Page 70 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

I saw Señor Asshole just once, when we went to get Cai’s things; I prepared myself for a confrontation. I did a few push-ups that morning to try to look as buff as possible, in case I had to posture up on him, since I expected him to be angry and aggressive.

What I met was a guy who began fanboying over me as soon as we arrived.

“Holy Shit! You’re Lawson Jones! The Silent Knights guy!” He was grinning, eyes wide.

“Uhh… Yeah,” I said, wanting to keep my protector status with Cai but also not wanting to seem rude to a fan.

“Cai,” he’d called to her as she gathered her things. “This is the guy who created those games!” Then, back to me, he says, “There’s a sequel coming out soon, right?”

“Should be yup,” I’d said.

“So you and…” Trevor looked from me into the apartment as if just doing the math and figuring out what it meant that I was there. “Oh… so I guess it only matters that you’re a gamer if you’re not rich,” he said, words dripping with malice.

“I guess that depends on the game you’re playing,” I said, squaring my shoulders.

Cai came up behind him with two boxes stacked one on the other, two duffels, and a rolling suitcase. I reached past Trevor to grab some of the load.

“This everything?” I asked her, and she nodded.

“I’m more of a Sleeper Cell player anyway. Better action sequences. More FPS.” Trevor said, brow furrowed, obviously hoping to elicit a reaction from me by bringing up a rival game.

I smiled. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.” I put my arm around Cai, and we walked away.

“Whatever, bro! You’ll figure it out soon; you can do better!” he called out to us.

I watched Cai wince at the words.

I considered saying nothing, knowing that would bother him more, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Trevor, you’ve already fucked up the best thing you had going for you. Maybe you quit while you’re ahead and stop talking before you figure it out the hard way.” Trevor stood fuming but didn’t say another word.

CAI

Two weeks. In only two weeks, my life looked completely different. The Cai from before that plane ride wouldn’t have recognized me now.

Waking up in Sonny’s bed, having coffee together, getting to work as an actual writer and on the team for possibly one of the hottest games ever; it all felt completely unreal.

I had insisted on no special treatment; I wanted to know that any accomplishment was earned on my own merit, not because I am sleeping with the boss.

Still, every time I submit an outline or story, I hold my breath. What if my ideas are terrible? What if I can’t live up to the story that had made me cry during that side quest with Rey? What if everyone realizes I am a fraud who’s spent years doubting myself?

But then I get a note back from the creative director saying something like, “This has heart. Keep going,” and I feel like I can fly.

I thought the confrontation with Trevor would be a challenge. For all of Sonny’s assurances, I worried he’d think my baggage was too much. That I wasn’t worth it. But it was quite the opposite. If anything, it cemented us together. Nothing in my past and no sudden realization is going to change Sonny’s feelings about me. I have to get used to that.

The evenings are my favorite part.

I come home (still strange to call it that), and Sonny will already be there, or he’ll walk in shortly after me. We cook together, usually something Cuban that he requests from our Hurricane last supper. Or he’ll order something from one of his favorite spots, and I’ll joke about his takeout addiction. We talk about our days, maybe watch a Rifftrax (I think I might like Birdemic the most), and fall into bed like we’ve been doing this for years instead of weeks.

It is terrifying how right it feels.

Tonight, I am curled up on the couch with my notebook when Sonny walks in. He looks tired but happy, throwing his book bag onto a side table as he crosses the room.

“Hey,” he says, leaning down to kiss me. “How was your day?”

“Productive. I think I finally cracked that hospital subplot. How about you?”

“Long. But better now.” He drops onto the couch beside me and pulls my legs across his lap, his hand absently stroking my thigh. “You know… You don’t have to keep insisting on the anonymity. You’ve more than proven that you’re deserving of that spot.”