King of Pride (Kings of Sin #2) by Ana Huang

“Good luck!” Alessandra called after me. “Drink lots of caffeine!”

I waved at them over my shoulder as I rushed out the door. I almost knocked over a passing couple in my haste to catch the next train home and rushed out an apology. The guy yelled something at me, unappeased, but I didn’t bother stopping.

I had a book to edit—and finish.

For the next week, I camped out at the local coffee shop during the day and guzzled energy drinks at my desk at night.

Was it healthy? No. Was it effective? Yes.

Jill didn’t give me a deadline for the resubmission, but I didn’t want to risk falling into a creative rut again. I needed to finish the edits and the rest of the book while I was still riding high from her email.

I’d been so in my head about the book that it took the validation of a neutral, professional third party to break my creative dam. The words gushed out like a broken fire hydrant, and exactly six days and eight hours after I opened Jill’s email, I replied with my full, revised manuscript. It was risky, considering she hadn’t asked for the full book, but I was tired of playing it safe. No risk, no reward.

“Do you want another latte?” Charlie, my favorite barista, picked up the half dozen empty mugs crowding my table. It was almost seven p.m.; I’d been here since eight in the morning. “We’re closing in ten minutes, but I can whip you up one last drink.”

“No, it’s okay.” I leaned back, lightheaded with disbelief as I stared at the email chain on my screen. I had to wait for Jill’s follow-up, but my book was out there. There was no taking it back. “I’m done for the night.”

I’d wanted to finish my manuscript for so long. Now that I was done, I felt an inexplicable twinge of sadness. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed writing. Getting to know the characters, letting them take me on their twists and turns, building an entire freaking world—it was incomparable to anything else I’d ever done.

“You sure? It’ll be on me. I owe you.” Charlie gave me a bashful smile. “I, um, proposed to my girlfriend. In Tagalog. And she said yes.”

“Oh my God!” I shot up straight again. I’d been teaching him random Tagalog phrases every time I came in, but I hadn’t thought much about him asking how to say Will you marry me? He’d also asked me how to say I’m a defensive lineman in the NFL, which he most definitely wasn’t. “That’s incredible. Congratulations!”

“Thank you.” His face resembled a ripe beet. “Anyway, like I said, your next coffee is on me. I would’ve gotten you one of these”—he gestured at my empty mugs—“if you hadn’t ordered before my shift.”

“Don’t worry about it. Pay me back by showing me photos from the wedding instead. I’m nosy like that.”

Charlie laughed and agreed. While he closed up shop, I grabbed my phone and texted the group chat.

Me: I did it. I sent it. *nervous face emoji*

Vivian: The manuscript?

Vivian: That’s amazing. Congrats!

Sloane: See? I told you you could do it

Sloane: I’m always right

Alessandra: We should go out and celebrate:)

My smile dimmed. I hadn’t been in a going out mood since my breakup with Kai. Every time I tried, I would remember our night together at Verve and The Barber, and my heart would feel like it was getting raked over hot coals again.

My manic writing haze had temporarily pushed him out of my mind, but now he came roaring back with a vengeance.

I should call him. To thank him, to tell him what I’d accomplished, to just hear his voice and not feel so alone. But I didn’t want to muddle our relationship or lead him on when our fundamental differences remained. Besides, he might not even want to talk to me. I hadn’t heard from him since our breakup, probably because I told him I wanted space. Still, I couldn’t stop a pinch of disappointment every time my phone rang and it wasn’t him.

I forced a deep breath through my nose and squared my shoulders. No wallowing. Not tonight. Tonight was a night of celebration.

Me: We should DEFINITELY go out

Me: If you guys aren’t opposed to Brooklyn…I know just the place

No one objected, so I packed up my things, went home, and got ready with record speed.

An hour later, my Uber dropped me off at my favorite cocktail bar in Brooklyn Heights. I preferred Bushwick for nightlife, but getting Sloane to step foot in a non-Manhattan borough of New York was hard enough. If I made her go to Bushwick, she might spontaneously combust.

As expected, she was already waiting for me in a corner booth. The woman was freakishly punctual. Vivian and Alessandra showed up minutes later, and soon, we were warm and tipsy from two rounds of drinks.

“I’m so proud of you.” Vivian hugged me with one arm, her face flushed red from tequila. “Don’t forget us when you’re famous.”

“I have a long way to go before I’m famous.” I laughed.

“I once had a client who went from posting videos on YouTube one day to signing a multimillion-dollar contract with a major recording label two months later,” Sloane said. “Trust me. A long way isn’t as long as you think.”

“Publishing moves way slower than that, but I appreciate the support,” I said with a grin.

Alessandra raised her glass. “To chasing dreams and kicking ass.”