“I’ve still got a month,” I told her as I stepped out of the building, the cold wind slamming into me.
There was a brief pause before she said, “Tell me when I can schedule an interview. Your fans want to know what the hell happened to you.”
“You know I don’t do interviews,” I told her. That had been a point of contention between us from the beginning. I’d been called reclusive and mysterious, but the truth was, I didn’t like being in the public eye. I just wanted to write.
“You’re going to have to give in sometime,” she said. “Seriously. The media fucking loves you. They want to see your face.”
“Liz, shouldn’t you be getting ready for your thing?” I asked, purposely changing the subject.
Liz huffed. “What’s the book about? At least tell me that much.”
I should’ve known she wouldn’t let it go. I sighed. “I will, just as soon as I know.”
More silence before she said, “Jacob.” Her tone was admonishing and I understood her pain.
“I’m looking for my muse,” I assured her.
“Your muse? What the hell are you talking about? We agreed—”
Before she could go off on a tangent—something Liz was really good at—I interrupted her. “Don’t worry. I haven’t let you down yet, have I?”
Another growl. This time I did laugh.
“Fine. But next time I call you, you better answer the damn phone.”
“I did answer the phone.” Just not the first twenty-two times she’d called since yesterday morning. “Talk to you later, Liz.”
Depositing the phone into my pocket, I pulled my hood over my head, then rubbed my hands together to warm them and headed down the sidewalk. Although it was relatively early for a Saturday night, the area was getting busy fast. Due to the many bars that lined Sixth Street, people came from all over to experience Austin’s tourist hot spot. Even when it was hovering at the thirty-degree mark at the end of January.
If you were looking for live music and a diverse crowd, Sixth Street was the place to go. As for me, I enjoyed the bar scene—not nearly as much as I had in my twenties, however—but I tended to steer clear if possible. Granted, I wasn’t above hanging out just to watch people. I’d come up with some damn intriguing characters by sitting still and observing, and I hoped I’d get lucky again tonight. Only I wasn’t going to a bar.
The book I was working on—or supposed to be, anyway—needed to be phenomenal. They all were, at least in my head. I wanted something that intrigued people, caught their attention, made them run through myriad emotions when they read it. As far as I was concerned, I’d been lucky so far. Sure, I knew I had some talent, but so did a lot of other people, and not all writers—even ones who were far better than I was—had the opportunity to make a living doing what they loved to do.
As I walked down the sidewalk, I took it all in, mentally snapshotting the little details of the buildings, the cars, the people. I noted the noises I heard, the aromas I smelled, tied them together in my head in a way I would remember for a scene later. For nearly an hour, that was all I did until I saw a crowd gathered in a small alcove near an alley. I knew what they were looking at, so I tucked my hands in my pockets and walked over to join them.
Peering over the heads of the group gathered, I saw the familiar man standing in front of a table, a large sheet of thin, white hardboard before him. The guy wielded a circle cutout in one hand and a can of spray paint in the other, a respirator mask covering his mouth and nose. I watched him work for a good ten minutes before he completed the painting. And when he pulled off his mask, then lifted the board to show the audience, I nodded a hello while the others clapped.
“What’s up, Jake?” the man sporting the strange man bun and scruffy goatee greeted me as he carried the painted board to the front and set it in one of the open spots.
The paintings wouldn’t last long, selling rapidly on the weekends, so I looked it over quickly, trying to decide if I wanted it. When the woman beside me got excited, I decided to pass. I already had fifteen of them leaning against the wall in my guest bedroom, waiting for me to find a place for them.
“You’re out early tonight.”
“Tell me about it.” I stepped out of the way, moving around to stand beside my friend.
I had met Gavin Dennis nearly a year ago, right after I had moved back to Texas and into my condo. One night, I’d been wandering around aimlessly when I stumbled upon a scene much like this one, only in a different location. After I’d watched Gavin work for almost two hours, I guess he’d gotten curious as to why I was continuing to stand there. I’d introduced myself and that had been that. And since that day, Gavin and I had become friends, gone to a few bars, had some drinks, shared some drunken conversation. But mostly, I had spent at least one night a month sitting on that very stool beside Gavin, watching him work and checking out the hordes of people who stopped to admire the masterpieces Gavin would create.
It was crazy to see a man design some magnificent artwork using nothing more than cardboard cutouts and spray paint, but Gavin never seemed to run out of ideas, and not once had I seen him paint the same thing twice.
Imagine my surprise when last weekend I’d learned that Gavin was none other than my new neighbor. One of my two new neighbors, who could throw one hell of a party. Granted, I still didn’t remember a lot that had happened that night, which was probably a good thing.
“Don’t let me bother you,” I told him, taking a seat on the stool nearby as a couple of people made requests for his next painting.
Gavin smirked, then turned to the crowd once again. “Anyone here read? And I’m talkin’ books.”
I rolled my eyes.
A few people raised their hands.
“What do you read?” Gavin asked, pointing to one woman in particular.
“Sci-Fi,” she said shyly.
Gavin looked at me. I shook my head, but he already knew I didn’t write science fiction.
“What about you?” Gavin asked, nodding to another woman.
“Romance,” she told him.
Gavin cast a sideways glance at me, raising one eyebrow.
I mouthed, “Not cool.”
“Who’s your favorite author?” Gavin asked the woman as he rearranged the cans of paint and his cutouts.
“Jacob Wild,” she said excitedly.
I sighed.
Another sideways glance from Gavin—this one was accompanied by a shit-eating grin. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” she said eagerly. “I love him.”
“Because he’s a good writer? Or because he’s hot?” Gavin questioned.
What the fuck?
“Both.”
“So you think he’s hot?” Gavin asked, clearly fanning the flames.
“God, yes. Those eyes and those lips…”
Gavin chuckled as he set up for his next painting. “What does he write?”
“Love stories. Beautiful, sexy love stories,” the woman told him, her tone reverent, her hands clasped together in front of her.
“Sexy love stories?” Gavin looked up at the woman. “Does that include sex?”
The woman giggled. “Definitely.”
“Hot sex?” Gavin glanced over at me again. He mouthed, “Like orgies and shit?”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head at the same time the woman said, “Panty-melting hot.”
Gavin laughed. “What would you do if you came face-to-face with Jacob Wild right now?”
“Oh, gosh,” the woman said with a sigh, her eyes locked on Gavin. “I’d hug him.”
Gavin turned back to me and I knew what was coming. And I knew there was no way to stop it, either.
Chapter Fourteen
Presley
Fuck, it was cold.
I knew I should’ve put forth the effort to find my coat, but I’d been avoiding digging through the boxes of clothes I’d allowed to grow up from the floor in my closet at all costs.
Instead, I’d s
ettled for the thin hoodie I’d worn last weekend and a scarf I’d found draped over a box of old tattoo magazines, which did little to ward off the chill. And now, hugging my arms around my body, tucking my fingers beneath my arm pits to keep them warm, I stalked down the crowded sidewalk, ignoring the cat calls and whistles from the drunk college kids already flooding the street.
Earlier in the evening, I had considered texting Gavin to cancel on him, but after spending most of the day sleeping, then at least an hour pacing my living room, attempting to come up with something to draw that would pull me out of my funk, I’d finally thrown my hands in the air and given up. At that point, doing something to take my mind off of it was my only option. I’d learned that dwelling on the problem would only piss me off, and that wasn’t at all beneficial to anyone. Rarely had I ever summoned my inner artist when I was angry.
After making my way past most of the bars, I located the swarm of people I’d been searching for, then worked my way through the men and women lingering, talking amongst themselves.
When I broke through the crowd, I smiled.
Gavin stood at a table, shaking a can of spray paint while he chatted it up with the people, doing what he loved most. Painting and entertaining.
Because it had been a hectic week and I’d filled in for Charlie two days this week, plus picked up a few walk-ins in the evening, I hadn’t seen much of Gavin. He was usually out all night and slept most of the day, and our schedules hadn’t meshed, so it was good to see him.
When I wasn’t working at the tattoo shop, I made a point to come down to Sixth Street, especially on the weekend on those off chances I was free, to lend Gavin a hand. Since he was a one-man show, I’d heard him complain about how hard it was to handle the business end of things while trying to do what he needed to do to keep the money coming in, so I’d offered to help. Once had turned into twice, twice into three times, then once a month, and here I was again.
Granted, I rarely got down here on a Saturday night because those were good nights at the shop, but with my current mental block, I figured what the hell. Blaze, Charlie, and Gil were manning the fort; they definitely didn’t need me there to horn in on their business.
As I squeezed between two couples, I heard Gavin’s voice as he talked to the crowd.
“What would you do if you came face-to-face with Jacob Wild right now?”
The woman in front of me sighed heavily, then answered with, “Oh, gosh. I’d hug him.”
I stepped out of the throng in time to see Gavin glancing over at a man sitting on a stool beside him. I stopped, blinked several times as I peered through the spotlights set up to showcase Gavin’s work—as well as his performance—to see if the guy I’d spotted was real or merely a figment of my imagination.
I was pretty sure he was real. Which meant Gavin wasn’t talking to just any man. This one was the same one I’d talked to at the coffee shop last weekend.
Small world.
Gavin looked over at the guy. “Did you hear that, Mr. Wild? This young lady would like to hug you.”
There was a collective gasp from several people and then one woman squealed. Phones came out, pictures were being taken, and everyone seemed to want to know what was going on.
I was one of those people, minus the picture taking.
Jacob Wild... Jacob Wild... Where the hell had I heard that name?
And then it hit me. He was an author, the one who’d written that steamy book that they’d turned into a movie. I remembered because they’d said that his sex scenes made others in the genre look like beginners’ books. I wasn’t much of a reader but I had read the Fifty Shades trilogy, enjoyed it even, and, yes, the sex had been scorching, so I wasn’t sure how much truth there was in those claims.
But what I remembered most was the way people had idolized him, newscasters chomping at the bit to interview the local celebrity, pictures of him out and about all over the place.
“Hey, sweets,” Gavin greeted me as the woman ran around to the other side to hug the man I’d come to think of as Chapter One. “Glad you’re here.”
I offered Gavin a one-armed hug. “Looks like you’re busy tonight.”
“Yeah. Thank God. And it’s still early. You here to lend your expert money management skills?”
I laughed. “Yep. And you’ve got me all night. Just tell me what to do.”
“All night? I could think of a few things I could do to you all night.”
I glared up at him.
Gavin chuckled. “Fine. I’ll be good.” He pointed to one couple perusing a painting on the end. “It’s all over there. A few people are interested.” He paused and smiled at me. “You’re an angel, you know that?” Gavin put his arm around me and steered me toward the man who was now signing autographs for several women. “Presley Abrams, I’d like you to meet Jacob Wild. Jake, meet my best friend, Presley.”
Jake smiled for the camera, then turned to face Gavin. I fought the urge to laugh when his eyes widened as soon as they landed on me.
“Hey, Chapter One,” I greeted.
Gavin looked between us. “You two know each other? I don’t remember you talking to him the other night.”
The other night? I had no idea what Gavin was talking about.
“Uh … sort of,” Jake said, that deep, rumbling voice lingering on the chilly night air. He seemed to be speaking to Gavin, but he never took his eyes off me. “I’m pretty sure I gave her a concussion last weekend.”
Gavin stood up straight, his usual laid-back, casual posture taking on a defensive edge, and I immediately smacked his hard chest. “It’s not like that,” I said with a grin. “He bumped into me—accidentally—in the coffee shop. I didn’t need a hospital.” I held out my hand to Jake. “Nice to officially meet you. Did you take my advice?”
His big hand engulfed mine while those teal-blue eyes lingered on me briefly as a warm smile took over. “The once-upon-a-time thing?”
I nodded.
“Not yet, but I haven’t ruled it out completely.”
“It could be a best seller,” I told him with a wink.
“Oh, my God! It’s Jacob Wild!”
I took a step back as another woman rushed over, throwing her arms around Jake like they were long-lost lovers. I had no idea that authors were sort of like rock stars. At least it seemed that way.
I frowned as another rock star I knew came to mind. Forcing the thought away, I looked up at Gavin.
“You met him at the coffee shop?” Gavin asked me when Jake was pulled away.
“Yeah. Why?”
Gavin glanced over at Jake, then back to me. “He’s our neighbor.”
“Our what?” I looked at Jake and then I remembered.
Oh, and that guy over there. That’s Jake. He’s our neighbor.
“Neighbor,” I mumbled.
“Yep. Think the guy’s got a lower tolerance level than you. Plus, he’s got the self-control of a saint. Never made a move on any of those chicks last weekend. Actually cut out early.”
I looked at Gavin, trying to process his words, but my mind was going a million miles a minute. “Does he know that I live there?”
Gavin frowned. “No idea. It doesn’t look as though he remembers you.”
Technically, I hadn’t met him at my place, so it only made sense that he hadn’t put two and two together.
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” I had no idea why I didn’t want him to know I lived next door—maybe he was too much temptation for me, except that would be ridiculous.
Regardless, I didn’t want him to know. At least not yet.
“Do you read his stuff?” Gavin asked, putting his hand on my shoulder and moving me out of his way.
“No,” I told him truthfully. But I did remember hearing about him, which explained why he’d seemed so familiar. “I thought I recognized him.”
“He’s quite the celebrity around here,” Gavin explained, nodding toward Jake, who was now being slipped a piece of paper, which I assu
med had a phone number on it—yep, definitely just like a rock star. “Especially since his movie premiered.”
My neighbor was a famous author. Huh.
“So, you’ve put him on the spot before?” I asked.
“Damn straight,” Gavin confirmed.
“Looks like he enjoys it.” I watched Jake chat it up with a few women, his lips curled up in a way that made me think of hot, sweaty sex.
“No, not at all,” Gavin said softly. “He’s quite shy, actually. I just like to ruffle his feathers.”
“Really?” I wouldn’t have guessed that Jake was shy. How could he be when it was clear people—namely women—obviously loved him?
A man approached Gavin, talking about an idea for a painting, and I stepped back out of the way, giving them room. I went over to the small booth that Gavin used to take payments and get mailing information. He had brought along a small propane heater, which I would definitely be utilizing since he’d had the forethought to set it up a few yards away. I could help and stay warm, without risking being turned into a fireball thanks to all the spray paint.
After familiarizing myself with everything, I hopped up on the wooden counter and watched Gavin work. A few minutes later, Jake made his way over, casually leaning against the post beside me.
I studied him momentarily. “So, you’re famous, huh?”
Those pretty eyes lifted to mine and I noticed the long dark lashes that ringed them. He really was attractive. Hell, he could’ve been a male model if the writing thing didn’t work out, but I figured he already knew that based on the trail of drooling women he left behind him.
“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” he said, voice low, gruff.
“Could’ve fooled me. Those women were quite excited to meet you.”
“They would’ve never recognized me if Gavin didn’t have a big mouth.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. Now that I knew who he was, I definitely remembered where I’d seen him. That handsome face had been plastered all over the news when they’d been making that movie, a few of the scenes shot right here in Austin. “Maybe not, but it doesn’t make it any less true. So how did you meet Gavin?”
Inked on Paper Page 8
