Read Online Gauge: Rockstar Romance (The ProVokaTiv Series Book 1) by Cara Nelson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cara Nelson
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in,” I said, smiling a bit sheepishly. I wasn’t sure why I felt awkward showing that I needed some morning vino. It was common in Europe, right? Plus, I’d never see these guys again, so why not do what I needed to do? I was the one with the self-imposed deadline, after all.
“Shall I uncork this now, signora?”
“That will be fine.”
He smiled at me and did as I asked, lingering by the front door with his silver cart until I signed the room service bill and added his tip in there.
“Thank you,” I said, holding the door open for him.
He walked out and I dove in, pouring a glass of ‘the nectar of journalists.’ Then I got back to work, feeding my fire with a muffin, a juicy peach, and a tasty glass of wine. The words began to flow from my fingers more freely. I got to that sweet spot in my mind, the place where I thought about the emotions and message and kicked the editor to the curb. That could be done afterwards, by me and then Laurel.
I was starting to feel good, and by 3 PM, I had a thousand fairly brilliant words written and was ready to flesh them out. I’d been willingly edited and critiqued on my writing my entire life, but I had to be honest; no piece of writing was more important to me than the one that I was working on. I also noticed that when my fingers were moving their quickest, I was most likely to misspell Hunter’s name, turning him into a Huntre, until my auto correct switched it around for me. Gauge and Simon were no problem. It went to show that Hunter found a way to get attention even when I was in the privacy of my hotel room and involved in an affair with MS Word.
The phone rang that was on the desk right by me. I didn’t even look over as I picked up the receiver and nestled it under my chin.
“You okay? I haven’t seen you all day.” It was Gauge.
“I’m good. Doing some writing, because I have to get a partial draft over tonight.”
“Can you take a break?”
“Sorry.”
“Alright, catch you later.”
We hung up, and I realized that something very unfamiliar had happened. I didn’t have the tingles from Gauge’s voice or the distracting lusty thoughts of him that bombarded my mind at all the wrong times. I was in the zone. In fact, I couldn’t even figure out why he’d call me just to check on me. He’d grown less ominous over the past few weeks, but it wasn’t like him.
Needing some invigoration, I’d just taken a shower and put on my pajama bottoms and a tank top. My hair was piled up high on my head, still wet, and I was getting ready to read through my draft one last time before I sent it off to Laurel.
There was a knock at my door. It was already 11 PM and I thought it might be a wrong door. Then there was another knock.
I walked over to peer through the hole and a piece of paper slid under the door. “Open up. I can hear you typing.”
I swung the door open. “Sorry, wasn’t typing.”
“Well, I had a good chance,” Gauge said. He wore a serious expression and was holding a small brown sack under his arm. I stared at it and waited for him to talk. “Thought you could use a break. I got a six pack of Peroni.”
“Well, why not. I should take a break from the piece for a bit so I can look at it with a fresh set of eyes. Hopefully you don’t mind my attire.”
“Why would I?” Gauge asked. I think he was serious, too. Intentionally complex, like the description for the bottle of wine I’d enjoyed throughout the day.
“I’ll read it if you want.”
“Not on your life,” I said.
We sat down on the couch. Gauge asked if he could turn on the sports quick to catch the soccer scores. “Torino just played Manchester United.”
“You like soccer?”
“I do.”
“I never knew that.”
He didn’t say anything to that. I’m not even sure why I thought I should have known that. After all, millions of people loved soccer.
We turned our attention to ESPN Italy. I barely understood any of it, relying on the scores on the
“Shall I uncork this now, signora?”
“That will be fine.”
He smiled at me and did as I asked, lingering by the front door with his silver cart until I signed the room service bill and added his tip in there.
“Thank you,” I said, holding the door open for him.
He walked out and I dove in, pouring a glass of ‘the nectar of journalists.’ Then I got back to work, feeding my fire with a muffin, a juicy peach, and a tasty glass of wine. The words began to flow from my fingers more freely. I got to that sweet spot in my mind, the place where I thought about the emotions and message and kicked the editor to the curb. That could be done afterwards, by me and then Laurel.
I was starting to feel good, and by 3 PM, I had a thousand fairly brilliant words written and was ready to flesh them out. I’d been willingly edited and critiqued on my writing my entire life, but I had to be honest; no piece of writing was more important to me than the one that I was working on. I also noticed that when my fingers were moving their quickest, I was most likely to misspell Hunter’s name, turning him into a Huntre, until my auto correct switched it around for me. Gauge and Simon were no problem. It went to show that Hunter found a way to get attention even when I was in the privacy of my hotel room and involved in an affair with MS Word.
The phone rang that was on the desk right by me. I didn’t even look over as I picked up the receiver and nestled it under my chin.
“You okay? I haven’t seen you all day.” It was Gauge.
“I’m good. Doing some writing, because I have to get a partial draft over tonight.”
“Can you take a break?”
“Sorry.”
“Alright, catch you later.”
We hung up, and I realized that something very unfamiliar had happened. I didn’t have the tingles from Gauge’s voice or the distracting lusty thoughts of him that bombarded my mind at all the wrong times. I was in the zone. In fact, I couldn’t even figure out why he’d call me just to check on me. He’d grown less ominous over the past few weeks, but it wasn’t like him.
Needing some invigoration, I’d just taken a shower and put on my pajama bottoms and a tank top. My hair was piled up high on my head, still wet, and I was getting ready to read through my draft one last time before I sent it off to Laurel.
There was a knock at my door. It was already 11 PM and I thought it might be a wrong door. Then there was another knock.
I walked over to peer through the hole and a piece of paper slid under the door. “Open up. I can hear you typing.”
I swung the door open. “Sorry, wasn’t typing.”
“Well, I had a good chance,” Gauge said. He wore a serious expression and was holding a small brown sack under his arm. I stared at it and waited for him to talk. “Thought you could use a break. I got a six pack of Peroni.”
“Well, why not. I should take a break from the piece for a bit so I can look at it with a fresh set of eyes. Hopefully you don’t mind my attire.”
“Why would I?” Gauge asked. I think he was serious, too. Intentionally complex, like the description for the bottle of wine I’d enjoyed throughout the day.
“I’ll read it if you want.”
“Not on your life,” I said.
We sat down on the couch. Gauge asked if he could turn on the sports quick to catch the soccer scores. “Torino just played Manchester United.”
“You like soccer?”
“I do.”
“I never knew that.”
He didn’t say anything to that. I’m not even sure why I thought I should have known that. After all, millions of people loved soccer.
We turned our attention to ESPN Italy. I barely understood any of it, relying on the scores on the
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