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"  An excerpt from my book: Matt flagged down a cab and held the door open so Lindsay could climb inside. &amp;quot;We&amp;#039;re making two stops,&amp;quot; Lindsay told the driver, once she&amp;#039;d situated herself in the backseat. &amp;quot;We are?&amp;quot; Matt asked, a cocky smile turning up the corners of his lips. &amp;quot;Oh right,&amp;quot; Lindsay smacked her forehead. &amp;quot;I forgot that you&amp;#039;re a famous athlete and you rarely hear the word &amp;#039;no,&amp;#039; so let me spell it out for you: I&amp;#039;m not sleeping with you.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;You shouldn&amp;#039;t believe everything you read in the press,&amp;quot; Matt said. &amp;quot;Listen, no judgment. If I was some sexy, strapping, mult-millionaire baseball star I&amp;#039;d be taking down as many hot groupies as possible too.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Well, I&amp;#039;ve never heard anyone put it like that before,&amp;quot; Matt said, shaking his head. &amp;quot;And a few years ago, when I was first starting out, I&amp;#039;ll admit, I was like a kid in a candy store,&amp;quot; Matthew&amp;#039;s dark eyes were focused on hers. &amp;quot;But that got old, fast.&amp;quot; God, Lindsay wanted to believe him. Wanted to just let him come home with her, to do things with him that she&amp;#039;d never done with anyone before. Over the last few days, as she followed him from practice to press event to party, all for a profile she was writing of him, she had developed a raging, teenage fever level crush on him. But she couldn&amp;#039;t think of anything more unprofessional than sleeping with her subject. Entourage this was not. &amp;quot;Well, I&amp;#039;m seeing someone anyway.&amp;quot; Lindsay was a terrible liar, and she knew she didn&amp;#039;t sound very convincing. &amp;quot;No you&amp;#039;re not,&amp;quot; Matt said, softly. &amp;quot;I am,&amp;quot; Lindsay insisted. Matt shifted so that he was closer to her, so that their thighs were pressed against each other&amp;#039;s. He felt warm, solid. Even sitting down, he towered over her. &amp;quot;No, you&amp;#039;re not,&amp;quot; Matt repeated, and tilted his head down. Lindsay didn&amp;#039;t stop him as he pressed his lips up against hers. His tongue slipped between her lips and pressed against her own. She felt his hand on her thigh then. His touch was tentative, as if he didn&amp;#039;t know how welcome it was. Lindsay pressed into him and deepened their kiss, letting him know it was very. Welcome. She felt his fingers slide up her inner thighs and underneath her skirt. She parted her thighs and moaned softly into his mouth as he found her center. She was wet, and he inhaled deeply when he realized it.  &amp;quot;I want to taste you,&amp;quot; he whispered. He dragged her thong to the side and stroked her bare, swollen lips. &amp;quot;Here.&amp;quot; Mother of\u2014Lindsay could barely keep herself together, and they still had 15 more blocks until they were at her apartment. She pulled away from Matt and leaned forward, &amp;quot;Driver, just that one stop.&amp;quot; I hit &amp;quot;save&amp;quot; and closed out of the document. I have two months to write this romance novel, and I&amp;#039;ve been getting up early in the morning to get in about 3,000 words before I go to work. I&amp;#039;m exhausted\u2014but the idea of my name on a book cover and the Chlo\u00E9 bag I&amp;#039;m going to buy once that check clears is keeping me going. I was walking out the door when Peter called. &amp;quot;Hi,&amp;quot; I said, locking my door behind me. &amp;quot;Hey babe.&amp;quot; My stomach still does a Gabby Douglas whenever he calls me that. &amp;quot;So, I have to cancel dinner tonight.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Aw, why?&amp;quot; I asked, genuinely disappointed. Writing about sex as much as I&amp;#039;m writing about it makes me want to take Peter down 24/7, and I was really looking forward to doing that tonight. &amp;quot;I completely forgot I had this birthday party to go to. I said I would go a while back.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Oh.&amp;quot; Now my stomach felt funny for a different reason. Why wouldn&amp;#039;t he ask me to go with him? &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;d ask you to go, but I think you&amp;#039;d be completely bored.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;I wouldn&amp;#039;t be bored,&amp;quot; I said wayyy too quickly and immediately wished I could take it back. &amp;quot;No it&amp;#039;s fine,&amp;quot; Peter said, just as quickly. &amp;quot;Just do something with Ashley tonight, I&amp;#039;ll call you later.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Okay,&amp;quot; I said, not really feeling okay about it. &amp;quot;I guess I&amp;#039;ll talk to you later.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;We&amp;#039;ll do dinner this weekend,&amp;quot; Peter promised. &amp;quot;Sorry again.&amp;quot; We hung up, and I threw my phone up against the wall. No! Just kidding, I didn&amp;#039;t do that. But a part of me wanted to. My crazy Grandmom Smith was always babbling to me about my &amp;quot;women&amp;#039;s intuition&amp;quot; and how I should never ignore it. Well, my women&amp;#039;s intuition is going apeshit. Something just doesn&amp;#039;t feel\u2026.right.  Am I being paranoid? Or do you think something is up too? "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a10543/j-bedroom-blog-is-this-a-red-flag/>