Between The Lines

by Drew Sera

  J.P.: It’s fantastic looking. Love the display of the books.

  I paid the entry fee and received an event bag that was full of stuff. Amy had mentioned that these are called “swag bags.” I glanced inside and saw the typical collection of items Amy said were popular: bookmarks, info cards, pens, keychains and a stress ball. Stress ball might come in handy.

  The exhibit hall was pretty packed, and there were rows and rows of tables. I glanced at my seating map that I was given and found the row where Amy Andrews would be. It was hard to act interested in many of the other tables, though I did stop and glance at a table that had handcuffs on the banner. From where I stood at that table, I could see the Amy Andrews’ purple tablecloth. In a sea of black and gray, she stuck out with the purple tablecloth.

  And she was fucking hot!

  Suddenly, I was looking at her not only as a friend, but possibly as a friend with benefits.

  I moved from table to table in the row but constantly looked up to glance at her and hear her voice. She had dark brown hair, but some red hues caught the light. Amy stood about five feet seven inches. She had an average build; soft curves and ample breasts that could keep me entertained for a while. I watched her as she spoke to a few readers. I suppose they were probably fans since they were taking turns posing with her for pictures.

  Standing at the table next to hers, I could hear her voice clearly. There was no accent, and I didn’t detect that she was covering an accent. Her bio on all the social media sites and her own website touted being born and raised in Southern California.

  “Yeah, absolutely. We can most definitely schedule Amy to pop in and appear on your live blog event. Let me get her schedule,” said the woman behind Amy’s table to another “official” looking woman. This must be the P.A., Samantha Kelly.

  Amy was talking to some more fans while Samantha was scheduling something with the other lady. I carefully lifted a copy of Paris and turned it over to look at the back cover. I wasn’t reading it; I was listening to Amy talk passionately about a new book. Could it be the one she’s been asking for my inside advice?

  “Amy, what book or project are you working on now?” One of the fans asked her. She held in her arms what appeared to be very tattered copies of a few of Amy’s books.

  “Oh, you guys are going to love my new book. It’s a bit different than anything I’ve written. Darker and more erotic,” Amy excitedly explained and rubbed her hands together as if she held the greatest secret of them all.

  I focused on her purple nails. They really did match her shoes well.

  “Yay! We can’t wait!” Another woman said.

  “Yeah, when does it come out, Amy?” a third woman in the group asked.

  “I don’t have the confirmed date yet, but I’m hoping late next month,” Amy delivered the news to the group of ladies and they began asking her about some of the characters.

  I was trying to listen to what she was saying about the characters when Samantha Kelly started chatting with me. I adjusted my glasses and looked back down at the book in my hand.

  “That one is a heartbreaker. Oh, my God, I cried for days after I read that book,” Samantha said and tapped her fingers on the book I held.

  I flipped the book over and nodded as I set the book back on its’ silver display stand. I picked up Country Chic and glanced at the back of it. Again, I wasn’t really reading the description. I actually downloaded this book last night and planned to begin it tonight. Samantha continued to chat up the books. Damn, I just wanted her to stop talking so I could hear Amy’s voice and listen to what she said about her new book.

  “Country Chic is a sweet romance that takes place in the Indiana countryside. It’s the sweet city girl meets the rugged, recently widowed country guy.”

  I nodded and set down that book and then glanced at all the others lined up on her table. I picked up Paris again and held it toward Samantha, indicating that I’d like to purchase it.

  “Wonderful! You’re going to love it! How would you like to pay? Amy accepts cash, credit and a bunch of the online payment apps,” she said.

  I pulled my wallet out and produced the ten-dollar bill to Samantha. She gently accepted it and cradled the money in her hand as if it were truly special to her. And actually, I didn’t take her at all for being fake. I think she’s as genuine as Amy is. And I knew that Amy truly appreciated all her readers and their purchases. She’s told me so, and I’ve watched her interact on social media and now in person.

  “One moment and I’ll get Amy to sign it for you,” Samantha said and held her index finger up at me to give her a minute.

  “It’s alright. No need to bother her, she’s with her readers,” I quietly said to her.

  Samantha frowned at me as if unable to comprehend the fact that I wanted to buy a book but not bother to have it signed. Amy turned her head and made eye contact with Samantha and they seemed to have a silent conversation.

  “Amy, this gentleman purchased your first book,” she said and then smiled at me.

  Amy looked at me and smiled. I smiled back but kept my lips together and looked down at her table. Fuck, she has a gorgeous smile. While I kept my focus on her table, in my peripheral vision, I saw her take the copy of the book from Samantha.

  “He doesn’t want it signed though. I asked him,” Samantha told Amy.

  “Oh, okay. Well, thank you, sir, for buying Paris,” Amy said to me.

  I nodded and accepted the book from her outstretched hands and moved along to other tables near hers with my heart pounding.

  Chapter 9

  February

  Amy

  When I came back from the ladies’ room, there was a can of Vanilla Coke waiting for me at the table. Samantha is amazing. I was dying for one of these. This event has been a huge success, and there has been continuous activity at the table. This was my first chance to leave the table for a few minutes. I sat back down and took a few refreshing sips of the carbonated vanilla goodness.

  “Better?” Sam asked, and I nodded.

  We chatted with some authors after the event at the hotel lobby bar. A lot of the P.A.’s were using the time to network and schedule things for the authors, while most of the authors seemed exhausted. Including me.

  After the event, we made it to my car and I begged Samantha to drive us home. I was beyond tired. I use the phrase “begged Samantha to drive us home” loosely because Samantha always offered to drive my car.

  “Can you drive us home, Sam? I am so exhausted.”

  Samantha’s mouth dropped open and she brought her hand up to her mouth as if she was just given a gift for Christmas.

  “Why yes. Yes, I do believe that I can drive us home,” she said, unable to hide the excitement in her voice.

  “Without speeding?” I asked.

  “Yes, without speeding…much.”

  “Sam—”

  “Yes! Without speeding or driving recklessly. I won’t kill off Amy Andrews.”

  “And can we stop for food?”

  “Where is it that Ms. Andrews would like to dine?” Samantha asked.

  “McDonald’s. Drive-thru style.”

  “Whoa! Are you suggesting we eat McDonald’s in the Audi convertible?” Samantha pretended to be astonished.

  Maybe she really was astonished. She often treated the car as if it were a person.

  “It’s a car, Sam. It can handle french fries.”

  “Ugh, if you say so.”

  We finally got all the stuff loaded into the car, and as we made our way to a nearby McDonald’s, I decided to text J.P. I ignored the teasing from Samantha while I sent the text.

  Amy: The book event is over and we’re heading back to Costa Mesa.

  J.P.: Good to hear. Are you guys going to eat before you head back?

  Aw.

  Amy: Yep, we’re going to grab a bite first.

  J.P.: Drive safe and if you don’t mind, please text me when you get home.

  I glanced at the clock. It’d p
robably be close to 11:00 in the evening before we made it home and I assumed he’d be out at his club by then. He mentioned that he always goes on Saturdays.

  Amy: It might be late. Perhaps close to 11:00 p.m. I don’t want to disturb you if you’re at your club tonight.

  J.P.: It’ll be fine. I keep my phone on silent mode when I get there. I want to know you made it home safely. Please text me, Amy.

  I’ll admit, my little heart felt a few different things. It warmed my heart that J.P. cared to make sure I was eating, that we drove safe, and that he wanted a text when we returned to Costa Mesa. And I felt a twinge of jealousy knowing that he’d be doing something dirty with some lucky woman.

  “You’re quiet,” Samantha said in a serious tone when we reached about the halfway point.

  I was thinking about J.P. but didn’t want her to know that.

  “J.P. on your mind?”

  “What? No.”

  “No?”

  “No,” I said with more confidence.

  “Oh, my. Mr. Sadist has crawled into your mind. Has he wrapped his whip around your heart yet?”

  “Sam, you’re talking like a crazy woman. I’m just tired.”

  “Tired and thinking about the sadist,” she taunted.

  I sighed.

  “I know things, you know. I read books,” Samantha said very matter of factly.

  We both burst out laughing and talked the rest of the way home about J.P. As soon as we pulled into the driveway, Sam helped me carry everything inside.

  “Thanks again for helping me with everything today and for arranging it so I could attend the event, even though I bitched about it a few days ago.”

  “Well, I kind of sprung it on you. But, it was a successful event and you met a lot of readers and even made some new fans.”

  I nodded, and Sam flung her arm around me for a quick hug.

  “Please rest, Aims. Text Mr. Sadist, take a shower and get some sleep,” Samantha said in her parental/sisterly/best friend tone before adding, “And use a generous amount of lube with the butt plug.”

  I shook my head but laughed and locked the door after she left. With my phone in hand, I went ahead and sent J.P. a text even though I knew he’d be at his club and wouldn’t even see it for a while. Maybe not even until morning.

  Amy: Just made it home.

  I stared at the text before I hit send. It seemed so minimal, yet I didn’t know what else to say to him. He was in a BDSM club tying up some woman, or spanking them, or whatever it is that he does. I hit send and plugged my phone into the charger then went to take a shower.

  “Don’t let him in, Amy,” I said out loud to myself while I was in the shower. “He will just break your heart. Just like Chris did.”

  I settled into bed and picked my phone up to check some messages and glance at emails before calling it a night. There were a few texts from J.P. and my heart fluttered at the sight of his name appearing on my screen.

  J.P.: You guys made good time. I hope the event went well.

  J.P.: Are you around?

  J.P.: Still up?

  I quickly sent him a response.

  Amy: Hi! Yes, I’m still up. I just was getting settled.

  J.P.: May I call you?

  Can he call me? What the hell? Can he call me? I held the phone in my hand and looked around the room as if the answer was hiding somewhere. I jumped out of bed and paced as I typed back to him.

  Amy: Call me? As in on the phone?

  I hit send and then swore at myself for sounding like a moron. My screen suddenly lit up with a blue background and a silhouette of a man with the name J.P. Fever above it. Shit! He was calling me! I pressed the “answer” button.

  “Hello?”

  A gentle laugh came through the receiver.

  “Yes, Amy, on the phone,” he said calmly.

  “Hi, sorry about that. I think my brain is fried after today,” I explained.

  “It’s nice to finally hear your voice after a month of talking to you via texts, email and Kinky Links messages,” J.P. said.

  His voice stalled me. I found myself pacing around, twirling the drawstring of my pajama pants. J.P.’s voice was confident, deep and oh, so sexy.

  “It’s great to hear your voice too. And thank you so much for all the help you’ve given me for the book. I really appreciate it.”

  “You’re very welcome. I enjoy helping those new to the lifestyle.”

  “It’s been invaluable.”

  “So, tell me about the book event. Unless you’re too tired to talk now.”

  “No! Not at all. The book event went great and I met a lot of readers. It’s always fun to meet readers and fans and listen to them tell me what their favorite parts of the books are or who their favorite characters are.”

  “Do people ever surprise you with their favorites? Either parts of the books or the characters?”

  “All the time. As I write, I shape the things that I think will have a profound impact on the reader. But sometimes the smallest parts of a book will end up being their favorites,” I explained.

  His deep laugh was calm and gentle. Good God he had a pleasant voice.

  “Do readers or fans ever write to you and tell you parts they wished you had written differently?” he asked.

  “I do end up with some of that. I don’t mind it, though. It’s great when a fan reaches out to me like that.”

  “I have to tell you, Amy, I was so angry when Jeannie died in that accident in Paris.”

  “It was a necessary part of the book. It was a lesson.”

  “Yeah, but, he was in love with her. She made him realize what a prick he had been. He was remorseful and trying to do right. You took her from him and his heart broke.”

  I was surprised that J.P. was still going on about Emilio and Jeannie from Paris. Obviously, the story touched him.

  “Lots of people end up with broken hearts by people who are none to the wiser.”

  “So, you’re punishing the character for what someone did to you,” J.P. said.

  I wasn’t going to bring my ex up and let it ruin my conversation with J.P.

  “I didn’t say that it was about me, J.P.”

  “Don’t authors usually write what they know best?”

  “Many do, yes. But Jeannie from Paris is just a character. Same with Emilio.”

  “Emilio loved her.”

  “Sometimes love isn’t easy.”

  “Yeah, but, he loved her. Don’t these sweet romances have happy endings?”

  “It’s up to the author, but most of them have happy endings. Not all—”

  “Certainly not Paris,” J.P. said, and his soft laughter filled my ear.

  I laughed along with him and shook my head.

  “Tell me this, does anyone die in Country Chic?”

  I smiled and sat down on my bed when he mentioned Country Chic.

  “No one dies in Country Chic.”

  “Good. I downloaded it and started reading it. I dig that city girl, Sara. But if she dies while out on that rural, dangerous road, tell me now.”

  “I had no idea you downloaded Country Chic,” I laughed.

  “I just did it the other day after I finished Paris and after I put my heart back in my chest,” J.P. lightly joked.

  “Thank you for downloading it. I would have sent you a copy of it though. You didn’t have to buy it.”

  “I wanted to. I like reading and don’t expect anything for free. Besides, it’s a little way for me to support you and your work,” he said.

  “That’s very kind of you, J.P.”

  “You’re a hard worker, Amy. I see all the stuff you do on social media, plus the newsletter, public events, your website, and probably lots of other things that readers don’t actually see. You dedicate every waking moment to your work. The least I can do to support a friend is buy her four-dollar book.”

  I felt that pitter patter of excitement in my stomach at the phrase, “to support a friend.” I was thrilled J.P. thoug
ht of me as a friend rather than a project partner.

  “Thank you, J.P., I really appreciate that,” I said. “The friend part especially.”

  “You’re welcome. Good friends are hard to come by,” he said.

  I began to wonder if he had few genuine friends too.

  “Good, genuine friends are very rare,” I said.

  “I bet you have lots of friends, Amy.”

  “I keep a pretty tight lid on my life, J.P. Samantha is my lifeline, though.”

  “That’s probably a smart idea for security reasons.”

  I nodded and got comfortable leaning against my pillows.

  “How about you, J.P.? Do you have tons of friends?”

  “No. I had a really good buddy for many years, but I’m starting to see that our interests are going in opposite directions. I think his mind is getting clouded, but I can’t seem to make him see clearly.”

  “Is he a work friend or club friend? Or a friend outside of work and the club?” I asked.

  “Amy, I don’t have work friends. I have work acquaintances. My life is at the club. Those are the people I have the most in common with and they’re the people I want to include in my life.”

  Oh, my heart dropped a bit.

  “So, for us to be good friends, I’d have to join your club?” I teased lightly, though I held my heart in my hand.

  His gentle laugh filled my ear and I waited for his comments.

  “Now, I didn’t say that.” J.P. paused for a moment and seemed to be taking a sip of something. I remained quiet because I wanted to see what he’d say without being prompted. “I like our friendship. Believe it or not, it’s actually the first one I’ve had that isn’t based on sex or something from the club. So, it’s nice and I like it.”

  Unable to control my smile, I laughed and nodded.

  “Well, that’s good to hear, J.P. I’m enjoying your company. I do hope that you’re able to get back on the same page with your other friend though, too.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know. It’s slowly been going in different directions for a while now. I’m starting to see the writing on the wall. I think if it ever came down to it though, he’d have my back still. We’ve been through a lot together and I’ve known him since my early twenties.”