Knight: The Wordsmiths Book One

by Harlan, Christopher

  “Nice town,” I say as we get out of the car right in front of our hotel. “Super quaint.”

  “Did you just say ‘quaint’, Mike?” Colton’s looking at me sideways and grinning. “I think you did.”

  “I sure did, asshole. And what’s wrong with that, it’s fucking quaint, what else do you want me to call it? That’s the right word. I’m sorry you don’t know it.”

  “Oh, I know it,” he jokes. “I just don’t say shit like ‘quaint’ outside of a book.”

  “You know what?” Grayson asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever used the word quaint in any of my books. I think I need to get on that.”

  “How about cock?” Colton asks.

  “You mean the fact that you like it? We know that already,” I joke

  “Shut up,” Colt says. “I mean the word. Give me an estimate for the number of times it comes up in your books. Rough estimate.”

  “Probably 36 times per chapter,” Gray says. “Eh. Maybe I’m exaggerating. More like 25 times or so.”

  “I’d say that’s conservative.” I’m joking around just like the rest of them, but deep down talking about writing is still a sore subject for me. My last book, Into Your Eyes, did alright—definitely the best written of all my four books, but I didn’t have anywhere near the financial or critical success that I wanted it to. It had a good push over the first few days after my launch party, mostly do to the loyal readers I’d made on social media with my first three books, but by Friday of release week it’s rank in the romance category on Amazon was plummeting faster than an anchor dropped in the ocean.

  I’d started my new book right before the incident with Jenny. I was so confident in the story that I’d even posted a short excerpt as my WIP—work in progress—on my Facebook author page, and I’d gotten over 500 likes, which is insane for a few paragraphs. But the sad fact is I haven’t done much since I posted that. The term ‘writer’s block’ doesn’t even begin to describe the difficulty I’ve had writing. I don’t talk to the other guys about it that much because I don’t want them to judge me, but I’m still messed up about my ex. Ever since she left I haven’t gotten much down on paper, and my sales have started to slump big time. ‘Publish or Perish’ isn’t just a truth in the academic world, it’s true of Amazon’s algorithms also. I need to get something finished and up on my author page. Maybe this event will turn things around for me.

  “Now comes the fun part where we carry all of our heavy shit to the elevator.” Colton throws his arms up in a bicep flex that looks like he’s doing a bad Hulk Hogan impersonation from the 1980’s.

  “Ah, the life of an indie author.”

  “Some of us have more pre-orders than others,” I tell him. I love messing around with Colton, and the feeling’s mutual. He’s like the younger brother whose job it is for me to play fight with. And Grayson’s like the older brother who keeps the group in line.

  “I may have fewer pre-orders than you,” he answers. “But I’m gonna sell the fuck out of the extra copies of my new book. It’s almost in the top 20 in its category.”

  “Oh, shit man, congrats.” Grayson jumps in and gives Colton a fist bump. I do the same and congratulate him. I know that I shouldn’t be jealous of anyone’s success, let alone these guys, but it’s hard to accept your shitty sales when the guys you’re closest to are killing it with their books. But, then again, they’ve been writing and publishing while I’ve been staring at the TV and wondering what the hell happened to my life.

  “Oh my God!” I hear as I’m reaching into the back of Grayson’s SUV to grab a box of my books. I pull my head out from the truck, box in hand, and see three women standing on the steps of the hotel with their phones out, pointed at us. “Is that you?” The woman looks about forty years old, and she’s standing with three of her friends. The one who’s talking isn’t looking at me, she’s looking at Colt. “It is, isn’t it! Colton Chase!”

  “Hey ladies, how are you doing? Are you here for us?” Colt’s all smiles as the women approach. He’s great with fans.

  “We sure are! Drove halfway across the country to see you guys!”

  “Well aren’t we the luckiest authors in the world.” He’s smiling and doing his PR thing. Colton’s the hottest of us right now, Gray and I are just riding his coattails. He released a book a week ago in anticipation of this signing, strategically timed so that he could sell signed copies and get a big push from the event. What he thought was just going to be a few extra bucks from paperback sales became an unexpected ebook hit on Amazon. It’s been shooting up the rankings for the past few days, and now he’s within range of getting a decent author rank on Amazon. Besides that, he’s just everywhere on social media.

  I hand the box of books I’m holding to Gray, who loads it onto a cart they have outside, and then I grab a different one. Colton is in mid-selfie with all four of the women while we’re doing some heavy lifting. He’s already good at being the face of the group and promoting himself all at the same time. I’ve gotta hand it to the kid—he’s doing everything right and killing the game. Grayson had a few early successes but hasn’t been selling so well since, and I’m still trying to build a library of books to get to that level. I’m still waiting for it—the one. That book that will make my career turn the corner.

  “It’s okay, we’ve got these, you go ahead and take your pics, Colt!” Grayson’s fake yelling, and Colton finishes his selfies and the ladies come over to us.

  “We really want pictures with all of you guys,” the second woman says. “Do you mind?”

  “Of course not,” I tell her. I put the box on the ground next to the car and take a few selfies. It feels good. It feels like I have a career again. Grayson photo bombs my picture with the women and makes some crazy faces, and a few minutes later we have some highly satisfied fans who are on their way to explore the town around us. I’m glad they’re already having fun.

  “Don’t forgot to post on social media—use the hashtag #wordsmiths, okay?”

  “You got it,” one of the women says before walking away.

  The ladies go off to explore the town and we finishing lugging out stuff inside and check in. It takes a few minutes but eventually we get all of our books inside to the room where the signing is going to take place tomorrow afternoon. Even though there are only three of us, we had a lot of pre-orders. There are over ten boxes of books between us—granted, most of them are Colton’s—but even so, the turnout was good. The hotel’s nice enough to let us use a conference room they have on the ground floor. It’s small compared to the spaces you usually see at signings, but for the three of us and a few hundred fans it’s the perfect size. Despite all of my usual negativity, I’m really psyched for tomorrow.

  After we load our books into the room we meet back up in the lobby. There are readers everywhere. I can tell some of them recognize us but are too shy to say anything yet, and others still just stare and take pictures. A few people wave or introduce themselves, but mostly keep their distance out of respect. To our right is the hotel bar. It’s pretty small, but it’s crammed with readers. I look over and see some women whispering to one another and waving. Colton seizes the opportunity. “Let’s go,” he says.

  “Dude, I’m not drinking at four in the afternoon.”

  “We don’t have to drink,” he said. “Let’s just say hello. You guys have to work on your PR game. Come on.”

  Colt leads the way, but Gray and I are right behind him. He’s the most outgoing of the group—the one most likely to just start talking to strangers. I’ve known Colt a while and he’s like that with everyone. I’m a little more reserved, and so is Gray. But we know that this is what we wanted—a captive audience of women we knew would already love our work and want to read more of it, so what are we complaining about? “He’s right,” Gray says to me as we walk just behind Colt. “This is part of the gig. Hell, this is the gig.”

  “I know,” I say, looking at the group of women we’re approaching. “I’m just tired from
the drive is all.”

  “Me, too. But let’s go meet our adoring fans. We can hide out in our rooms and get rest afterwards.”

  “Good idea, on both counts!”

  We walk into the room and you’d think we were Justin Bieber based on the reaction we get. Women are waving, taking out their phones, and smiling ear to ear like we all just told them the funniest joke in the world. I’m a little overwhelmed by the attention. I wave and say hi and just kind of stand back. As I look around I actually recognize some of the faces from the women in my reader’s group and I wave to them.

  I haven’t done a lot of signings, but when I have I’ve been just another author in a giant room filled with other authors. No one special. And I’ve never had a table that fans are gathered around in masses just to see me, but this is different. It’s just us three brothers, and it’s just our readers and fans. It’s at this moment, as I’m staring into the smiling faces of these women who are looking at us like we’re the damn Beatles stepping off that plane, that I realize the brilliance of this event. We have a captive audience, and we’re not competing with one another, we’re combining our forces to bring readers three times the experience that any one of us could bring individually. It’s a great idea, and I’m finally starting to fully embrace it.

  I walk in, shake some hands, give some hugs, and take a few pictures. I’m honestly not much of a drinker, but I order one just because, and take little sips here and there. I’m talking to a woman from my own reader group who I recognize. She’s the best, always leaving positive comments on my posts, and sharing anything I put on there about my books or whatever else. It’s a cool experience to sit and talk with her and some of the other women. A few minutes later I’m halfway done with my drink and I feel an arm wrap around my shoulder. “Hey Fuck-face.” Colton is standing on my left, looking like he’s had more than just half a drink.

  I can smell the booze on his breath, but I know him well enough to know he can handle his alcohol. He’s fun when he’s had a few. “Hey,” I say back. I lean my head over and yell into his ear. “Great fuckin’ idea, man, really.”

  “See, don’t ever doubt me. And we’re just getting started! Let me get you another drink.”

  “I’m not even done with this one,” I tell him, but he’s insisting, so I tell him to get me another vodka even though there’s no way I’m drinking that shit right now. He takes a picture that the women in my reader group ask him to take of all of us, and I excuse myself to make the rounds with some of the other readers.

  As I as make my way to the other end of the bar I see Grayson talking to some of the women in his group also. Everyone has smiles on their faces. I’m so focused on everything to my left and right that I’m not really looking where I’m going. I feel the bump against my right shoulder as I move down the bar.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I hear. As I’m turning my head from the impact I’m not paying attention at first, I just feel bad that I walked into somebody.

  “It’s okay I’m s. . .” I stop talking when I see her. I stare for a second in mid sentence and she returns my gaze. “I’m the one who should be apologizing,” I say to her to break the momentary silence. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m great,” she says. “But you’re big, I’m surprised you didn’t knock me over.”

  “Then I would’ve felt awful,” I tell her, still studying her beautiful face but trying to be less obvious about it. “I’m Knight.” I extend my hand like we’re at a business meeting or something, and I feel stupid. She reaches out and shakes.

  “I know who you are, Michael.” I don’t know what it is, but the fact that she’s using my real name, and that she did so on her own really turns me on. There’s something sensual in her voice, and something quietly commanding in her calling me by a different name than I introduced myself by. “You’re my favorite author.”

  She’s smiling at me and looking away every few seconds like she’s uncomfortable. I hope I didn’t make this awkward for her. The woman is sex—plain and simple. She’s unassuming at first because she doesn’t act the way you expect someone as hot as her to behave. There’s zero arrogance to be detected, and no assumption that every guy in the room should be trying to fuck her. I can read that vibe a mile away and this girl doesn’t have an ounce of it.

  There’s something contradictory about her that I can see in the contrast of her expressions, which range between innocent and seductive. And those eyes. They’re the most beautiful shade of green I’ve ever seen—unusual as eyes went. She must be used to guys complimenting them and staring at her, but I can’t help it. I feel my cock press against the front of my pants as my heart starts beating faster than normal. I’m not used to being so turned on just by the sight of a girl, but she seems to have that effect on me.

  “What’s your name?” I ask her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m Everleigh. Nice to meet you, Michael.”

  “The pleasure is all mine. Are you in my group?”

  “I am,” she answers, looking me right in the eyes. “Have you ever been about to say something and then stopped yourself because you realize how crazy it sounds in your head?”

  “That’s basically my life, so yes. Why? What were you going to say?”

  “I was about to say ‘I know who you are, I’m your number one fan’, until I remembered that’s what Cathy Bates says in Misery before kidnapping the author and torturing him for an entire book.” I don’t know why but I start laughing so deeply and loudly that people start looking at us. I have a deep belly laugh, and when I get going you can hear me from a mile away.

  “What?” she asks.

  “I’m sorry, but I have a really dark sense of humor and that visual cracked me up. I was picturing myself tied to a bed and you about to break my legs with a sledgehammer so I don’t leave your house, like in the book. Plus I love me some Stephen King. I grew up reading him.”

  “Me, too,” she says, energized by the fact that I wasn’t laughing at her and that I mentioned the master of horror’s name. “I’ve read almost every book he’s written. What’s your favorite Stephen King story?”

  “IT. Easy question. No comparison. It’s his masterpiece.”

  “Oh, jeeze,” she says, looking down and grinning.

  “What?”

  “Would you hate me if I told you that I never read it?”

  “What? Oh my God!” I’m smiling but truly shocked also. “What self-respecting Stephen King fan hasn’t read IT? I’m sorry, I may have to walk away right now.”

  “Fine,” she jokes. “Walk away. But I don’t think you really want to.”

  She looks at me and I catch the slightest glimmer of. . .of I don’t know what, but it’s definitely something. I’ve always been good at catching micro expressions people make; little gestures that most people don’t even notice. Maybe being extra observant is part of being a good writer, but when she said that to me just now there was a glimmer in her eye—something flirtatious.

  “Oh yeah,” I joke. “And why’s that?”

  She looks right at me, and the micro expression becomes a macro one. It’s brief but it’s intense, a combination of look and voice that just shoots right inside me. “Because something tells me that you’re enjoying our conversation.” It’s forward without being forward, and I get the message loud and clear.

  “I am. I really am.”

  I catch myself staring again as she looks away. I steal a glance and try to take her in before she looks back at me. She’s a rare combination—traditionally beautiful and sexy at the same time. Part of me just wants to look at her, and the other part of me—the part that’s winning right now, wants to grab her and . . .

  “Are you excited?”

  “What?” I ask, thinking that she can see the mild stiffening of my cock as I stare at her.

  “About the signing,” she says. “Are you excited about it?”

  “Oh, right, the signing. Yeah, we’re all psyched about it. How about you?”


  “Absolutely. I’ve been excited about it since I saw the announcement on your Facebook page. I was. . .I was going through a rough time and it brought a little light to my day.”

  “Fuck, I’m sorry about that, whatever it was. Is everything better now?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Much better, thanks for asking. Not that you want to hear about it.”

  “No,” I say, genuinely interested in what’s going on with her. “I do. If you want to tell me, of course.”

  “I was going through a breakup is all. Bad relationship. Bad choices. Kind of like Ava, you know?”

  I smile. Ava is the main female character from my last book, a standalone called Into Your Eyes. It’s about a woman who turns her life around and finds herself through meeting the love of her life. It’s the last story that I saw through from beginning to end before my own breakup. “That’s amazing to hear. Sometimes we write books and don’t get to hear about their impacts on people, if they even have any impacts. I’m glad that Ava touched you as a character.”

  “More than touched me,” Everleigh says. “Inspired. Made me look at my own life and my own bullshit. Made me leave a bad situation when I otherwise might have stayed longer. Thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome. You’re the first person who’s said anything like that to me, you know.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s true. Makes me want to write another one.”