He simply had to, and he was not going to use his usual template. Ten minutes later, as he towelled off from the shower he’d predicted, a goofy smile on his face, he decided he had to write that woman back. He was going to need a shower after this. God! He was getting embarrassingly hot and bothered, and in wintery July, no less. This girl had a healthy imagination and an impressive command of descriptive language. Thank God his sister was out of the house they shared. Jesus, it was so steamy he felt like hiding while reading it. He adjusted his position on the seat and kept reading. It was usually every form of romance, from historical to fantasy, never explicit erotica. His eyes nearly bugged out when he realized it was erotica. His usual thing was to read the stories, then copy his standard “You accidentally sent this message to me instead of romance publishers.” Most of the time he just managed a few paragraphs, but sometimes he lucked on a really good one. “I’ll just give it a quick glance.” He said out loud as he downloaded the attachment. He had a new email on the address that people often erroneously sent fiction submissions. God, he was deep in procrastination mode. He checked his official emails, then on a whim checked the rest of his largely dormant addresses. Checking email is productive, he reasoned. He closed the tab decisively, and then instead of closing the entire browser, he moved to check his email. Instead, he was on social media, and it wasn’t even the kind of surfing you could characterize as useful. Distraction here I come, she thought.Ĭyrus was supposed to be editing a video that was supposed to be uploaded in two days. Lord knows she’d have enough time to worry. According to the call for stories, they’d receive an answer after five weeks. She needed to distract herself or she would end up in an endless worry loop over her application. She went to her living room, threw herself on the couch, and turned the TV on. Taking a deep breath, she clicked send, then closed the lid of her laptop and walked away from her workstation. It was only a few hours till they closed applications. She looked at the time at the bottom of her screen. Anita knew it even as she read through the email one last time. She’d read the email at least three times, proofreading, editing for clarity and trying to exude an energy that would encourage them to publish her. Anita’s trembling finger hovered over the enter key.
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