by M. E. Carter
With Todd’s background as a high school and college theater geek, I finally convinced him to take a shot at narration. Lots of actors do it to bring in some cash on the side while they wait for their big break. So he went for it and like I had predicted, his audition blew my publishers away. Honestly, it blew me away too. If he wasn’t my best friend and, well, Todd, I would have told him he was a sex pot.
But he is my best friend so ew. No.
None of that matters right now, though, as I open my social media page and see hundreds of notifications. That’s not unusual, but normally I’m tagged on pictures of my covers or a graphic someone made. That’s not what I’m seeing this time.
Nope. This time it’s all pictures of me and Spencer.
Me staring at him awkwardly in the hallway.
Me staring at Spencer like a deer in headlights while sitting behind my table at the signing.
Me falling into his arms.
I keep scrolling until I see it . . . the actual video of me falling into his arms. Because of course someone filmed it.
Groaning, I toss my laptop aside again and throw myself on the bed, pulling the blanket over my face to hide.
“Seriously, Aggi, that video was priceless,” Todd jokes, making me want to choke him until his little red head pops off. “I don’t know why you always wear heels to those things.”
“My publicist makes me!” I argue.
“Then she either doesn’t know you very well or she doesn’t like you very much. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten a concussion.”
“Shut up, Todd. I like my Betty Page look. It’s like my own personal Comic-Con every time I sign.”
His laughter is starting to irritate me. He’s my best friend and I’ll forgive him, but even he doesn’t know what Spencer means to me. I mean, is to me. I mean . . . I don’t know what I mean because Spencer Garrison shouldn’t be anything to me. He should be right back in the little box in my brain marked “fantasy” that is only opened when I’m on a deadline. But no. Now I can’t get that box closed because the fantasy has come to life.
Well, the man has anyway. The fantasies are never actually going to come to fruition.
Todd’s voice breaks through my thoughts and I try to focus back on the conversation. “No seriously, though. Did he skate up to your table? Was he wearing a medal?”
I roll my eyes. “No and no.”
“Did you ask him about his rehab at least? Is he going to be able to compete any time soon?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know, Aggi?”
“I mean, I don’t know, Todd,” I retort, using my best Julia Louis-Dreyfus voice from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.
“Well you should have asked, Margot.”
We both burst out laughing at our ridiculousness. This is why I’m awkward in social situations. I’ve got Todd egging on my weirdo side daily. Good thing he’s the best friend a girl could ask for, because he may be the only one left at some point if I can’t get myself under control.
When we calm down, he starts with the inquisition again. I hate it, but I also know my meeting Spencer Garrison is huge news for a skateboarding fan like Todd.
“Seriously, Aggi. Did you talk to him at all or did you freeze up?”
Throwing the blanket off my head, I take a deep breath of cool air. “I didn’t ask him anything about skateboarding. I didn’t ask him anything at all.”
“What? Why not?”
“I don’t know. First, I froze. But then I realized it wasn’t really the right time. His sister is a huge reader, and she was kind of having her own fan girl moment . . .”
“His sister?” he interrupts. “Is she single?”
Shaking my head, I murmur. “Ohmygod, you’re such a pig.”
“Hey, I have eyes. Spencer Garrison is an attractive guy. I bet his sister is as hot as he is.”
“She is, but I think I overheard her saying something about taking a load of books out to her minivan, so I assume she’s filling up her vehicle with kids too.”
“Dammit,” he says under his breath. “The good ones are always taken.”
“Anyway,” I say forcefully, trying to get him back on track, “I wanted to know if you started voicing my book yet.”
“No.” His voice suddenly quiets as he stops being so ornery and gets down to business. “I spent the day setting up my new home studio.”
I sit up in bed, only this time it’s because I’m excited for my friend. “Really? How does it look?”
“Like a padded closet?”
I snort a laugh. “So it can double as your emotional support room if you need one.”
“Dammit. I knew I should have bought some of the supplies with my FSA. Think my insurance company will reimburse me?”
“I doubt it. Nice try, though.”
“I can’t wait for you to see it. When are you coming home, anyway?”
Twisting a stray strand of hair around my finger, I run through my mental calendar. “It’s going to be a few more days. I have one more small signing in LA.”
“What are you talking about? I barely have my studio set up, let alone started my narration of this book. Are you promoting it already?”
His confusion makes me laugh. “Oh, sweetie, what you’re working on is my release a few months from now. I’m finishing up the promo for the book that released last month.”
“Don’t “sweetie” me, Agnes.” Jerk. He knows I hate that name. “I thought you were done since you’re on a deadline.”
“You know I hate when you use my full name. And I am on deadline.”
He laughs but it’s less humorous and more confused. “How many books are you working on?”
“No idea. Four traditionally.” I tick them off on my fingers. “One that just released, one that’s going to release in a couple months, one in the final editing stages, and one I’m writing. But I promised my editor another indie by the end of the year.”
“Girl, you’re a mess. But I love ya. So this signing you’re going to . . .”
I groan at the reminder. Right now the last thing I want to do is think about being in front of that many people again.
“Oh you’re going to have so much fun. Maybe Spencer will make a random appearance.”
Grimacing when my finger gets tangled in my hair, I struggle to get it free while ignoring Todd’s comment about Spencer. “Hopefully it won’t be too bad. I think it’s only me at a bookstore, so minus the walking part and I guess the talking part, I should be okay. I can just do a Q&A or something. That’s not as bad as doing a panel where I have to sound intelligent.”
“You’re always intelligent, Aggi.” I smile at his kind words. “You just sound like an idiot while public speaking.”
My smile drops as someone knocks on my door.
“Well, on that friendly insulting note, I need to go. Room service is here.”
Scrambling off the bed, my mouth waters at the thought of the cheeseburger and fries waiting for me on the other side of the door. All that adrenaline has made me hungry.
“I knew you had your footie pajamas on already!” Todd shouts through the speaker.
“Bye, Todd!” I yell back and hang up as the sound of him laughing again comes through. Tossing the phone on my bed I call out, “I’m coming!” and dance my way over to the door. Seriously. Almost nothing makes me happier than a big greasy burger. Except eating a big greasy burger in bed.
Throwing the door open, I push my black rimmed glasses up higher on my nose and smile at the porter.
“Ms. Sylvester?” he asks politely.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”
That earns me a furrowed brow and a “Well. Okay.”
Awkwaaaaard.
Clearing my throat, I try to reel my excitement back in. “Yeah. So anyway, I’ll just take this tray off your cart. They added the tip onto my account already, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says as I take the t
ray, and he rolls the cart out of the way. “Can I get you anything else?”
As I open my mouth to answer, I glance at the person walking by. I know those arms. My eyes widen as I realize who it is.
Spencer Garrison glances over, away, and then does a double take when he realizes who I am. So of course I do the only reasonable thing I can . . .
I slam the door in the poor porter’s face, never answering his question.
Crap.
I better call downstairs and ask them to add another ten bucks to his tip.
Chapter 8
Spencer
My flight this morning was much more enjoyable than the one I took a few days ago. Not only was I not folded up like a taco but there weren’t two people in a battle of wills on either side of me. Instead, I have an empty seat next to me and enough leg room I can stretch my knee. Who knew spending a few days with my sister fangirling all over a bunch of romance authors would be so exhausting?
And interesting.
Not only did I see a different side to Kate, but I met some pretty cool ladies too. And one in particular who keeps running through my mind.
Adeline Snow.
After Kate basically word vomited all over her about the games and promises of getting her tickets or behind the scenes I didn’t think I’d see her again. Sure, I may have downloaded an app so I could check out one of her books. I fly a lot, I need something to distract me. But, that’s as far as I thought it would go. Then, walking down the hall after dinner, I saw a porter standing outside a door with a cart and glanced toward the door.
Standing with a silver domed plate in her hand was a woman dressed in footy pajamas and wearing a pair of glasses. It wasn’t the footies or the glasses that caught my attention; it was the look of horror on the woman’s face as the door slammed. It was that move that made me laugh to myself and download the rest of her books after I returned to the room. It isn’t like I can take Kate’s e-reader with me to finish the book I started. If she was going to freak out about seeing me, I had to know a little more about her writing.
Now, I sit with a bottle of water in the cup holder to my right, my knee stretched out and a book about a BMX rider on my phone. I’m reading a fucking romance novel about a dude who could easily be me if you swapped out the bike for a skateboard. Only, never in my life have I encountered a woman who saw past the fame, the trophies, and the money like the woman in this book. Nope. The Pro Ho’s as they’re typically called are usually all about the fame, the notoriety, and the money. Not that I’m a billionaire or anything. But with my sponsorships I definitely do all right.
By the time the captain alerts us to the descent into Los Angeles, I’m so engrossed in this story I missed the flight attendant scooping up my empty bottle or the last opportunity to hit the bathroom before we land. Great.
Thankfully, it’s a smooth landing, and I know this airport like the back of my hand. Freddy’s offices are here in LA, and I feel like he’s always dragging me here for either a contract negotiation or fundraising event. I don’t mind the fundraising, even if I’m dressed like a penguin, it’s the contracts and inevitable photo shoots that follow that I hate. In particular, the underwear campaign he convinced me was “life changing.” Oh, it was life changing all right. Changed me right into a cardboard cutout in department stores across the country. Hence, the Pro Ho’s I deal with.
Joke was on him though. When I agreed to that campaign, I insisted he work out a publishing deal for one of the women who works with my foundation. She’d shared her desire to publish a series of children’s books and asked if I would lead the campaign and approve the use of a character inspired by me for the books. I agreed—without Freddy’s approval—and that cardboard cutout I’m proud of.
As the seat belt light signals we’re free to move around the cabin, I exit the reading app on my phone and rise to grab my bag from the overhead bin. Exiting the plane, I smile at the flight attendants and pause when one lifts her hand and says, “I didn’t want to make it awkward during the flight, but I’m a huge fan.” Sure she is.
“Thank you.” My response is polite but short.
“Maybe, while you’re in LA, we can . . .” she begins, but before she can continue, I smile and keep walking. Nope. Hard pass on whatever she’s selling. I’m going to be in LA for three days and then I’m heading home to Lexington. I didn’t build that house for shits and giggles.
Quickly making my way down the jetway, I find the nearest restroom and handle business before rushing to the curbside pickup and the car I know is waiting for me. The airport in Los Angeles is huge and it’s easy to get lost in the sea of people. Thank goodness. Of course, being tall makes me stand out regardless, but here I’m just some guy walking toward a dark sedan.
“Good afternoon, sir,” the driver says as he slowly pulls away from the curb.
“Hello. Do you have the address for the facility?”
“Yes, I do. My instructions state you are to be dropped off for your appointment at two o’clock and then I’ll return to pick you up at three fifteen, at which time I will then drive you to Mr. Logan’s office.”
“Any chance you can swing through a drive through for some food? I’m starving, and if I know anything about the appointment I’m headed to, I’ll need the fuel.”
•••
I may bitch about coming to LA, and for the most part, I’m serious. But, the silver lining to the days here is the PT guy Freddy hooked me up with. Jimmy is badass, and while I want to nut punch him for pushing me, I know I’ll be better for the hard work. Plus, he’s funny as hell and we get along like we’ve been friends for years. But, he also leaves me alone while I’m working and observes more than interferes. It’s why I’m able to finish the book I was reading on the plane.
Yeah, I downloaded the audiobook too. It was less than two dollars because I bought the e-book. These authors and the people who make audio books are genius when it comes to marketing. A simple “Buy this book for four bucks and then get the audio for only two more. It’s a steal!” had me purchasing without question.
What I hadn’t planned when I started this book was the very detailed sex scenes. By detailed I mean hot. Thankfully, the big dude staring at me while I finish the last minute on the bike manages to dampen any horniness the woman narrating was stirring up inside me.
Jimmy continues to stare at me, eyes wide as I pedal. What the hell? Pulling my earbuds from my ear, I look at him confused.
“Uh, bro what are you listening to?”
“A book. Why?” I ask.
“I figured it was either a book or you were on a call with a hottie on a one nine hundred number.”
Confused, I tilt my head for him to continue. Jimmy takes a deep breath, eyes focused on the ceiling as he places his hands on his hips before opening his mouth and speaking at octave about three times higher than he should ever do again.
“I love when he rubs his cock against my wet—”
“Enough,” I shout.
“I’m so full of desire I’m dripping—”
“Dude, shut up.” I shout louder as I stand from my position. Stopping him from continuing. “How did—shit, my earbuds. How much did you hear?”
Instead of responding, Jimmy doubles over in the most obnoxious bout of laughter I’ve ever witnessed. My irritation, and slight embarrassment, grows with each leg slap and gasp for breath. Sick of his theatrics, I grab my sweaty towel from around my shoulders and toss it at him, successfully smacking him in the face. “Gross. Look, I’m not judging, brother, but you look more in pain than turned on by that porn you’re listening to. I have to admit I was getting into the story before I saw your face all scrunched up and red. It occurred to me that maybe it wasn’t the story causing the pain but your knee.”
I look like I’m in pain? “It’s just tender is all. No worries man, but I need to stop anyway. Apparently, Freddy needs me, my fucking phone is blowing up, and it’s messing with the book.”
Nodding, Jimmy wave
s me over to the mat where he’ll stretch me. I lower myself from the bike and as I walk toward him, I look down at my phone and see the number of notifications from one of my apps. It says ninety-nine plus. What the hell? I never have that many notifications. The text messages show five and the missed calls six.
Opting to pull up the texts first, I sit down on a mat and scroll to see who has been trying to get hold of me. Freddy’s name has a two next to it, my mom’s name has a one and Kate’s a two. Tapping on my mom’s first I read it twice, still not fully understanding what she’s talking about.
Mom: You look so handsome. Bring her to dinner!
Bring who to what?
I tap Freddy’s name next.
Freddy: I need a name for a background. You’re supposed to clear this shit with me.
Freddy: Who is this chick? Why are people freaking out? Call me.
What the actual fuck is going on? Has everyone lost their mind?
Kate is next on my list and hopefully she has an explanation.
Kate: OMG! Can you believe the freaking picture is on the INTERNET! I had no idea anyone would see it.
Kate: Do you hate me? Please don’t hate me. I assumed it was just your business profile. Do you even check that thing or use it? The last picture is of Santa. You need someone to work your social media. I love you. Don’t hate me.
The little plus sign next to the ninety-nine on the social media app taunts me. I lower my finger and tap the icon and a list of notifications pops up. Comments, likes, tags, and reposts. What the hell is a repost? Tapping one of the notifications, I go to some random page and that’s when I see it.
Me with Adeline Snow in my arms, her face peering up at me through those long dark lashes. It’s the moment I caught her at the signing. On the internet. For everyone to see. Going back to the notifications I scroll until I see what I assume is the original post.
Kate.
No wonder she’s worried I’m pissed. Pulling up her profile I see the caption she put with the picture and shake my head before I laugh. Only my sister. “Caught in the wild @Spence_G5 playing swoony hero to my #favoriteauthor @AdelineSnowWrites as he catches her. He’s single ladies!” Then she has a bunch of dumb hashtags that make no sense to me. Damn there are a lot. What does #swoonyheroesarereal #ladiesbeware #sometimeshesanidiot mean?
