Oh my God, him and Shanna? I mean, they definitely had some prime time flirting going on last night, but I didn’t imagine—
“There’s my fucking star,” Meredith says, walking out of the bedroom in her stocking feet, a cigarette clamped between her lips. She buttons up her cream blouse and shrugs on her beige jacket. She smiles at me. “The fuck are you doing here, gorgeous? You’re supposed to be at your signing.” Meredith puts out her cigarette in an old, leftover cup of coffee. She blows smoke, hands on her hips. “Jesus, we gotta get you moving.”
Oh crap. Oh shit. Oh woe. Oh fuckmuppets. Between the wedding and my panel appearances, this happy little adventure has come at the worst possible damn time.
“Jesus, the signing,” I groan, grabbing my purse and laptop case. Nate and Tyler both stand to the side, looking like they have no idea what is happening or what to do. Which is pretty much exactly the truth.
“I’ll come with you,” Nate says, hands in his pockets.
“Like, I’ll just wait here,” Tyler says, sounding lost.
“Good idea, sweetie. Go tuck yourself back into bed and I’ll be around soon to fuck you good night.” Meredith winks at him, and Tyler blushes again.
What the hell is happening to my life? I point to each of them in turn.
“Meredith, ew. Tyler, thanks. Nate, you don’t have to come with me,” I say as he goes over to the dresser, pulls out a new T-shirt, and throws it on. There is a brief flash of him in all his shirtless glory, which does a number on my heart. And, you know, other body parts. Then he’s dressed. He even takes my laptop for me. Aw. Chivalry ain’t dead.
“We, ah, need to take care of that business together. Later,” he tells me.
We ignore Tyler’s grunting enthusiasm. Not like that, dude. Well. Maybe like that. But look, we need to know if it’s single fucking or married people fucking. Because if it’s the latter, I may be too sick to my stomach to have an orgasm.
“Okay. Come to the signing, do the meet and greet, watch me shake some hands and ink some books. Then we’ll go,” I tell him. Meredith’s already shoving me out the door.
“I’m so proud of you, kid,” she grunts in my ear. Nate comes after us, holding my case.
“I’m kind of intrigued, since hearing you read last night. I want to see what the fuss is,” he says, smiling.
Meredith waggles her eyebrows. “I like a man who likes a show,” she says.
We walk, and I can’t help the slight fluttering nervousness in my stomach.
Hopefully, Nate thinks we’re a good crowd.
It kind of makes me wonder why I care what he thinks.
19
Nate
I’ve never been surrounded by this many women in my life. I had no idea Julia was so popular. The line for her signing stretches across the carpeted ballroom floor, winding around several booths. I can see her up at the table, alongside two other women. She’s laughing, chatting, tossing her hair. Something she says makes the woman she’s signing for burst into raucous laughter. Julia’s good at putting people at ease.
“Oh my God, I love this. I so rarely see dudes in this kind of line,” a woman behind me says. She grins up at me, a pile of books in her arms. She’s got curly black hair and dark skin, and wrinkles her nose as she studies me. “You sure you’re in the right place, hon?”
“I love romance novels,” I say, as neutrally as possible. Hopefully, I sound like I’m telling the truth. Playing along with other people’s assumptions can be part of a lawyer’s job. “This series with, ah, all the sex. Fantastic. Can’t get enough.”
“Wow. This is so weird,” the woman says. She laughs, and even slaps me on the arm. “I love it. Good for you, man.”
“Thanks,” I say, bemused as a couple of other ladies turn to gawk at me, like I’m some kind of mythological creature on display, a manticore reading Nora Roberts.
The line moves forward a bit, then halts, and I stop short. The woman from behind bumps into me, spilling her books. I pick them up for her. Damn. She’s been balancing—five, six—eight paperbacks.
“Let me hold onto some of these until you get to the front,” I tell her. She makes a gasping noise of relief. “Would’ve thought you’d have a tote bag or something. That’s one thing I’ve noticed about publishing conferences; they give away totes like they’re candy or something.”
It’s true. I saw a woman with five bags slung over her arms, who then ran to grab another free tote at the Ballantine table. Some mysteries I will never understand.
“Mmm, totable candy,” the woman laughs. She nods. “Yeah, I always get too many books. It’s my big problem. I mean, I read like crazy. Makes my morning commute easier. Sci fi, fantasy, thriller, you name it. Sometimes I pick up whatever Oprah tells me to. But romance is kind of my main passion. No pun intended.” She grins. “Too many books. So yeah, not enough totes in the world.”