Now I was definitely
intrigued. “But he said he was expected to choose his forever mate, and his
pack would want him to find another wolf. I wasn’t exactly thinking about
forever at the time, but that’s so hot. And it’s perfect for your books.”

Kim read all my books once she found out what I did for a
living. And then gushed about them and talked about my characters like they
were real. I was letting her down in more ways than one.

“I’ll check it out.” I didn’t have to add the rest of it. Once I finish my book. The entire world
waited for me once I typed those two magical words: The end.

“Promise?” she asked. “Just think, what would your heroine
do, and then do that.”

I laughed. “I wish real life was like books.”

“Maybe it could be.”

The doorbell rang, and that was my cue to go hide in my
bedroom. Kim’s friends were all adorable, even when they weren’t dressed to impress
for a night on the town. My pajamas were a little overripe and I wasn’t sure
the last time I’d taken my hair out of this bun. It was my deadline uniform.

Once in my room, I cracked open my laptop, the cursor
taunting me on the blank page. I couldn’t get Kim’s suggestions out of my head.
The going out one was easy to ignore, but the rest of the conversation stuck
with me like melted cheese on the top of a pizza delivery box. Once the girls
cleared out of the apartment, I was definitely ordering a pizza. Until then, what
would my heroine do? She’d check out The Real
Werewives of Alaska website.

It was for all inspiration, I told myself as I clicked away
from my blank document to the internet. The
Real Werewives of Alaska was looking for single women between the ages of
twenty-one and forty for potential long-term relationships with members of the
Alaska Bloodhounds, a brand new all-shifter football team. The show was run by
an all-woman crew, which I liked, and they encouraged everyone within that age
range to apply, asking us not to self-eliminate. Interesting.

A page full of beautiful men with short bios followed. Every
one of them listed what kind of shifter they were. There were wolves, lions,
foxes, bears, lynxes, and a dragon. I recognized some of the players, like
Landon Fox and Graham Chase. Michael, my ex, loved football and I used to watch
games with him every weekend. I lingered on those familiar names a little
longer, star-struck, and I can’t lie—feeling a little devious at the
proposition of dating one of my ex’s favorite players.

Especially a smoking hot one like Graham Chase. He did not
make watching football a hardship.

I’d never dated a shapeshifter before. There weren’t many
living in Boston. Most shifters preferred the country, where they had the room
to be themselves. And they’d had fated mates, which automatically took them off
the market.

Which made me wonder why these guys needed the help of a
dating show to find their mates.

I couldn’t deny it sounded like the plot of an amazing romance
book.

It couldn’t be worse than staying holed up in my apartment pining
away for my ex, and having my roommate give me that look every time she came
home from work and I was still in my pajamas.

Kim was right. It was time for a change of scenery, a new
wardrobe, and a whole lot of other new things. Like maybe a forever mate.

What would your heroine
do? Kim’s question echoed in my head. A pink paw print at the top corner of
the page asked the question Do you have
what it takes to be a Real Werewife?

It wouldn’t solve any of my problems with this deadline, but
there was always another book to write. In the name of research, I clicked on
the link and entered my information.

And for the first time all day, the story came to me. I’d
get this book to my editor and with any luck, then I’d be off to Alaska for my
own happily ever after.