Finding Focus Read Free Page B

don’t want to. Staying inside this magnificent home would be a dream.
    “That’s a very generous offer, but I can’t accept. I really do appreciate it, though.”
    Annie places her hands on her hips while the pout on her mouth shows just how unhappy she is with my refusal. I assume no one tells Annie Landry no and she’s trying to go easy on me. I can already tell working with her is going to be interesting, to say the least.
    “Well, fine, but if you change your mind, just say the word and we’ll get you set up here lickety-split.”
    Her sweet southern drawl and interesting choice of vernacular makes me nostalgic. After thanking Mrs. Landry for her invitation and making plans to be back out here early tomorrow morning, she walks me to the porch and I take one more look at the house before hopping in my car.
    On my drive back to the motel, I can’t stop the grin that covers my face. Taking pictures of the Landry Plantation is going to be an amazing experience. I can feel it. However, I also feel the pressure. If I do a good job on this, it could lead to other jobs—something I desperately need and want. I want to prove to myself, and even to Graham, that I can do this.
    With the thought of Graham comes the memory of what he said to me the day I was fired.
    “How could you get fired, Dani? All you do is take pictures and write a few captions. How hard can that be? Do you have any idea how this makes me look?”
    Second to dating him for so long, working for the same magazine was the biggest mistake of my life. Graham never supported me, and he never encouraged or defended me. He’d always say he was harder on me than other employees so I’d “toughen up” and grow the “backbone” needed to succeed in the publishing world. He’d know best, of course.
    When I pull back into the gravel lot at the motel, I force myself to put the self-loathing on the backburner for a while. I park in front of my room that faces the parking lot. Right next to me is a large obnoxious truck taking up more than its fair share of the parking lot. Rolling my eyes at the stereotypical southern-boy display, I quickly grab my purse and walk to my room.
    I’ve seen Varsity Blues . I know what guys who drive big souped-up pick-up trucks are like.
    Just as I’m about to unlock my door, I hear a banging sound, followed by a loud crash. I freeze and hold my breath, trying hard to hear what else is going on in the room next to mine. Someone may need help. My eyes sweep the area around me. Not seeing anyone else outside, I relax enough to unlock my door and push it open.
    As I step inside my room, two more loud bangs shake the wall I share with the room next door and then the bangs morph into steady thumping. The moans that follow confirm two things: someone’s getting busy and they’re getting busy right next door.
    Awesome .
    Relieved someone’s life isn’t in danger and a tad bit embarrassed I’m hearing an obviously passionate couple have sex, I enter my room and slam the door, hoping they’ll hear it and realize they’re not alone.
    As the minutes pass, it becomes obvious my door-slam didn’t faze the amorous duo. I grab the remote, turn on the TV, and tick the volume up to ear splitting, but thumps, grunts, and passionate screams are all I hear.
    I fall back onto the bed and let out a snort. As irritating as it is to be an unwilling third party to their fuck fest, I’m also incredibly jealous. No one has ever made those kinds of sounds leave my mouth, not even my trusty battery-powered toy. Disappointment flows through me, officially putting an end to the mild arousal I was beginning to feel.
    Assuming they’ll be finished soon, I give up on watching TV and decide to get some work done instead. My shoulders slump as I realize my bag containing both of my notebooks, my camera, and my earbuds are still in my rental car. I slap myself in the forehead a few times before accepting the fact that I have to go outside again. I won’t