Hey guys, it’s me, MD, and I’m totally jacked to be interviewing the uber yummy beefcake Zack Goldman from Book One of the Northern Outlaws series, COME HELL OR HIGH DESIRE. It’s been a few weeks since the book ended, and I can’t wait to catch up with him.
Now then, grab your fave frappawino (or whatevs you like to mindlessly drink) and zap with me up to Fargo, North Dakota, to a hip joint called the HoDo. We’ll get a refill there. Ready?
I slide into the booth next to the wide front window where he’s leaning back against the seat, his left arm splayed out against the top of the bench. He’s already half done with a dark ale, the thick foam slowly oozing down the inside of the glass. He raises his chin to acknowledge me and glances out the window and then at the door. Breathlessly, I stare at him, marveling at the strong, shadowy jaw line, the sensual, yet masculine curve of his lower lip, the briefest hint of curl in his dark hair. My heart thumps against my ribcage. Oh, Jesus, he really is gorgeous, isn’t he?!
For a moment, I almost hate Sloane.
His gaze lasers back to me, and my eyes widen on impact. Had he heard my thoughts? How much had his telepathy developed since I’d typed THE END?
Crap, I’d best proceed carefully here.
ZG: “Can we get this started? I’m supposed to meet Sloane at some photographer’s joint in a little while.”
Which meant I probably had about five minutes, tops. The first thing that comes to my head is to gush about how much I’ve missed him, but that would make him squirm and want to get the hell away from me, so I beat those thoughts into submission.
MD: “No problem. Let’s just dive in with the main question all of us want answered: When’s the wedding?”
ZG: “She’s making me wait until May because of the transplant. Says she wants me all healed up for our honeymoon.”
The way his wry grin tilts his lips combined with the sparkle in those penetrating green eyes makes my next question go POOF. I drag my gaze from his damnable lips and fidget with the napkin in my lap. I clear my throat and pray for something intelligent to say. Instead I see his jean-clad calf dangerously close to mine under the table. My throat is suddenly Death Valley in freaking July.
ZG: “Hey, you all right?”
MD: God no. I tell myself not to create such a stunning male creature next time, but I know I will anyway. “Ah, yeah. Just need a little water.” Water? OMG. Oh. My. God! What a pansy-assed thing to say!
Zack hails the doe-eyed waitress who bounces over like she’s been waiting all day for him to do just that. He orders two waters. Humiliated, I thought he’d ordered both for me, but when Betty Boop bops them over, he takes a swig of one of the glasses himself. I could kiss his feet.
Or other more red-blooded parts.
Stop that! I’ll never get through this interview with thoughts like those. Bolstered by his empathy and the water, I’m ready for the next question. I hope…
MD: “Is the wedding going to be in Fargo?” It comes out as a squeak, but he doesn’t even raise an eyebrow, God love him.
ZG: “Yeah, Sloane has a thousand friends, and I want my main guys at the construction company to be there.”
How can a guy be so unbelievably hot, yet so down to Earth? And why didn’t I create Sloane in my image? Instead she’s my physical opposite. Dammitall.
His eyes crinkle with a sudden smile and my heart skids to a stop. I force myself to speak even though my tongue feels like a bull elephant seal in my mouth.
MD: “I didn’t plan for your telepathy to grow, you know. You’re only supposed to hear Sloane’s thoughts, not everyone else’s.”
ZG: “Creating something doesn’t mean you control it once you’ve released it to the universe.”
Oh, shit, that’s right, he’s smart, too. I need to take control of this interview. Like, right now.
MD: “I’m the author. You can only have the traits I made up for you.”
ZG: “You sure about that?”
MD: “You and your infuriating one liners.”
ZG: “I thought you liked that about me.”
He gives me a knowing smirk that makes me ache to simultaneously slap him and throw myself in his lap. Get a freakin’ grip, Dietz!
I open my mouth, ready to refute his arrogant assertion, but he speaks first.
ZG: “Authors should know better than anyone else that the line between reality and fiction is more blurred than people like to admit.”
My eyes widen. I’m starting to sweat even though it’s probably only 65 degrees in here.
And then my mind takes a decidedly naughty detour.
MD: “What else can you do?”
I’ll never know if he planned to answer me or not because at that moment, his phone chirped to signal an incoming text. When his eyes go all soft and sexy, I know it’s Sloane. Be-yotch! He was mine first!
He slides out of the booth with predatory grace and stands beside the table, tall, dark and yummy. I’m dying to ask him when I can see him again, but that would be clingy. Right? And I’m not the needy type.
Except when I am.
ZG: “You’ll be one of the first to know when I get her pregnant. It’s on the top of my list after the wedding. Until then, we’ll just keep practicing.”
He winks down at me, and before he even makes it halfway to the door I miss him with a longing that borders on obsession. I realize that my mouth is hanging open when the long-haired hippie from two booths over blows me a kiss and pats the seat beside him. What the hell, I think, as I approach his table and plop down across from him. I might as well let this guy buy me a White Russian and entertain me with his stories as I begin to imagine my next sexy-as-hell hero…